a king's game

chapter eight

"Tell me about your king"

Images of golden hair, piercing blue eyes, a solemness that looks awkward on his features too young to be fitting for a king flash through Payton's mind.

What is there to tell about a man who has known nothing but a crown too big for him since he was a child?

"Reimund of Blanche is my lord and king. His word is my command", Payton says, dumbly.

"No. Lies won't do", the dark king's gravelly voice scolds, a scoff visible through his short, trimmed beard.

This shouldn't have been a lie, Payton thinks. But it was, he realizes when he remembers how every fiber of his body seems to itch when he bows before Reimund and how every „Your Majesty" directed at him made the boys throat constrict and his stomach churn.

"Reimund makes a fine king in times of peace", the boy says truthfully, searching for that barely noticable triumphant grin on the demon king's face as he catches the innuendo.

"Yet we fight a Neverending War", Atlas of Tenebris finishes Payton's thought. Gulping down the bile rising in his throat, the youth continues.

"He is unsure, but too proud to admit it. Reimund seeks advice from the wrong people", he evaluates, thinking of all those old men by Reimund's side. Yet the one born to reign along the light king's side, his queen, has no seat in his council.
"Reimund is a ship at the mercy of the tides. He had a set course, a dream of peace ad prosperity once, but the storm has broken his resolve and he can't find said course anymore. Not with half the nobility trying to take the helm."

"What about his rook? Second only to the King and Queen, from an old and influential family? Did he try to take the helm as well?", the dark king asks, his eyes carefully examining the slightest movement on Payton's face. But the youth can't help it, the corners of his mouth turn upwards at the ridiculous thought of Reimund being influenced by him.

"With an entire mountain range between Blanche and the Bleeding Tower?", Payton asks.

"But you were not born in the North, no? You were raised in the Palace, in Blanche", Atlas of Tenebris states and Payton almost feels his face draining of blood. How could he know what only a couple of the former light kings closest confidants had known?

The surprise must have been written on his face, because the other man leans back in his seat leisurely, with the slightest smug tugging of his lips.

"No Northern born would wear gloves in these latitudes. It must feel like summer so far in the South", the king explains "yet you took them when offered, because it of this silly Blanchan antic."

Payton could have slapped himself. Of course there is an ulterior notice behind that simple cordiality. He looks down on his hands in his lap, staring at the velvet around them as if it has betrayed him.
There is no use denying it now. So he straightens his back and looks Atlas of Tenebris straight in his dark, soulless eyes. Damn the dark king and his wickedness.

"I was raised in the palace, together with Reimund and his queen, Genevieve", Payton admits.

"Then why send you to the North, so far away from the battlefields in the West and the Capital he has to hold? Why send his rook where he is of so little use?"

"I am not entirely sure myself, but if I had to guess, he wanted to send me away, far away. The battlefield would have been the most obvious choice, but I doubt the queen would have supported that decision", Payton speaks carefully. It wasn't the entire truth, not everything of it, but it wasn't a lie. The dark kings wit was sharp like a polished blade, he had proven that earlier. The only way to avoid him digging up one secret was to give him another.
Genevieve.