Stormrider's Legacy

Chapter three: The Disaster

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the grand castle of Willowbrook. In the shadows of his private chambers, Prince Quinlan finalized his sinister plot. A dark bottle of wine lay on the table, its contents tainted with the deadly poison procured from the old witch.

Quinlan turned to his loyal adviser, Lord Darius, a malicious smile curling on his lips. "The time has come, Darius. Tonight, my father will drink to his demise, and the throne will finally be mine."

Lord Darius nodded, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "What is your plan, my prince?"

Quinlan picked up the bottle of wine, inspecting it with satisfaction. "Vaelan will deliver this wine to our father. He will be the unwitting pawn in our game. When the king dies, all suspicion will fall upon him."

Darius's lips twisted into a grin. "Ingenious, my lord. With Vaelan framed for regicide, none will question your ascension to the throne."

Quinlan chuckled darkly. "Indeed. Now, fetch Vaelan. It's time to set the plan in motion."

***

Vaelan found himself summoned to Quinlan's chambers. His elder brother greeted him with an uncharacteristic warmth, holding the bottle of wine in his hands.

"Ah, Vaelan," Quinlan said, his tone deceptively kind. "I have a favor to ask of you. Our father has been troubled lately, and I thought a fine bottle of wine might lift his spirits. Would you take it to him?"

Vaelan, ever eager to support his family, nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Quinlan. Anything to ease Father's burdens."

Quinlan handed over the bottle, a sly glint in his eye. "Thank you, brother. I knew I could count on you."

Unaware of the deadly plot, Vaelan took the bottle and made his way to their father's study. The corridors seemed unusually quiet, the castle shrouded in an unsettling silence.

King Aldric looked up from his desk as Vaelan entered, his face lighting up with a tired but genuine smile. "Vaelan, my son. What brings you here at this hour?"

Vaelan approached, presenting the bottle with a hopeful smile. "Quinlan thought this might cheer you up, Father. A fine wine to ease your worries."

Aldric's eyes softened. "How thoughtful of you both. Please, pour us a glass."

Vaelan uncorked the bottle and poured the rich, crimson liquid into two goblets, handing one to his father. They raised their glasses in a silent toast before Aldric took a deep sip.

Almost immediately, the king's face contorted in pain. He began to cough violently, clutching his throat as he fell to the floor. Vaelan dropped his glass in horror, rushing to his father's side.

"Father! What's happening?" Vaelan cried, panic rising in his voice.

King Aldric struggled to speak, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Poison... Vaelan... run..."

Before Vaelan could react, the king's body went limp, his final breath escaping in a shallow gasp. The room filled with a deafening silence as Vaelan stared in shock, unable to comprehend the tragedy unfolding before him.

Moments later, the door burst open, and Quinlan entered, flanked by guards. His face twisted into a mask of false grief as he surveyed the scene. "What have you done, Vaelan?" he demanded, his voice ringing with feigned outrage.

Vaelan looked up, tears streaming down his face. "I... I don't understand... Quinlan, I didn't—"

Quinlan pointed an accusing finger at his brother. "Guards! Seize him! He has poisoned the king!"

The guards hesitated, their loyalty torn between the two princes. Vaelan, realizing the trap he had fallen into, knew he had no choice but to flee. He bolted past the guards, his heart pounding as he ran through the castle's labyrinthine corridors.

Quinlan's voice echoed behind him. "Do not let him escape! He must pay for his crime!"

Vaelan's mind raced as he navigated the dark passageways, his only thought to escape and find a way to clear his name. He reached a hidden exit, one he had discovered during his childhood adventures, and slipped out into the night.

***

Vaelan ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his heart pounding in his chest. The castle walls faded into the distance, replaced by the dense, shadowy expanse of the Whispering Woods. Branches snagged at his clothing and scratched his face, but he pressed on, driven by fear and confusion.

Finally, he stumbled into a small clearing and collapsed under the shelter of a towering oak tree. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and he strained to listen for any sounds of pursuit. The forest was silent save for the whisper of leaves and the distant call of a night bird. It seemed the knights had given up the chase, at least for now.

Vaelan leaned back against the rough bark, trying to calm his racing thoughts. How did this happen? His mind replayed the scene in the study over and over—the wine, his father’s sudden agony, Quinlan’s arrival and the damning accusation. It felt like a nightmare from which he could not wake.

“Why, Quinlan?” he whispered to the darkness, his voice choked with grief and betrayal. “How could you do this to our father, to your own blood?”

His thoughts turned inward, and self-recrimination gnawed at him. If only he had known the wine was poisoned. If only he had tasted it first. He might have spared his father and uncovered Quinlan’s treachery. Instead, he had unwittingly delivered death to the man he loved most.

Tears welled in Vaelan’s eyes, and he buried his face in his hands. “I should have been more careful. I should have known.” The weight of guilt pressed down on him, as heavy as the night itself. “I should have saved him.”

But dwelling on what might have been would not change the past. Vaelan forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths. He needed to think clearly, to plan his next move. He could not allow Quinlan to get away with this heinous crime. His father’s last words echoed in his mind: "Run."

He knew he had to clear his name and expose Quinlan’s treachery. But how? Alone and branded a traitor, he had no allies, no resources. He would need to find those still loyal to his father, those who could help him reclaim what was rightfully his.

***

The following day, the castle was abuzz with the shocking news. King Aldric was dead, and Prince Vaelan was branded a traitor. The courtiers and nobles gathered in the throne room, where Quinlan, now cloaked in the guise of a grieving son, addressed them.

"My beloved father has been taken from us by the treachery of my own brother," Quinlan declared, his voice filled with righteous indignation. "But fear not, for justice will be served. As the rightful heir, I shall lead Willowbrook through this dark time and restore our kingdom's glory."

The nobles, unaware of the true depths of Quinlan's deceit, nodded in agreement. The throne was soon adorned with Quinlan's presence, his ambition finally realized.

Quinlan's eyes gleamed with triumph as he surveyed his kingdom. "The throne is mine," he whispered to himself. "And no one will dare challenge my rule."