Lady Of The Night

03| the colour of death

chapter 03: the colour of death
date edited: 01.01.23

         Everyone had been gathered in the grand hall; and each stood, scrutinizing the others with wide eyes and nervousness. The Federals had been sent for immediately. But as they would take over an hour to arrive, the duke had gathered his party and left two of his own personal guard to watch over the king's body. The aftermath of murder brought with it a hurricane that threatened to devour NaLuna whole. Lady Saroy had had the velvet drapes drawn shut and the maids hand out cups of hot tea, coffee and Heyrev.

Niklaus stood quietly in one corner of the room, staring into the hearth. His skin turned gold in the firelight, and shadows danced across his clenched jaw. His legs were crossed, back against the wall, and arms folded across his chest.

His father was dead.

The dark red blood splattered against the wall, the carnage in the room—it could not be erased from his mind. All he could see was red, all he could smell was copper, and all he could hear was whistling silence. A dizzying sensation overtook him, and he closed his eyes to keep the feeling at bay.

Meanwhile, the light scoured the walls; hungering for darkness. Alas, unless it swallowed everyone in sight, its appetite would go unsatiated.

He should be relieved. He was relieved. His father was a horrible man. And yet—

"This is treason!" came the voice of the Grand duke. Pacing up and down the hall with alarming alacrity, he ran his hands through his dusky hair. They were grey at the roots.

Niklaus watched him, uneasiness curling low in his belly. They had come to Valeria to talk of peace. To finally end the tensions—it had taken him almost a year to convince his father to even consider the Valerians proposal to leave the hexstate. While he saw the wisdom in separation, his father only sought control.

And Uncle Alonso was one of his father's biggest supporters.

"What is the meaning of this, Saroy?" The Duke of the Emerald Isles asked. He was a tall man, still in his prime. His dark features were rich, exotic; a stark contrast to his wife's pale white skin. Being the Duke of an archipelago was a difficulty in itself, but DeSilva had the advantage of his jewels. One he wielded well. Even worse, Naveen DeSilva's was one of the most aggravatingly, well developed negotiators in the hexstate area.

DeSilva would seduce his King with words of peace while slicing his throat with an uncut emerald.

"This was not done within my jurisdiction," came the voice of the Duke of Valeria. It was a strong one. One of a man who took control. One who wouldn't shy away from a fight.

Niklaus tried to imagine him stacking blocks of ice around the King's dead body. He watched Saroy's calculating eyes gaze sweep the men who stood in his study with alarming rapidity. Could he see him drawing those words on the headboard?

"And how can you assure me of that?" Demarques snapped. "How do I know that you didn't murder him in his sleep? How do I know that you didn't hire some mercenary to kill my King?"

His very intentional stress on the possessive pronoun caused the temperature in the room to plummet about twenty degrees into the negative district.

"I really think everyone must calm down." The Huang-Hau murmured. "Theatrics will only raise your blood-pressure, Demarques."

"Calm myself?" His response was followed by a glare that could cut through stone. "The King is dead, your highness. And someone with a penchant for art has decided to make it as gruesome as he can."