Crowned With Crime

Prologue

A large metal door of a gigantic, imposing building, with spires that touch the sky, opens. A man stands at the threshold, before him a long stone walkway upon which rests a sumptuous red carpet. On either side of the walkway, guards stand as straight as poles. They wear helmets and gleaming armor, holding halberds, their gazes fixed forward.

The man enters the dimly lit building, with beams of light streaming in through the stained glass windows on the ceiling and walls.

The grand door closes slowly, gradually shutting out the blinding light from the city behind him. A deplorable sight unfolds outside: the city is ablaze, black smoke billows in the distance, and the sounds of clashing swords and cries rise to the sky, mixed with the smoke.

The unknown man walks slowly and serenely along the carpet. The vast royal hall is ornamented with golden chandeliers on the ceiling and exceptional tapestries on the walls.

He finds himself before an imposing throne. A figure sits upon it, the queen of the city, dressed in her royal regalia. The dazzling light from the stained glass above reveals only her silhouette, without diminishing her grandeur.

Around the throne, in the center of the room, is a large wooden table with an even number of empty chairs on each side.

“Your Majesty,” says the captain of the royal guard, approaching the throne, “Duke Bercy, your memorialist, has arrived.”

The man follows the guard closely. The queen, with one hand resting under her chin, sits up straight. The light filtering through the stained glass above them illuminates this imposing figure, revealing the face of an aging woman.

She inclines her head slightly in acknowledgment, and the man bows deeply before her.

“Your Majesty, I would be honored to undertake this task. I have recorded the memoirs and final testimonies of many rulers, and yours will be the pinnacle of my career, Your Majesty.”

The elderly woman nods gently and smiles to herself.

“Monsieur Bercy, your services are always appreciated. I have heard much praise about you and your talents…” She pauses before continuing, “But even more about your discretion.”

She gestures for the man to approach.

“As you can see, I am old now. In the days of my youth and vigor, I ruled this city with an iron fist and ensured that the laws were upheld. But today, I feel my power waning, my authority diminishing, and my empire slipping away.”

The old lady is seized by a fit of coughing. The sound of her coughs echoes through the room, without causing the guards to flinch or blink.

“I don’t know how much time I have left, and I wish to make amends. I have always wanted to leave my mark on this world, and I have. Look around you; this city belongs to me and my family.”

The man says nothing. He recalls the images of the city flashing before his eyes. When he arrived, it was disfigured by fires, dozens of corpses lay in the streets, ignored by everyone, and everywhere there was only desolation and despair. The bandits ruled, while the guards turned a blind eye to their crimes. It was a city of suffering and a megalomaniac tyrant—a fine legacy indeed.

“I want to leave something to posterity beyond material wealth. As they say, behind every great man is a great woman, and behind every great woman is a father hungry for power.”

“Rise!” she commands with authority, without raising her voice.

The man complies, standing tall and proud, a noble look in his eyes.

“Shall we begin, my dear?” the queen asks.

“Whatever my queen dictates, I shall execute. I am your humble servant,” the man replies with a bow.

“Very well. Throughout my life, I have never sought to be a just person, nor a horrible one, for that matter. I have done everything within my power to obtain and retain power. I consider myself human, after all. I have no doubt that what follows will be harsh; there is no shortcut for those who seek power. Thus, I ask whoever reads the following lines not to judge me, nor my family. Because, between you and me, would you not be willing to make the greatest sacrifices to obtain power? My name is Castille Linderberg, and this is my story…”