Behind the Royal Mask

Light of the Future

The path through the woods was silent, save for the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chirping of birds. Alaric's horse moved steadily, but his mind was racing. Every thought seemed to circle back to Beatrice— the poison coursing through her veins. His stomach twisted with the weight of her actions, the reality that they had only days to make everything right.

The tall trees parted as they neared their destination—a lonely watchtower, its silhouette dark against the overcast sky. A pale light filtered through the clouds, casting an eerie glow over the place. 

A vigil member guided him, her hooded cloak blending seamlessly with the shadows. She didn't speak as she led him past the high stone walls and through a narrow opening in the gate. They dismounted their horses and entered the watchtower - the Fort.

Inside, a dozen or more Vigil members stood in shadowed corners, their faces hidden beneath the hoods of their cloaks. Eyes narrowed, they watched Alaric's every move. A feeling of distrust lingered in the air, a tension that seemed to weigh down on him. 

They knew why he was here—they knew about Beatrice's poisoning, about the week they had left to fix everything—and they weren't pleased.

At the far end of the small room stood Donovan, the leader of the Vigil. He was tall, his broad frame imposing even without the weight of armor. His face was worn with age, but his eyes—cold, calculating, and full of years spent leading the Vigil—stayed locked on Alaric.

He stepped forward, the creaking floorboards betraying his weight as he approached Alaric with slow, deliberate steps.

"You must be Alaric," Donovan's voice rumbled, low and unyielding. His gaze scanned Alaric's face, as though measuring him for something Alaric couldn't fathom. "A prince who sat idle while the people starved. And now, you come to us... for what?"

Alaric's jaw tightened. The accusations stung, but he didn't flinch. He stepped forward, meeting Donovan's gaze, refusing to look away.

"I'm here for the kingdom. For the people. For Beatrice," Alaric said, his voice steady despite the fury that burned in his chest. "She... she did what she thought was necessary. I won't let her suffer for nothing."

Donovan's gaze softened, just slightly, but it was still a look of calculated skepticism. "She poisoned herself for you, thinking you'd be the answer. Tell me, Alaric... why should we trust you?"

Alaric's chest tightened, but he didn't let the words cut him. His eyes locked onto Donovan's, the weight of the leader's challenge settling between them like a gauntlet thrown on the floor.

"I'm not asking for your loyalty just because of my bloodline," Alaric said, his voice firm, resonating with the raw intensity of his belief. "I'm here because this kingdom is broken. And because the people are suffering. I want to change that."

Donovan's lips twitched in a humorless smile, but his eyes never wavered. "That sounds familiar," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

"Your father." Donovan said, surprising Alaric. "He was a good ruler and the times were not this bad. He had promised he would bring prosperity to this kingdom and he tried to do so, until he died. When you inherited the throne, we thought you will fall into his footsteps but..."

Alaric gulped, the words hitting him hard. 

"I was wrong," he admitted. "I was a coward and couldn't do anything."

Donovan's eyes narrowed, studying Alaric's every movement as if searching for signs of weakness or deceit. The air between them crackled with the weight of the past and the choices that had brought them here. For a moment, the silence hung heavy, thick with the tension of unspoken truths.