Plague

Prologue

They say every star is a broken promise. 

If that were true I'd have thousands. 

Crimson stained the throne. 

The blood of a King and his Queen. 

Their bodies lay where he had left them, their eyes still filled with the anguish of their last moments. But even as they grew cold, he remained, watching them as if transfixed, an insane light dancing in his eyes. 

He should have fled, tried to get away where the soldiers wouldn't find him. But the assassin made no attempt to move. 

A dagger hung limply in each hand, dark flecks covering dark gloves. The King's crown lay at his feet, forgotten. Any normal assassin would have picked it up as a trophy or to claim the throne. But not him. He didn't need a crown to know he was King. 

It was his birthright. 

*** 

Soldiers pounded at the barred door of the throne room, their shouts panicked. Their commander stood solemnly behind them, his hands clasped behind his back. A young man stood at his shoulder, worriedly rubbing his hands together. 

"Mazin wouldn't- He'd never-" The boy's words were pained as he spoke to the commander. The older man shook his head, a nasty look twisting his already unpleasant features. 

"Treachery has always surrounded the throne. King's who've sat on it have been murdered and have vanished for as long as the kingdom has stood. It was only a matter of time-"

A scuff came from the boy. "Well my brother would never kill the king. Their has to be something else you missed."

The commander's expression didn't change as he stared at the door to the throne room. "Your brother killed the soldiers standing guard outside the throne room and locked himself inside. I can't see how it could have possible been anyone else," he snapped.

Their was silence between the pair for a moment as the boy tried desperately to find some other explanation. In the span of a single night his entire life had fallen to pieces. His parents were dead and the brother he had always looked up to and loved was responsible. What had happened to the prince who was always joking around and trying to duck responsibilities, the prince who had loved their parents. What had happened to his brother? 

Mazin couldn't be responsible. 

The door groaned as the soldiers smashed into it with a large battering ram, their own strained grunts sounding over the noise of wood hitting wood. 

Either way, it wouldn't be long before they had the truth.

***

The door flew inwards with a crash, sending pieces of intricately carved wood flying through the air. 

Soldiers spilled inwards like a white stream, swords drawn, surrounding the pair of raised thrones. 

Still he stood there, unmoving, his back turned towards the open door. The commander strode forward through his men, his boots clicking against the polished floor. The prince followed close behind him, eyes fixed on the shadowy figure of his brother.