Reign

27. Broken Crown

Note: Hello everyone! A thank you is not enough to show you my gratitude for all the comments and the love. My only way to reciprocate is a good chapter. This one is long enough, so be patient.

This chapter is dedicated to @Zazelle, because I know he will like it. 28 to nini_loveU and 29 to @TheWizardGuy. Whoever else wants a dedication, please PM me. @Zazelle this is for you. I appreciate the support all this time. You are a strong man, full of light and so talented. 

I hope you enjoy it!!!!  Oh, and listen to the song on the left.

     27. Broken Crown

I will not speak of your sin
There was a way out for Him
The mirror shows not
Your values are all shot

But oh my heart, was flawed I knew my weakness
So hold my hand consign me not to darkness

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down
I'll never wear your broken crown
I took the road and I fucked it all away
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace

But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate

Broken Crown, Mumford and Sons

The harsh sound tore the thick winter air into shreds, as the Porsche Boxter GTS was crossing the narrow gravel pathway. Its red shiny color and its speed made it look like a furious fiend ready to attack his prey. At that certain moment, it was possible that the driver was more vexed than a demon taken straight from hell. 

He needed a cigarette. He definitely needed a cigarette right now, although he had quitted this habit a long time ago. Now, he had only one packet in a drawer in his office and used it only in hard times. One when his grandfather passed away, one more when he learned that he had to share the throne with an unknown brunette girl, and a last one, when that girl abandoned him. And now, he wanted one more for the sake of the very same girl.

The grip on the expensive leather steering wheel tightened. The situation was more complicated than expected. The Queen was accused of many things and treason against the crown, bribe and embezzlement were amongst them. After a "thorough investigation," the comptrollers of the revenue office had discovered that the Queen had suspicious transactions with multinational companies. They also claimed that the eighteen billion she had brought as investments when she returned from France, was a way to trick the Redmonian people.

The brakes of the minimal but luxurious vehicle shrieked in front of the main gate of Clayton Palace, the official residence of Andrew Corterel. The King exited his car and banged the door furiously behind him.

"Where is he?" he barked angrily at the butler that was standing with formality in front of the heavy staircase. The man only pointed at the backside of the building and Alexander started treading briskly towards the gardens, where he noticed a few figures standing on the lawn.

His father was playing golf, his favorite sport, with two of his friends, as like nothing had happened. Alexander paced even faster to meet them. Every minute was precious. His jaw tightened and his teeth clenched together in anger. He scowled at a servant who was holding a tray full of beverages and at the two women, a blond and a ginger one, certainly models or escorts, who were dressed as golf caddies. When the women noticed his presence, they stared at him with rakish eyes. He scowled again and coughed to make his appearance conspicuous.

"Baron Jameson, Earl Peters," he nodded sternly and simply nodded negatively, as the men invited him to join the game. "I would like to speak to my father immediately."

He never liked Clayton palace. If that land property passed to him, the first thing he was going to do was sell it. As a child, he was afraid of the cold stone walls, the heavy curtains, and especially the baroque portraits, which seem to watch his every single move. Even now, twenty to twenty-five years later, a chill was running through his spine, as he was waiting for his parent in the dim-lit living room. The atmosphere in there was asphyxiating. Another butler offered him a drink, but he denied it. He needed clarity of mind.