Heir

Chapter 3, Scene 9

It was dark when Prince Kylian arrived at the city of Highcastle. The city was lit by a thousand torches which were reflected in the calm waters of the Adalene River. The city gates had been closed at sunset, but Kylian showed his signet ring at the guard house, and the wide doors swung open just enough to let him through. He galloped up the streets on his midnight-black stallion. They were mostly clear at this time of night, apart from the occasional vagrant and those making their way home late from the public houses. After identifying himself again at the gates of Highcastle Keep, he gained entrance to the king’s fortress. Kylian went straight to his father’s chambers in the east wing.

“How is my father?” Kylian asked the guard who stood watch just outside the king’s bedchamber.

“Milord,” the soldier hesitated just a moment, “King Caiden is dead.”

Kylian’s expression had already been grim, but it darkened even further at the news. He had expected as much, but he had really hoped to arrive before his father passed away. Stepping past the guard, Kylian unceremoniously pushed the doors of his father’s bedchamber wide open. All of the candles in the bedchamber had been extinguished, but the torchlight from the corridor reached his father’s bed, where his body still lay composed. With three quick strides, Kylian was by the bedside, looking down at his father’s lifeless face. He only needed a moment – just enough to confirm the news with his own eyes – then he abruptly turned and left.

Kylian moved like a dark, brooding storm in the form of a man through the halls of Highcastle Keep. He walked with long, purposeful strides up and down the corridors. He was going nowhere in particular, but you wouldn’t have thought so by the look of him. Guards watched with baited breath as he stormed past. A maid sunk into the shadow of a column when he came by. Kylian finally stopped when he had come to a dead end where the only exits off of the corridor would lead to empty guestrooms. At the end of the corridor stood a marble bust on a stone pedestal. He believed it was of his great grandfather. In a fit of rage, he seized the sculpture and threw it to the floor. It hit the stone pavement with a crash and broke into three pieces. He stood over it, seething, wishing he could stomp it into dust.

Kylian finally looked up from the broken statue when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. It was his uncle Balderik, the Steward of Highcastle. The older man approached with measured steps, exercising due caution, but not betraying any fear of his nephew’s dark mood.

“My dear Kylian, I am so sorry for your loss.” Balderik’s voice managed to be warm and soothing, though barely more than a whisper. Kylian stood, silently watching his uncle move closer, forcing his anger to bleed away. When he had finally reigned in his rage, his whole body began to tremble violently, as tears pushed free of his eyes. Balderik’s arms were around him to steady him.

“There, there, My Dear Boy.” Balderik whispered. “I know. I know.”

Kylian found himself clinging to his uncle. The two men stood together like that for a while, until Kylian could cry no more. Then the prince slowly pulled away.

“Did he die peacefully?” Kylian asked.

“Yes. He died in his sleep.”

“And when is the coronation to be?”

“That’s hard to say.” Balderik spoke hesitantly.

“Why?” Kylian was surprised.

“Your father failed to name an heir.” His uncle explained. “We have no idea which son to crown.”

Kylian felt all of the strength go out of his legs. He took two faltering steps backward and braced himself against a wall. Deirdra’s words of warning, her vision of the future, replayed in his mind – the kingdom without a king, divided, and vulnerable to an invader. It might very well happen, he thought.

“My brothers, do they know? Are they here? What has been done?” The questions spilled out, one after another. Kylian’s mind was racing.

“Your older brothers are all here. They were discussing the matter just this afternoon. They seem divided on the situation. I fear a resolution will not come soon.”

“And while they fight over the throne, our kingdom will fall apart.” The prince bemoaned.

“Now, now.” Balderik consoled. “I wouldn’t go so far as to predict such woe. Everyone is still upset by the loss of the king. Perhaps tomorrow, cooler heads will prevail.”

“Yes. You’re right. I hope you’re right.” Kylian tried to calm himself. He had to remain objective if he was going to accomplish any good.

Balderik put his hands on Kylian’s shoulders.

“You know, more than once, my sister expressed to me her hope that you would one day be king.” He confided.

Kylian considered that statement for a moment. His chin dropped to his chest, defeated.

“Thank you, Uncle Balderik, but my mother is dead. And now, so is my father. They’re both gone – forever.”