𝗶𝗰𝗲 & 𝗱𝗶𝗿𝘁 - 𝑅𝐸𝐷 𝑄𝑈𝐸𝐸𝑁

#𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗧𝗪𝗢 - 𝘈𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘦

The punishment for treason is execution. That is the agreement that two of the three men reach. And Maven, the boy pushed off his pedestal, stands before the divine; chained and quiet, he keeps his ice blue eyes on the throne. On the boy on the throne.

"And what will you do, Cal?" His voice does not echo, but rings in the council's ears all the same. His gaze doesn't waver, but his body betrays him. His chest trembles with every breath, like it's constricting and suffocating. No one seems to notice. Except Mare.

She watches him. The dethroned king. As stoic and focused as he attempts to be, she can see the desperateness etched on his sharp features. She knows. She knows his mother is screaming in his ears, commanding him to be strong 'till the end. No matter how beaten, how tired he is-- Maven Calore cannot yield. Even in death, Elara still paints her son as a failure.

Cal parts his lips, a start of a sentence barely forming at the tip of his mouth. But his thoughts are never spoken into existence.

A boy, no older than twelve, bursts into the throne room. Almost immediately, Cal shoots up in his seat. He glares at Maven, whom he expects to be smirking or resisting. But Maven simply stares, mouth semi-agape. Mare places a hand on Cal's arm, shaking her head.

"This wasn't Maven." And she hates herself for knowing that with so much certainty.

Premier Davidson slowly rises, motioning the boy forward.

"Right you are, Mare. The boy's with me."

"Thomas?" Maven's voice is that of a child's. A pained, confused whisper that only Mare seems to hear. Seems to understand. Her brown eyes watch as Maven's exterior fails him. He falls. He's on the floor, weak. The walls built up by his mother are deteriorating before their very eyes. Maven was not prepared. The rug has been swept from under his feet yet again, and this time, Elara is not there to control the damage.

"Where are the guards?" Davidson has the boy halt in front of him.

"I had to outrun 'em! They wouldn't believe me!" He pants, rubbing at his throat. "They said they were expecting someone older."

"Can someone please inform the court of what is going on?" Anabel scoffs, appalled by the sight of a sweaty, prepubescent red child.

Davidson ignores the old Queen's request. Instead, he locks eyes with Cal. Nodding with understanding. And suddenly, Cal is desperate too.

"Is this him?" The new king questions.

"He is not of Montfort, but yes. It is him. The first, the only."

Maven looks at Mare, grimacing. In another world, in another life-- she would've ran to him. Ran and consoled him. But now, all she can do is sit up and watch. Painfully watch as he burns into a pile of ash.

"What's your name?" She does Maven this one small favor by asking.

"Theo." He responds, grinning up at her. Such a natural display of childlike innocence. "But I heard him. I know who he thinks I am." And his demeanor changes completely.

"I'm not Thomas." Theo turns to Maven. He's fearless and bold as he steadily makes his way to the distressed prince. And Maven, oh Maven can barely keep track of his own thoughts. His mother is screeching, grinding his ears together. And he should focus, he should listen. But that boy has the same eyes, the same grin, the same freckles. It's alarming, to say the least. "But if we're thinking of the same one... the kid-soldier that died in the fire... is-is that who you're talking about?"

Maven feels as though the air has been knocked out of him. There's such a hot, searing pain in his chest. He feels like a powder-keg on the verge of exploding. The young boy, Tho-Theo, sits in front of Maven, just a few feet away with legs crossed over one another. He doesn't recoil at the proximity between them. It makes Maven feel worse. His throat tightens, only allowing for a puff of breath to escape.