Stalemate | A Rise To Power

𝘌𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥

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Ethelind observed the king from a distance. He was dressed in a black doublet with carved silver buttons and wore a simple gold band nestled in his glossy curls. He had ordered a new crown made for him after Lucian's didn't fit his head, but it was still big, falling onto his forehead slightly. She did not know why he had called for her, and he hadn't said a word since she had entered. They were in the Observatory Tower, named for its large windows overlooking the castle walls as far as the distant town of Folkridge, and Landon was standing with his back to her, his eyes outside a window and his fingers lying on the sill. It was the first time he had asked to see her since Kael's death.

Ethelind hated him with a burning passion.

She saw the dead, bleeding bodies of tortured prisoners of war being secretly carted out to be burnt at night. She saw how easily he slipped into his position, as if he had been born for the role. No one had heeded the Black Archer's words: he must not be king.

Had she known him in the past? But it didn't matter. The Black Archer had ended up dead on the floor with Landon's knife embedded in her throat soon enough.

Landon was an unpredictable player in the game, and Ethelind hated things that were out of her control.

Kael had taken over Lucian's castle unfairly, yet Landon was starting over, rebuilding the Shadowhart image in his own way. Ethelind could see the calculation behind his every move: he wasn't doing it out of the good of his heart, but to gain more power and trust.

Perfect little king, she wanted to spit at him. Of course, no one can believe that someone so young and handsome could be so conniving and heartless.

When he had first arrived, the people around him had been wary. They had let their guards drop since then, believing that Landon was the easier of him and his father.

They were wrong.

It was only a matter of time before he had them in his grasp and feasted on that fear again. He was clever; biding his time, waiting for the right moment to impose a firm fist of rule over his people.

Landon never called for her, letting her become a living ghost. Ethelind had tried to see Audrey in her chambers but had been barred from entering by the two guards outside her door, both unyielding.

It would be so easy to run a sword through his back, she thought as she looked at Landon, then remembered how quickly his knife had embedded itself in the Black Archer's throat. Did he have a knife hidden somewhere? It was very likely.

"You called for me," she remarked, finally breaking the silence from where she sat on a plush chair, facing him.

He waved a dismissive hand. "My father made you his adviser. So, advise me."

"You need to gain supporters among your people," Ethelind told him.

"They already support me." Landon's expression was carefully guarded as he turned to look at her. "My tutor once told me that a dictator uses opportunity. Like Edward Shadowhart when he took advantage of the Development Years to seize power and split the country between his brothers. My father let the North suffer in his obsession with his own power. I am giving them money to plant, to build, to create. You don't see me as a good person, but I don't see how I'm doing anything wrong." He gave her an innocent smile.

Ethelind stretched out her legs lazily. "Edward Shadowhart took control with good intentions. I don't know if I can say the same thing for you."

He tilted his head to the side, assessing her with something resembling curiosity. "Carry on."