Chapter Twenty-Nine- Salvation
The bastard prince finds solace upon the throne of his kin.
Days later, I find myself wishing my wounds would reopen. At least then the pain would have a shape. A boundary. Something I could cauterize. Thorne leaving has left me nothing but absence.
Lord Holt formally announced my ascension as Netherhelm’s new king. He reads from the decree while nobility, knights, and the upper class pack the throne room. My throne room.
“In the event that the King of Netherhelm is struck down with intentional violence, the individual responsible shall be recognized as lawful sovereign, effective the moment of the King’s death.”
This law, scribed by Xeusis, supersedes all claims of birthright. Though, previous birthright heirs should be recognized if they still draw breath. This is why Thorne wanted to keep Aleksander alive—he never would have let me rule without a fight.
“As this is Xeusis’s will, any and all resistance shall be treated as treason against the Crown and the Kingdom of Netherhelm.” He finishes reading the law.
Now, I—The Serpent of Netherhelm—sit upon the throne, residing over a kingdom I swore to bleed dry.
Funny how vows decay.
There are still lives, now bowing before me, which I intend to end.
I laugh at the irony, crossing my legs and balancing the crown upon my head.
Is this what Queen Ivy intended?
I glance over my shoulder to the veiled shadow that I’ve seen in my periphery the last few days. She glances up now and nods towards me respectfully, as if in thanks. For the man who hurt her and cursed her child now hangs lifeless from the rafters of what was once his throne room.
A sinister grin tugs at my mouth as I scan the room. My fingers tap the armrest of my throne while I contemplate how to fix this mess, and how to get Thorne Shadowfall back to me.
Word has reached me that he has a new name. A colder one.
He has officially been titled Thorne Cryovale, heir apparent to Frostguard. Whose King is terminally ill.
Two thrones.
Two duties.
A yawning trench of things we never got to say and the Wastelands bleeding to keep us apart.
Still, it is as he said. Duty may have him, but the truest parts of him are mine.