27 #3
“Yes… I still don’t understand how he’s here.” Tolgan stares from Cordall’s picture back to Vawn.
“Cordall can explain it to you. Use small words,” I advise the artist. “And hurry, because I’m sure the prince would like to get this bastard into a cell.”
“A cell?” Tolgan’s voice rises with panic. “You can’t touch me. I’m the son of a noble house. I have allies, resources, guards… parents.”
He glances around the room, seeing that every Redeemer has been bound, subdued, and unmasked.
Vawn turns slowly and stalks toward the throne again. Each measured step of his makes Tolgan cringe lower in his seat.
“Vawn, my beautiful prince—we’re friends,” Tolgan begs. “So many good memories. Surely that is worth something…” But his words fade as he meets Vawn’s gaze.
Those eyes do not belong to a merry, debauched prince. They’re the eyes of a king, heartsick and betrayed, carrying the weight of two nations. When he speaks, his voice carries all the rage of grief.
“You see Renfrow, lying dead on the floor there?” He points to his former bodyguard, and Tolgan’s gaze follows the gesture.
“That is your fate. I will serve it myself. If you showed any true remorse, I might spare you, but you’ve been sitting on my father’s throne playing king while your puppeteer chased me through my own kingdom, trying to capture me and kill the woman I love. ”
“The woman you… what?” Tolgan’s lip trembles. In this moment, he is nothing but a selfish, spoiled child, shallow of heart and weak of will. The pawn of a greater and more vicious man.
“Vawn,” I say quietly. “Is he worth it?”
Vawn whirls on me, his eyes sparkling with tears. “This fool smiled in my face while plotting the death of everyone I love. Do not try to take my vengeance from me. I need it. I need him gone.”
His voice is shaking. He’s about to shatter in front of everyone, both enemies and allies.
I take his arm and pull him closer, angling him so that his back is to most of the soldiers in the room.
“I hear you,” I say in an undertone. “Remember what I once told you, about saving the grief for later? You are the King ascendant. Act like it. I know you can.”
I place my hand against his chest, holding his gaze, and I breathe in slowly. He does the same, nodding, blinking back the tears. His jaw hardens and his gaze turns to unbreakable ice.
When he speaks again, his head is high, his voice clear. “Let all bear witness to the treachery of the usurpers, Vris Renfrow and Tolgan Occidell, as I reclaim the throne that is rightfully mine, as the third son of King Ralyf, last scion of House Molloi. Do you witness?”
“We witness,” respond the loyalists, and the Tularesk soldiers echo the words. Behind them, in one of the archways, I spot Lady Kaenan, accompanied by a group of her own people.
Heim Cordall answers too, standing by a pillar where he has a good view of the Prince, the throne, and the cringing man upon it.
I have no doubt this exact tableau will be magically replicated by Cordall’s hand, then sold to a gossip chain and disseminated throughout Belavrin.
I don’t begrudge him the money he’ll make from it. He deserves every coin.
Vawn walks over to Renfrow’s body and retrieves the sword he left beside it. He takes off his cloak, revealing a sleeveless tunic and strong, bare arms. He’s wearing the bracer and the enchained rings I bought him in Zeletas, and he looks taller than ever as he strides back to the throne.
Tolgan squirms and cowers, babbling incoherent pleas.
“Let this be a testament to the kind of king I wish to be.” Vawn sets the blood-slick tip of the sword against Tolgan’s chest. “I will begin my reign as I plan to continue it… with mercy and with justice, thinking not of myself and my own needs, but of this kingdom and its people.” He tips Tolgan’s chin up with the flat of the sword.
“Therefore, Tolgan Occidell, I remand you to the custody of the Lady Everil Kaenan, whose husband was killed by your order. She will take you back to Anyssir Castle, where you will be imprisoned as long as she sees fit, and treated as well as you deserve. Now, get off my throne.”
Two soldiers pull Tolgan upright and drag him out of the room. Vawn brushes off the cushioned seat, then lowers himself onto his father’s throne.
My heart is blazing, bursting with pride and with love for him. I drop to one knee, lifting my left arm, my knife still clasped in my hand. “Long live the king!”
The chant echoes around the room, continuing and swelling long after I’ve stopped saying the words. Lady Kaenan shouts them louder than anyone.
There is so much to be done… reversing the rumor we spread, heralding the return of the rightful king, and stabilizing the kingdom, not to mention proclaiming and upholding the terms of the contract with Tularesk.
But for a moment, none of that matters, because with a smile like a sunbeam, my prince leaps off his throne, lifts me to my feet, and bends his face to mine for a kiss that sends the room into a frenzy of joyful cheers.