Blood on the throne

The golden cups were full. Across the long tables of the great hall, three hundred soldiers crashed their heavy iron tankards together, spilling ale onto the rough oak planks. Large platters groaned under the weight of roasted boar, fresh bread, and dark, sweet wine. Men laughed until their chests shook, their voices booming against the high stone pillars. They were celebrating the final victory at Blackridge Pass, the battle that had finally ended a fifteen-year war.

At the center of the highest table stood Darius. He did not join the cheering. His gray eyes remained fixed on the main doorway of the hall. With a slow, heavy breath, he reached down and wiped a smear of dried enemy blood from his calloused knuckles. His armor was dented, covered in the gray dust of a three-day ride, but his heart felt lighter than it had in years. The war was over. He was finally home.

“Traitor!”

The single word slammed into the festive noise of the hall.

Darius did not hesitate. His right hand gripped the worn leather hilt of his sword before the echo even died. He spun on his heel, his heavy leather boot catching the edge of the bench. His golden cup slipped from his fingers, hitting the stone floor with a sharp clang. Dark red wine rushed across the clean white stones, pooling like fresh blood at his feet.

His eyes locked onto the man standing at the center of the floor. It was Lord Varak. This was the man who had shared his tent, divided his rations, and guarded his back through five bloody campaigns.

“You look me in the eye and say that again, Varak,” Darius said. His voice did not shake. It dropped into a low, dangerous rumble that cut straight through the sudden silence of the room. He stepped over the overturned bench, his boots splashing through the spilled wine. “My soldiers are still bleeding in your courtyard right now. Their wounds are still warm from the steel. Say that word to my face again.”

The laughter died instantly. Across the room, lords and ladies froze with their cups halfway to their lips. The long rows of torches along the stone walls flickered wildly in the sudden draft, casting long, dancing shadows across the pale faces of the crowd.

King Eldric rose slowly from his massive gold throne at the end of the raised dais. He did not look at Darius’s face. His cold eyes were fixed entirely on Darius’s white-knuckled grip on his sword hilt.

“Darius,” the king said, his voice dropping like heavy ice onto the stones. “Commander of the Iron Legion. The great savior of our realm. Or so the treasury books led us to believe.”

Darius felt the muscles in his chest tighten, his breath turning shallow. “What is this madness, Your Majesty? I rode three days straight without sleep to bring you the head of the enemy general. It is tied to my saddle in the courtyard right now. My men haven't even seen their wives yet.”

“Keep your mouth shut,” the king snapped, his face twisting into a cold sneer. He raised a single, pale finger toward the guards at the side door. “Bring the witness out.”

Two heavy guards dragged a man through the narrow side entrance. The man wore the blue cloak of Darius’s own personal vanguard. His face was a broken mess of dark purple bruises. His left eye was swollen completely shut, and his knees buckled, his boots dragging uselessly along the floorboards.

Darius’s grip tightened on his hilt until his knuckles popped. “Tomas?”

“Speak,” Varak ordered, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his own silver blade.

The young soldier trembled, his teeth clicking together loudly in the quiet hall. He did not look up at Darius. He kept his head down, his eyes fixed entirely on the floor stones. “Forgive me, Commander… they showed me the ledger… they already knew everything…”

“Tell the hall what you saw, boy,” Varak barked, stepping closer to the kneeling soldier.

Tomas choked, a thick string of bloody spit hitting the white stones. “Commander Darius… he was not in his tent the night before the battle. He went into the lower valley. Alone. He met with the enemy scouts. I saw the chest of gold change hands. He sold our northern flank to them. He wanted the Legion to die in the mud so he could march back and take the capital for himself.”

Darius let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a hollow, bitter sound that bounced off the dark wood of the ceiling. “I killed their general in the riverbed, Tomas. You stood five feet away from me and held my secondary shield. Look at my face right now and tell these people I took their gold.”

The boy kept his head down, his shoulders shaking as he wept silently into his hands.

“We have the letters, Darius,” King Eldric said, leaning over the gold railing of the dais. “Letters stamped with your personal wax seal. Documents detailing the transfer of our western farms to the southern lords. It is your handwriting. Your name. Your treason.”

Darius felt the skin on his face go tight and cold. “Show them to me. Put those papers in my hands right now, Eldric.”

Varak stepped directly between Darius and the throne, a small, cruel grin touching the corner of his thin lips. “Always the proud commander. Walking through these palace halls like you own the very stones. You thought you were the king’s favorite hound, didn't you?”

“I lived in the freezing dirt for fifteen years while you sat by this fire!” Darius drew his sword halfway out of its leather scabbard. The bright steel gave a loud, angry hiss.

Instantly, ten iron spears dropped from the guards surrounding him, their sharp tips stopping a mere three inches from his throat.

“Darius!”

The scream came from the eastern archway.

Darius turned his head, and the anger in his veins instantly turned to ice. Two heavy guards walked into the torchlight, their rough hands wrapped tightly around Lira’s wrists. Her long white dress was torn at the shoulder, revealing pale skin covered in dark bruises. Her hands were pressed hard against her rounded, pregnant belly. Her wide eyes were fixed entirely on him, full of dark terror.

“Take your hands off my wife,” Darius said. His voice was too quiet now, stripped of all volume. He took a heavy step toward her.

Thud.

A solid wooden spear shaft slammed into his ribs from the side. The brute force knocked the air from his throat in a ragged gasp, but he did not fall to his knees. He pressed his left arm against his injured side, his eyes burning as he stared at the guard holding her left wrist. “Touch her again and you die in this room.”

King Eldric watched them from the top of the marble steps, his face completely detached. “A beautiful sight. The loyal soldier and his little family. Tell me, girl, did you count the enemy gold pieces with him in the valley?”

“He saved your life twice!” Lira screamed, her body twisting violently against the iron grip on her arms. “Look at his face, you coward! He doesn't even know how to lie to a man!”

Darius pointed his blade straight at Varak’s chest. “A trial by steel. Right here. Let the gods pick the liar between us.”

Varak drew his own sword with a slow, ringing sound. “Gladly.”

The two blades met with a hard, deafening crack that echoed off the high walls. Darius drove forward with his full weight, his heavy iron shoulder slamming straight into Varak’s chest. Varak stumbled back, his boot catching the edge of a silver platter. Plates, grease, and meat scattered across the floor stones. Darius swung again, a brutal, two-handed downward strike that sheared the top completely off an oak chair.

A guard lunged from his left flank with a dagger. Darius did not even look. He drove his left elbow back with everything he had, striking the man's face. Bone cracked loudly. The guard dropped his weapon and hit the floor, clutching his ruined nose as blood gushed between his fingers.

“Stop it! Please, stop it!” Lira’s voice cracked, raw and screeching across the high ceiling.

King Eldric raised his right hand high in the air. “Enough of this.”

On the high wooden balconies above, twenty archers stepped into the torchlight. Their bows were pulled back to their ears, the strings taut. Every single black iron arrow was pointed straight down at Darius’s chest.

Darius stopped moving. His breath came in heavy, ragged gasps that shook his entire frame. He kept his sword raised, his eyes fixed entirely on the king. “Why?” he whispered. His throat felt dry, like ash. “Fifteen years of service. Why do this?”

The king walked down the final marble step. He stopped right in front of Darius’s blade, lowering his voice so the rest of the hall could not hear his words. “Your father’s bloodline, boy. The Shadow Blood. I thought it died with him in the mountains. I won't sleep at night with a monster leading my vanguard.”

Darius froze, his mind reeling. “My father died of the mountain fever.”

Before his lips could form another word, a heavy iron-bound club hit the back of his head from behind.

Crack.

The torches went white. Then black. Darius’s knees hit the stone floor with a dull thud. His fingers uncurled, and his heavy sword clattered away into the spilled wine. Five guards threw themselves onto his back, dragging his arms behind him. Heavy iron links locked around his wrists, biting deep into the bone.

“Darius!” Lira’s scream tore through the room as they pulled her toward the dark stairs of the north tower. “Darius!”

They dragged his heavy body across the wet floor toward the iron grates in the corner. Darius forced his head up, dark spit running from his chin. “I will take your head for this, Eldric! I swear it on the dirt!”

The king did not look back as they hauled Darius past the throne. His whisper was thin and cold. “She won't last the night. The bloodline stops.”

Darius roared, his boots kicking wildly against the floorboards, but a heavy boot slammed into his temple.

The world disappeared completely.

They unlatched the heavy floor grate.

He fell.

Down into the black pit, his chains screaming against the stone walls as his body plummeted into the deep nothingness below the palace floor.