The Prince's Obsession
As time passed, a few other soldiers shared their stories of how they came to serve under Elara. Occasionally, a soldier would bid the group goodnight and head off to sleep. When one of the last soldiers finished recounting his tale, Maximillian and Adam rose from their seats, making their way back to their tent in search of a few hours of much-needed sleep.
The camp was now quieter, the embers of the fire casting a soft glow over those who remained. As Maximillian and Adam walked, the events of the evening replayed in their minds
Reaching their tent, Maximillian sighed with contentment. "Well, that was quite the night, wasn't it?"
Adam nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Indeed, it was. Ronan's story was something else."
Maximillian chuckled and, while undoing the flap of the tent, remarked, "Not only Ronan's story, Adam. I think you forgot what happened with Elara." He continued with a grin, "But the way you managed to divert the topic of your 'noble' encounter was impressive."
Adam grinned sheepishly, a flush creeping up his cheeks. "Just glad it worked. Can't risk them finding out the truth. And please, let's never speak of it again."
Inside the tent, the warmth from the remnants of the earlier fire lingered. Maximillian and Adam settled onto their makeshift beds, exhaustion finally catching up with them.
"Think you'll ever get used to this life?" Adam mused aloud, staring up at the canvas ceiling of their tent.
Maximillian shrugged. "Who knows? But one thing's for certain—as long as we're in it together, mate, nothing can get too bad."
With a nod of agreement, Adam closed his eyes, the sounds of the camp fading into the background. Despite the uncertainties that lay ahead, the bond between them and their fellow soldiers offered a sense of solidarity in the face of the unknown.
Outside, the camp settled into a hushed rhythm, the night enveloping them in its quiet embrace, as Elara's warband rested.
Inside Linus's chambers, there was still activity as he hurled daggers across the room, each one thudding into the wall. He muttered to himself, "The crown belongs to me," and a soldier stationed at the door dutifully responded, "Yes, my liege."
Linus continued his rant, his voice growing louder with each word. "Only I deserve the crown, only I deserve the throne!"
The soldier echoed, "Yes, my liege."
Linus's anger intensified as he declared, "Nobody has done more for this country, for this kingdom, than me, the first prince!"
Again, the guard affirmed, "Yes, my liege, you are right."
Linus's frustration erupted into a shout as he flung another dagger forcefully. "NOBODY except me is fit to be king! Not my brothers, and especially not that slut Elara!"
The guard, unwavering, reassured his liege, "Yes, my liege, you are right."
The tension in the chamber hung thick, the echo of Linus's anger reverberating off the stone walls.
Linus's rage reached a boiling point as he turned abruptly toward his soldier, his eyes blazing with fury. Without warning, he hurled a dagger directly beside the soldier's face, the blade embedding deep into the wall. The soldier stood frozen, unmoving, as if carved from stone.
"You are dismissed. I wish to sleep," Linus commanded, his voice laced with barely contained rage.
The soldier, still in shock, nodded quickly and hastily exited the room, leaving Linus alone in his chamber, the only sound now the heavy silence punctuated by the faint flicker of candlelight.
As he stood alone in his chamber, Linus clenched his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his skin, drawing blood. His voice, hoarse with fury, echoed off the walls.
"Why did she come back already? Why didn't she die? Why was Zangenberg so useless?" Linus's words dissolved into a guttural scream of pure rage, the sound reverberating through the empty room.
After what seemed like an eternity of tumultuous emotions, the frenzied screams eventually subsided into an eerie silence within Linus's dimly lit chambers. His agitation seemed to dissipate with each piece of clothing he shed, revealing the unblemished expanse of his cool-toned skin beneath.
Linus approached the tall, arched window that overlooked the sprawling city enveloping the palace. Beyond the intricate designs of the window's frame, the glow of distant streetlamps and the flickering of hearth fires in the city's dwellings painted a mesmerizing canvas of evening light. Shadows danced across the cobblestone streets, a tapestry woven by the ebb and flow of the populace below.
His silver hair glinted faintly in the dim illumination of the room as he stood there, naked, his eyes fixed upon the cityscape. A smirk, twisted with a mixture of entitlement and desperation, tugged at the corners of his lips. "This... all of this will belong to me, only to me," Linus muttered, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.
His gaze traveled over the rooftops, past the towering spires of cathedrals and the cascading balconies of grand estates, towards the edge of the capital where massive city walls stood. Each building, each street, bore witness to centuries of history and power, a tapestry woven with ambition, betrayal, and legacy.
As Linus lingered by the window, a cool breeze swept through the chamber, rustling the curtains and carrying with it the distant sounds of the city—a chorus of voices, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, the faint melody of a street musician's lute. The city's heartbeat pulsed beneath the night sky, a constant reminder of its vitality and endurance.
With a creeping smile etched upon his features, Linus whispered to himself, "Nobody has the right to own this except me."
Slowly, he turned away from the window, the silver strands of his hair catching the last remnants of fading light. With measured steps, he crossed the room, his bare feet padding softly against the floor. His expression, a chilling mix of determination and obsession, betrayed a mind consumed by visions of dominion and supremacy.
Reaching the edge of his bed, Linus sank down onto the plush mattress, the cool silk sheets a stark contrast against his heated skin. The city's nocturnal symphony continued outside, a backdrop to his unsettling reverie. As he reclined against the pillows, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling, Linus murmured once more, "This kingdom... this capital... it will all belong to me."
With an air of ominous determination, Linus extended his hand into the air, fingers splayed wide as he muttered under his breath, the words dripping with venom. "I... will destroy... everyone that dares to take this away from me," he growled, his voice resonating with chilling conviction.
His hand curled into a tight fist, knuckles white with fervor, and a bead of blood formed where his nails dug into his palm once again. As the crimson droplet fell, its trajectory casting a vivid arc against the dimly lit chamber, Linus's laughter erupted, reverberating off the stone walls like a haunting echo.
He brought his bloody hand to his face, the warm, metallic scent filling his nostrils as he closed his eyes, relishing the taste of his own resolve. The faint glow from the flickering torches outside the window cast eerie shadows across his features.
As the first prince succumbed to sleep, his mind a cauldron of dark ambitions, every player in the succession war began their own journey into the realm of dreams. The moon, a silent observer in the celestial expanse, cast its luminous gaze upon the land below, illuminating the intricate tapestry of their intertwined fates.
From its vantage point above, the moon seemed to mock them, its silvery light dancing across the landscape like a celestial judge. It bore witness to their clandestine schemes, their desperate maneuvers to reclaim control over their destiny. Yet, to the moon, their efforts appeared feeble and insignificant—a mere spectacle in the grand theater of cosmic forces.
As Linus drifted into slumber, enveloped in visions of conquest and dominion, the moon's radiance bathed the world in an ethereal glow, casting long shadows that whispered of hidden motives and unspoken truths. And so, under the watchful eye of the moon, the stage was set for a peaceful night.
As the moon completed its nightly vigil, gracefully passing across the land, the sun began its ascent on the horizon. Its gentle rays painted the world in a morning hue, first touching the fields and gradually climbing the ancient walls of the castle. The sunlight filtered through the windows of humble peasant dwellings, casting warm, golden beams that awakened the countryside and capital to the promise of a new day.
Soon, the sound of drums echoed through Elara's camp, accompanied by shouts urging everyone to prepare for movement without dismantling the camp entirely.