Kingslayer

Some laws of the world seem so deeply rooted in reality itself that we forget what change truly means. This forgetfulness leads some to justify the cruelty of their circumstances with the excuse of normalcy, maybe even bad luck while they wait for a miracle. But the Kingslayer was not one of those people.

Many of the lords and ladies present in the throne room today had initially doubted he was even human. To some extent, this absurd idea had merit. None who bore a Sealcycle of the Thirteen were entirely human anymore. Yet the motivations behind his unspeakable deeds stemmed undeniably from human origins.

Still, even now, as he stood in chains on the accused's platform, his once-regal robes of the royal guard now soiled with the filth and grime of the dungeon, there were those who refused to see him as a man. The sight of his long, unkempt black hair and his weary gray eyes made him look more like a beaten beast than the young man he truly was.

And so, no one could claim normalcy today. Nothing was as it once had been.

On the throne where the king should have sat, one of his three children now reigned. But it was not the rightful heir, nor even the eldest of his children. Instead, it was the usurper, now called queen of the realm, the youngest daughter.

The peace of the realm was shattered, with four of the Thirteen openly rebelling against the crown. Two of the Thirteen were dead, their lives claimed in a battle whose aftermath still marked the royal capital with plumes of smoke rising from the rubble.

Never before had there been a trial for one of the Thirteen, especially not a for a person who, depending on whom one asked, was either the Savior or the Kingslayer.

The throne room had been noisy at times. People whispered among themselves. Those who wished to remain unheard raised their sleeves or fans to their mouths, while others, wanting the Kingslayer to hear their insults and accusations, made no effort to be discreet.

At last, when the queen rose, an oppressive silence blanketed the hall. Her blue eyes swept over the assembly, and none dared meet her gaze until it settled on the accused. Fatigue tugged at his eyelids, yet his stare remained as intense as ever.

Without either of them yielding in their silent duel, the queen raised her hand and spoke: "Under the watch of the gods, this trial shall now commence. Judgment will be rendered under the laws of the gods. If anyone does not understand these laws, let them speak now. After this, there will be no interruptions until the accused receives his rightful sentence."

This invitation was purely ceremonial – no one would dare raise their voice against the queen.

"I have a question," said the Kingslayer, unsurprisingly. His voice was far too calm for someone who undoubtedly expected death. It was also unexpectedly gentle, contrasting sharply with his disheveled appearance.

The queen raised an amused eyebrow. The Sword, the man standing beside her, twitched at the corner of his mouth. The Kingslayer continued: "The laws of the gods decree that only the Scale may judge one of the Thirteen. Neither you nor anyone else in this miserably cold hall qualifies."

"You stand before the queen, murderer!" the Sword snapped. "You will address her with the proper title!"

"Which one?" the Kingslayer asked mockingly. "Spider? Usurper? Or... perhaps darling?"

"That's enough," the queen interrupted, forcing the Sword to restrain himself visibly. "Expect no manners from this man. No one ever has."

The Kingslayer inclined his head, a mix of gratitude and sarcasm.

The murmurs rose again in the throne room. The queen allowed her subjects a moment to voice their thoughts before quelling any doubts about the legitimacy of the trial. She turned to her left, where the Word stood, and asked: "Lady Ilya, what happens under the laws if the current Scale is unavailable?"

"Then the Crown judges, Your Grace," the Word replied mechanically, like a well-worn cog.

The queen nodded, satisfied, and addressed the accused again. "The Crown, then. Tell me, Kingslayer, who is the Crown?"

The Kingslayer's eyes narrowed. He shot the queen a glare so dark that some feared the chains on his wrists and ankles would not hold him.

After a tense pause, he seemed to calm himself, as if shedding an invisible mantle of tension.

"Unfortunately, that would be you," he finally said.

Why all this theater, then...

Even as the Kingslayer asked himself this question, he knew the answer. In the coming days, the realm would either hear of a traitor's execution or the birth of a martyr – and the queen could not afford the latter.

This trial was about persuasion. Would the lords and ladies, the subjects, and the remaining Thirteen endorse his death? Or would they join the rebellion?

The words spoken today could decide the fate of all. Yet neither the queen nor the Kingslayer betrayed the gravity of the moment. They even seemed to enjoy it.

The Crown smirked, leaning back into the throne and crossing her legs.

"Very well. Then may the gods hear us. If you wish to confess before the entire world learns of your deeds, do so now."

The Kingslayer also smirked, though his expression spoke more of disbelief and absurdity. It even seemed as if he rolled his eyes, earning yet another glare from the Sword.

I have nothing to confess, nor is this rabble the entire world. At least, not my world.

The queen continued undeterred. "The kingdom accuses you of murdering my father, the former Crown and King of the realm. Not only did you kill him, but you did so as a member of the King's Guard and as his future son-in-law. You are a traitor, a murderer, and a disgrace to the Thirteen."

The Kingslayer laughed suddenly, though the sound quickly turned into a cough, a visible reminder of his months in captivity. Still, he managed to sound amused.

"Is being a disgrace also one of the charges?"

"Yes," the queen replied with a grin. "Lord Belleret insisted on it."

The Kingslayer tilted his head, looking at the Sword. The man returned his gaze with stubborn hatred.

"Did he, now?"

His question went unanswered.

"Does the accused have anything of value to say?"

"Not much, Your Majesty," the Kingslayer began, "only that I am innocent."

The throne room erupted again, voices shouting over one another.

"Liar!"

"He couldn't have done it!"

"Hang him!"

"Silence!" the queen commanded, her voice steely. Not a single sound followed – not even a breath or the rustling of fabric. The Kingslayer raised his eyebrows.

That was the Seal of Command, he thought curiously. It seemed the new Crown was breaking her Sealcycle faster than he'd expected.

"You claim your innocence, yet we have witnesses who state otherwise."

"May I ask who these witnesses are?"

"You may not."

The smirk faded from the Kingslayer's face. After another pause, he spoke again, but not to the queen. Instead, he addressed the gathered nobles in the throne room.

"I did not kill the king. Believe me, I would have been the last person to do so. He saved my life – and lost his own in the process."

"You vile liar," spat the Sword. "The king would never have wasted the Seal on someone like you!"

"Am I supposed to have forced him?" the Kingslayer retorted indignantly. "The only thing forced here is your sword, still lodged up in your fucking ass!"

A few lords chuckled. The tale was all too familiar to many in the room. The Sword trembled with rage. "I should cut out your tongue for that!"

"And how, pray tell, would I confess without it?"

"You–"

"Lord Belleret," the queen interrupted sharply, "that is enough. We are not finished with the charges."

The Sword exhaled sharply, his head whipping toward the queen. His fury lingered for a moment before he forced it down with great effort – though not entirely successfully.

The Kingslayer smirked. "Good boy. Here's your treat."

"And you, accused," the queen said in the same measured tone, "have already answered my question. You will now remain silent. During our investigation into the king's murder, further charges came to light. Lady Ilya, if you would be so kind?"

The Word hesitated briefly, then unfurled a scroll and began to read. Her voice was steady at first, but grew quieter as she went on.

"The additional charges include robbery, identity theft, concealing a Sealcycle, unauthorized use of a Seal, abduction, royal abduction, assault, royal assault, defamation, arson, fraud, extortion, sexual coercion, denial of the gods, denial of the Thirteen, insubordination, and the murder of the Flame and the Love..."

At the mention of Love, a shadow of grief crossed her face. That same shadow touched the expressions of everyone in the hall, even the Sword seemed touched for a moment. Only the queen and the Kingslayer looked unaffected.

At least outwardly. It took every ounce of the Kingslayer's self-control not to turn the entire hall to ash. But he remained silent, letting the queen speak first. "Do you confess to these crimes?"

For a moment, the Kingslayer said nothing. His head hung low, his face obscured by his long hair.

"Have you nothing to say?"

Slowly, he raised his head. A smile played on his lips, but it did not reach his eyes.

"I must have set a new record, huh? Well, let's see... I did steal a lot, I suppose, but only from those who stole from me first. The identity theft? That's... complicated. I'd call it less theft and more a colossal misunderstanding. And half of those charges? Synonyms, just to make it all sound worse than it really is. But coercion? Seriously? Look, I know I'm no saint – I've been called worse – but that's even beneath me."

"Perhaps," the queen replied with a touch of amusement. "And to be honest, this entire trial would never have taken place for such... trifles."

Her gaze lifted, fixing on a particular man in the crowd. "Isn't that right?"

Then she turned her eyes to a woman. "After all, we'd all be in chains otherwise."

Several heads turned away from the queen's iron stare. The Kingslayer's was not one of them. He continued to meet her gaze as she pressed on.

"But killing the king and two of the Thirteen – now, that is too far, even for you." Her tone grew grave. "The Flame and the Love were of great importance to the kingdom. And good people, besides."

The Kingslayer's eyes widened. "The Flame was a good person? Have you forgotten– ah, never mind. You're pulling my leg, aren't you? Right, you always wanted it the hard way..."

"What I want, is justice. And the truth. The people want the truth."

"Oh, did the people say that? How many did you ask? Two?"

When the queen didn't answer his provocation he sighed.

"The truth, is it?" he said.

The queen nodded. "The whole truth."

The Kingslayer fell silent, tension filling the room like a stifling summer night.

I'm so tired of this charade...

He gave her them a broken smile.

"Well, the whole truth is that I never did anything I couldn't stand by. The truth is, I never touched the King or the Love – atleast, not in the way you think. The truth is, I was just a boy who wanted nothing more than to see the wonders of the world."

The hall listened intently. When he paused, the queen glanced at the Word. Lady Ilya shook her head, ashamed. The queen rubbed her temple and leaned back in her throne.

"You're rambling."

"It's a long story," the Kingslayer replied. "The beginning is as important as the end."

The Sword interjected suddenly. "Your Majesty, he's stalling for time. One of the Four Traitors could be on their way here. Surely they're in league with him!"

The queen considered her protector's words.

"Keep it brief," she commanded.

"Brief?" the Kingslayer asked incredulously. "And how, exactly, do you propose I manage that?"

"Why not start with the relevant part? Your meetings with the Thirteen, your time in the King's Guard... do you need a demonstration, or do you simply not understand the word?"

A faint chuckle rippled through the room. The Kingslayer blinked.

"Fine. Brief, then. My first encounter with one of the Thirteen was at seven years old. He poisoned my heart on a whim. At nine, I ran away from home. Four years later, I met the Flame for the first time, and shortly after, I became one of the Thirteen myself. At seventeen, I joined the royal academy – where, by the way, the identity misunderstanding occurred – and spent five years there. At twenty-two, I killed the Flame. At twenty-four, I was called both the Savior and the Kingslayer. Anyway, my heart's fine now, thanks for asking."

He raised his voice.

"Short enough? Good. Now decide: execute me here and now and watch half the kingdom rise against you, or give me the time I deserve and hear my story. Because I'm done dancing for you."

Suddenly, the Kingslayer seemed entirely different. The lords recoiled, and the Sword's hand instinctively went to his hilt. The Word held her breath, and the queen leaned forward, one hand gripping the rest of the throne.

This was the man who had changed the kingdom forever.

The Magic.

As the icy silence lingered, the queen finally spoke. "Very well. I will listen. And when you are finished, I will render my just verdict."

Some doubted the Kingslayer would take the offer seriously. But he closed his eyes, as though searching the depths of his soul.

[Sixth Seal: The Seal of a Final Miracle]

He took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the chains and the aching desire for wine and a bath.

[We write the laws that bind us, build the cages that hold us, and define the miracles we seek. But a miracle loses its wonder the moment magic becomes tangible. You seized it with an iron grip. And so, to witness one last real miracle, only one thing remains.]

[Let go of the magic.]

When he opened his eyes, he was ready.

"My first friend once told me the best stories are always lies. A pity for you, because this story is no lie. It's the story of Corin, son of a drunken bastard. For the kingdom, it might have been the day of the cataclysm. But for me, it was just another day in the mud..."