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Episode 4: The Gathering Storm
Author: Davidwise
last update2025-02-09 07:07:53

The kingdom buzzed with the usual anticipation of the royal parade, but in the shadows, darker forces prepared to strike. In the halls of the palace, Lucian wrestled with the burdens of duty, while beyond the walls, his enemies set the stage for his downfall.

A Meeting of Killers

The tavern on the outskirts of the kingdom was a place of filth, secrecy, and unspoken rules. The kind of place where eyes were kept down, and lives could be bought and sold over a drink.

At a dimly lit corner, Jagaban and his men gathered around a wooden table, their faces hidden beneath their hoods. The candlelight flickered over Jagaban’s scarred features as he surveyed his crew.

He placed a small dagger on the table, its blade gleaming in the weak light. “This,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the murmur of the tavern, “is what ends a kingdom.”

The youngest of the group, Crow, leaned forward, eager. “When do we strike?”

Jagaban smirked. “Patience, boy. First, we learn our prey.” He turned to Stone, the oldest among them. “What do you have for me?”

Stone took a slow sip from his ale before speaking. “The prince’s routine is disciplined. He trains at dawn, meets with advisors at midday, and inspects the barracks before nightfall. He rarely lingers at the palace—he prefers the company of warriors over courtiers.”

Jagaban nodded. “And the parade?”

“The royal guard will be spread thin,” Stone continued. “They’ll focus on the crowd, not the rooftops. If we move at the right time, the kill will be clean.”

Jagaban’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Then we move like shadows. No mistakes.”

A Prince’s Burden

Inside the palace, the weight of expectation pressed heavily upon Lucian’s shoulders. The grand chamber was filled with tailors and advisors, fussing over his coronation robe.

“Prince Lucian, this embroidery—”

“It’s fine,” Lucian cut in, his tone clipped.

The tailor hesitated. “But—”

“Pick whichever you think looks best,” he said, already moving toward the window.

Beyond the palace walls, he could see the training grounds where his soldiers sparred. He longed to be there, to be with them. The idea of a throne, of wearing robes instead of armor, felt suffocating.

The door creaked open, and Darius entered, his smirk as infuriating as ever. “You look thrilled, brother.”

Lucian sighed. “What do you want, Darius?”

Darius strolled lazily into the room. “Just checking on the future king. You’re not planning on abandoning the ceremony, are you?”

Lucian turned, his eyes sharp. “Unlike you, I have responsibilities.”

Darius chuckled. “Of course. The noble warrior. The selfless prince.” He clapped Lucian on the shoulder. “Enjoy your parade tomorrow. It might be your last.”

Lucian narrowed his eyes, sensing something beneath his brother’s words, but Darius had already turned away, whistling as he left the room.

A Plan in Motion

As the sun dipped below the horizon, and the parade was finally upon them. Lucian sat atop his horse, clad in polished armor, his sword resting at his hip. The streets were lined with villagers, their cheers echoing through the kingdom.

As he rode through the main square, an elderly woman reached out, pressing something into his palm. A small charm, woven from thin leather and beads.

“For protection, my prince,” she said softly.

Lucian glanced at the charm, something about it stirring an unease in his gut. He nodded in thanks, tucking it into his belt.

Unbeknownst to him, the real danger lurked above.

On the rooftops, Jagaban and his men moved like wraiths, their weapons drawn.

“This is it,” Jagaban whispered. “When he reaches the center, we strike.”

Crow grinned, gripping his dagger. “He won’t see it coming.”

From the palace, Darius sipped his wine, watching the parade from a high balcony. A slow smirk played on his lips.

“The parade,” he murmured, “will be his last.”

Suspense gripped the air as two forces moved toward an inevitable collision. Would Lucian’s instincts save him, or had the assassins already sealed his fate?

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