SHATTERED CROWN

CHAPTER 007: The Royal family.

Third person’s POV

In the grand hall of the royal keep, richly adorned with tapestries and the scent of fresh bread and meats, the reigning monarch sat in all his majesty. Beside him, the queen, regal and fair, with their three noble children seated in order. Around the heavy oak table, they gathered.

Whereupon the morning’s feast was already laid by the hands of the maids, each one moving with haste under the stern eye of Lotana, the chief among them.

After the final dish was placed, Lotana, with a sharp word and a nod, dismissed the maids, leaving herself to stand in waiting, as was her duty at every meal.

Thus, the royal family dined, with all the grace and bearing befitting their station, while Lotana lingered, ever watchful for the slightest command.

The royal family had but scarcely begun to partake of their morning repast when the great doors of the hall were flung open with such force that the clatter of a spoon striking a plate echoed through the chamber. King Alister, his brow furrowed and eyes dark with displeasure, turned his gaze upon the intruder—his trusted advisor and companion, Weston.

The man, seemingly unaware of his transgression, sauntered into the room as though naught was amiss.

“Your Highness,” Weston began, his voice eager and unheeding of the royal family's discomfort, “you would not believe the rumors I’ve just heard on my way hither.”

With an air of oblivious confidence, Weston swept across the polished floor, his robes trailing like shadows behind him, and without so much as a bow, he drew out the chair nearest the queen. He seated himself, uninvited, as though the weight of his news excused his discourtesy.

King Alister’s glare deepened, his tone edged with menace. “You interrupt the royal meal over a mere rumor?” His voice carried the weight of authority,

He did not trouble himself to call upon Lotana, nor await the proper service of his plate. Instead, with a casual disregard for the decorum of the royal table, he reached forth and served himself, his hand steady as though he were dining in a tavern rather than before the king and queen.

“You will find this news most intriguing, Your Majesty,” Weston continued, his voice undeterred by the cold silence that hung in the air. “The rumor has swept through every corner of the kingdom, spreading like wildfire. Surely, such talk demands your attention.”

As he helped himself to the fare, he seemed oblivious to the simmering displeasure in King Alister’s eyes, for in Weston’s mind, the weight of his tidings justified even the boldest breach of etiquette

“Aye, there be the talk of a man who wields the very power of the wind itself,” Weston said, raising his brow for effect, his voice low but laden with excitement as though he found what he was about to say a mere joke.

The boldness of his claim caught the attention of all at the table. The clink of cutlery ceased, and the royal family, one by one, turned their gaze upon him.

Even King Alister, who moments before had been poised to rebuke his friend, now leaned in ever so slightly, his stern expression faltering with curiosity.

The queen’s hands rested still upon her lap, her eyes narrowing in thought, while the children, wide-eyed and filled with wonder, sat silent, captivated by this strange and impossible tale.

Weston, ever the storyteller, paused for a moment, savoring their interest before continuing. His words hung in the air like a storm on the horizon, full of mystery and promise.

“As impossible as it sounds!” the king bellowed, his voice firm and echoing through the hall. “Only the royal family possesses such powers!”

“Yet, the people speak of it, my liege,” Weston replied, his voice measured and steady, knowing well the fire he had kindled. “And they speak in great number. Whether it be truth or falsehood, the winds of rumor can stir unrest.”

The table grew silent, each member of the royal family deep in thought, pondering the adviser’s words. The king, after a moment, concluded with a dismissive tone, “It is but a mere rumor.”

Weston finally grew serious, wiping his mouth with a rag, his expression shifting to one of earnestness. “We all know, Your Majesty, that rumors often stem from a place of truth,” he said, his advisory tone now evident.

The queen interjected, her voice steady yet filled with concern. “Are you suggesting we shouldn’t take this lightly?”

Weston cocked his head, casting a glance at the king that seemed to convey a silent message before he spoke again. “I’m not saying it should be taken too seriously,” he replied, his tone measured.

King Alister, contemplating his advisor’s words, sighed deeply, a look of concern settling upon his features as he considered the gravity of the rumor.

The crowned prince Jahana looked as though he was about to say something, his eyes locked with his mothers which after he held himself back, this exchange went unnoticed by the king but not by the adviser himself.

“I think it best if we look into it,” the king decided and Weston agreed immediately.

The food, long forgotten upon the table, had grown cold as the tension in the air thickened. With a resolute movement, the king stood, the sound of his chair scraping against the stone floor echoing in the silence.

Following his lead, the others rose to their feet, this gesture marking the end of their breakfast.

Without a word, King Alister strode away from the hall, leaving a sense of unease lingering in his wake.

He made his way back to his chambers, his mind swirling with different possibilities, each one filled with unease. Once he was back in his chambers, he pulled a handkerchief from his coat and coughed violently into it.

When the fit subsided, he glanced down at the tissue, his heart sinking as he noted the crimson stain that marred its surface. Worry etched across his face, he considered the implications of such a sight.

He had only recently found out that he had been sick and this truth had been hidden from the rest of the family, but it couldn't be hidden for too long, the next heir would need to be crowned soon