The Man to Take Over the Kingdom
“Nicolais! Nicolais!"
He wanted to tell the frantic voice calling his name to be quiet. Instead, he settled for shoving it to the back of his mind, where it became the least of his concerns. The first became how he had ended up here, trapped on the floor, his body ignoring his mind’s pleas to get up.
When he regained control over lifeless muscles, Nicolais sat up, rubbing the imprint of the carpet out of his forehead. A withered, old man with a wispy white goatee hovered over him, smothering with arms outstretched. “Let me help you.”
Nicolais flinched. “Leave me, Gunnar!”
With a bow, Gunnar retreated from the dark chamber. No one could explain why his body fell asleep while his mind remained awake, only that there was no resisting it. That was his curse. His condition. It was worse after two months of avoiding his role as his father’s successor.
Nicolais hobbled to the head of the table once favored by Valerius. The black oblong table came with a matching set of six chairs. Usually empty since Valerius had trusted no one. All the papers strewn on the tabletop spoke of a man gone mad plotting by himself.
Nicolais sat in silence until a speckled white and black goat trotted into the conference room. The goat was the only gift from his father that he had ever liked, even if Valerius meant her as an insult. The goat bleated as Nicolais petted her forehead.
“He brooded in here, Belle,” he told her. “I’m supposed to plot too.” Again, he wondered how one went about conquering the kingdom of Mielind with a goat, a babysitter and a modest army. With Belle for company, Nicolais found the gloom from earlier melting away.
On the table lay a map of Mielind. An exiled prince, Valerius terrorized his former homeland. Cities were burned, hostages taken. Always, the soldiers of the king of Mielind drove the villain out. The people were left with the memory of senseless destruction and the constant fear of becoming a target.
Havenhall. Faraday. Weston. Each city name came with the memory of Valerius’ black eyes and haggard face. Nicolais pushed the map away. The other papers he gave to the fainting goat to chew. At footsteps, Nicolais pulled pieces of Valerius’ plans out of Belle’s mouth. He stopped when he saw it was Gunnar who had entered. No one would punish him now.
Nicolais took the proffered cup of tea. If it had been anyone but Gunnar, he might have tossed it. Paralyzed by poison, Valerius fell to an assassin’s knife, dying as he lived: alone. He had deserved it, and Nicolais had gladly helped the assassin sabotage Valerius’ drink.
“We could brighten the room up a little, my lord.”
Nicolais straightened in his seat. He wasn’t used to having choices, but lately, he found himself with too many. “Go ahead.” Most of the castle windows were covered in heavy black curtains. Perking up at the response, Gunnar began at the furthest window to tie up the previously immovable curtains.
Sunlight washed over the room and revealed the table’s true color: not black, but a deep, dark mahogany. By the time Gunnar finished uncovering all the windows, Nicolais became distracted from the task at hand. The sun was so warm, blindingly bright. He pressed his nose against the clear casement window.
“I wonder what it’s like.”
“My lord?”
“On the mainland of Mielind.” The rock cliffs embracing the island of Ebel kept wise sailors away. “Mother hated this castle. I remember—” His jaw froze and then slackened. He pitched forward, nearly smashing his skull on the windowsill stone.
“Master Nicolais!” Gunnar rushed over to hold his lolling head.
“Go away.” He had fallen twice in the span of one hour. Gunnar had seen him fall hundreds of times, but this sort of weakness was pathetic. The old man picked up the empty tea cup and shuffled out of the room. Time to focus now.
A last piece of paper waited on the conference table. The final sentence on the paper Valerius had underlined three times. “Find the Scepter of Arriden.” Bemused, Nicolais snatched the paper, strode over to the fireplace at the other end of the room and released the parchment. The paper blackened and curled as flames engulfed it.
“There must be a way for us to approach the Capitol itself.” At the moment, a direct attack would result in the king crushing his army like a bug. They were simply outnumbered. Meanwhile, Valerius’ reputation made negotiation impossible.
Belle turned big brown eyes up at him. While she couldn’t solve the problem, she could at least console. Nicolais scratched her between the ears. With a shake of her stubby tail, the goat darted off and then fell over, legs stiff. She struggled back onto her feet with an indignant bleat. “If you didn’t get so excited, you wouldn’t be fainting so often.” Belle gave him a look at his tone, or as much of a look as a goat could manage.
Nicolais lounged on the ledge beside the window, where the sun warmed him. The castle, built on the backs of slaves, felt cold and empty. His father’s attention never boded well, but there wouldn’t be this eerie silence. The soldiers of Ebel sat stagnant, preparing for a battle that would never come or could not be won.
As if thoughts of soldiers summoned him, Valerius’ general strode into the room. The thumping of heavy boots sent Belle skittering behind a chair. With a face marred by brown scars and a perpetual grimace, General Jago was intimidating. The man’s silver and black ponytail stretched the general’s forehead into a severe smoothness.
“My lord,” Jago said, slowly as if the title pained him. As of yet, Nicolais could not decide his feelings about the man who commanded hundreds of soldiers on Valerius’ behalf. The confusion was mutual if Nicolais was reading Jago’s caution around him correctly.
“Speak, Jago.”
“I have interesting news.” The general’s face showed no hint of being interested. “Since he has no sons, Litus declared he is accepting suitors for the hand of his named heiress, Jeanne Butterfly. The girl will inherit Mielind’s throne once she marries.”
Nicolais stifled a laugh at the flamboyant name. Nobles clearly had odd hobbies. “What does her marriage have to do with us?”
Jago flashed him an exasperated look that was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “My lord, if you hunt down her suitors, the kingdom will remain without a king. Litus is ill, according to my sources within the castle. It’s an opportunity Valerius waited for his entire life–”
“You have people in the castle! Why not kill Litus instead?” Nicolais mimed a stabbing. The kingdom was always won with death, but this way, there would be fewer.
“It is near impossible to bring a dagger near the king.”
“Near impossible because we’ve hardly tried,” Nicolais pointed out. “My father wasted too much effort on being a terror. We should get to the root of the problem.”
Jago sighed. “Then you will do nothing to stop the suitors?”
Nicolais held up a finger in thought. Perhaps this “stop the suitors” action was the proper, villainous thing to do. At least, he would do it his way. “Very well. Stop the suitors…by kidnapping the girl.”
Belle butted his leg. “Don’t worry, she won’t replace you,” Nicolais said to the goat with amusement. He turned back to the frowning general. “What is it?”
“Kidnapping anyone within the castle is as impossible as…”
“Killing the king?”
“Exactly, my lord. I implore you to target her suitors.”
“That tone of yours doesn’t sound imploring. More demanding, I think.”
The general, who wore chainmail with the ease of being in a soft tunic, sighed deeply. “You would kill her?”
Valerius wouldn’t flinch at the idea like Nicolais had. He shifted in his seat in time to avoid Jago’s perception of the movement. “I’ll decide later. Find someone capable of bringing her here. If you can’t, then we’ll find a way to lure her out.”
“Yes, my lord.” Jago left, shoulders squared in a way that snarled anger. The outward agreement to the unreasonable demand amused him. His father’s general, seemingly unapproachable, was an obedient lackey after all. Nicolais yawned. “Well, until the heiress arrives—if she arrives—I deserve a break.”
His remaining audience, Belle, bleated. In agreement, he liked to think. “Before we aggravate King Litus, I’ll need all the rest I can get. I see restless nights in my future. War and bloodshed. Wonderful, isn‘t it?”
It was what his father had accomplished after all, and in that way, Valerius had perfected his reputation as a villain. Under the sun’s encouraging warmth, Nicolais believed he could be more. He could be the man to take over the kingdom.
