Crown, Crown, Who Holds the Crown?
Lady Leanor entered the throne room followed by her children and supports.
Looking at the end of the room, she saw her husband, covered in blood and entrails, lounging on his elevated throne looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, picking filth from under his finger nails.
Closing her eyes against the horror that awaited her, Leanor took a deep breath before leading her follower’s into the hall.
“My dear Lady Leanor,” Lord Lothaire called loudly at her approach, “how dare you leave your exile without my express permission.”
“Your recent ‘eccentricities’ have made it necessary,” she replied angrily, stopping just short of her husbands attack radius. At this distance, she would have a chance to react.
“My eccentricities?” Lord Lothaire laughed, throwing one over the arm of his gold throne. “Why would my activities, eccentric or not, be any of your concern? You were exiled from this court decades ago for your continued betrayals.”
“We have not come to listen to you defend your unspeakable behavior,” Lady Leanor cut in, squaring her shoulders. “We have come to demand that you return the throne and crown to me as my birthright”
“Ha,” he barked, leaning forward menacingly, “a woman rule the Northwest Territories? It would be ludicrous. No one would follow a woman!”
At his words, the crowd tried to surge forward in defense of their Lady, but she quickly held up her hand to stop them.
“As you can see,” she said, indicating the people crowd behind her, “the people will not only follow me, they will support me!
“Now,” Lady Leanor said, her voice taking on the tone of a disapproving mother, “get up, out of the chair. It’s time to let a grown up be in charge for a while.”
“Never,” Lothaire seethed before lunging forward, his claws aimed for his wife’s throat.
With speed that only a vampire could see, Leanor drew her sword and swung down, cutting off her husbands hand.
Lothaire landed on the ground, rolling in agony, clutching his bloody stump to his chest.
The attempted attack on his mother was enough to throw Aric over the edge. Snatching the blade from his mothers hand, he ran forward pressing the tip to his father’s chest.
"You sick son of a bitch!" he screamed, fresh blood moistening Lord Lothaire’s shirt. "Give up the throne or your hand will only be the first body part you loose before I'm done!"
"Never!" his father spat, a wicked grin on his lips. "Besides, who sits on the throne is the last thing you should be worried about. If I were you, I would be worrying about that sweet little pet of yours and how much longer she had to live."
Lothaire's grin widened as the implication of words registered with his son.
Turning a stricken look to his mother, Aric was surprised when his father's leg kicked out and knocked him to the ground.
In a flurry of motion his father took flight, disappearing through a hidden door.
Jumping to his feet, Aric was torn between pursuing the evil bastard and putting an end to him once and for all or tearing the tower apart in search of Liberty.
"Go," Emily said, running to his side, her hand taking the sword. "Find Liberty and Alfie, I've got a score to settle with dad."
Nodding his thanks, Aric ran towards the stairs screaming for Liberty.