Chapter 22: falling into a dream.
"Damian, something's wrong."
Lynn had maintained a steely silence ever since they'd left the Cathedral, but those words—hesitant and filled with concern—came as they approached Rossheim Palace.
Damian opened his eyes, his nap disturbed.
"What—?"
The question died on his lips as he looked through the car's windshield. They'd arrived outside the Palace's front gates—but the gates were obstructed, blocked by a crowd of people.
As Damian looked closer, he realized the crowd was formed of RMP officers and Flameguard Priests, along with a handful of journalists, and dozens of concerned-looking bystanders.
"What the hell is happening here…?"
Lynn didn't respond to his question. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel as she parked the car off to the side. There were half a dozen police vehicles parked there as well—an exceedingly rare sight in a city with so few automobiles.
"I'm going to see what's happening. Stay in the car until I come back for you."
The sharp tone in Lynn's voice offered no argument. She exited the vehicle and walked over to the group, where several Priests and police officers gathered around to speak with her.
Damian furrowed his brow. An uneasy feeling had taken hold of his heart, but he couldn't determine the source of his anxiety.
What could have happened?
The answer came sooner than he expected.
Just a few moments later, Lynn returned, her face drained of color. A red-haired man trailed behind her, a cigarette hanging limply between his fingers. Surprised, Damian opened the door and left the car.
"Uncle…? Leon, what's going on? Lynn? What's—what's happening?"
A note of urgency crept into Damian's voice, his anxiety ratcheting up higher with every moment.
Why do you all look so miserable? No… not just miserable, you look horrified.
Lynn lowered her gaze, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Leon stepped forward, a dark, haunted look in his eyes. He put a hand on Damian's shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Leon…?"
The silence was like a poison, invading his veins, seeping into his very being. Even the crowd gathered at the gates had fallen silent upon seeing the Crown Prince. Damian's heart beat ever faster, thrashing against his ribcage, and his legs began to shake.
No. No no no—
"It's your father."
The three words that Damian feared most fell from Leon's lips.
For a moment, it seemed like time itself had stalled.
Smoke curled skyward from Leon's cigarette—the only sign that the world still rotated.
Lynn was frozen, staring on the ground. Leon's hand fell away, his gaze dropping from his nephew's eyes.
Damian swallowed past the lump rising in his throat.
"What—what's happened to him?"
He knew the answer to the question. There could only be one possible answer. There was no other reason for everyone to look the way they did—but still, he needed to ask.
He needed to hear the words; otherwise he'd never believe.
Until he heard the exact words that would shatter the glass globe that was his world, he could still pretend. Until the awful truth was undeniably presented before him, Damian could cling to the world he knew—a world where his only remaining parent still lived.
Leon took a deep breath and exhaled shakily.
Three more words—
—words that Damian had never expected to hear.
"He was murdered."
What?
Leon's explanation didn't make sense. Was his uncle confused?
Surely, Leon had meant to say that the king had passed away? That he had died in his bed, his battle with dreaded cancer finally over?
That's right. That's what was always going to claim my father's life.
That was the answer Damian had expected. He was not naive; no, he had, in the darkest parts of his heart, where he dared not tread lightly—he had prepared himself for this. He had readied himself with answers he would give, with the emotions he would express to console those around him.
"Murdered…?"
It didn't make sense. A fate that he'd never considered even once was now written into the immutable ledger of history?
Murder?
The word flitted through Damian's mind, unable to connect with rational thought.
It wasn't possible, it wasn't possible, itwasn'tpossibleitwasntpossible—?
"—mian. Damian!!"
Leon shook his shoulder roughly, jolting him back to reality.
He stopped abruptly, not realizing he'd been speaking out loud. He blinked, but the world around him was hazy and uncertain. Nothing made sense.
This reality isn't possible. This truth can't be real.
"L-Let me see him. I—I need to see my father."
Damian's words came slowly, hesitantly. But his uncle shook his head, firming his grip on his nephew's shoulder. Only now did he see that Leon's face was drawn, his eyes hollow and slightly puffy. His uncle had been crying?
Nothing about the whiskey-drinking, cigarette-smoking, Deep-blessed spymaster seemed right.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Damian."
"I—I need to see this with my own eyes. If I don't…"
"We… we're still figuring out a way of getting his… his body down."
Leon's voice hitched, and he accidentally dropped the cigarette. The smoke rolled a little and bumped into Damian's shoe, where it lay smoldering.
"HIs body… down?" Damian repeated. "What—what does that mean? Leon, let me go. Let me see my father."
Leon hesitated briefly, then slowly removed his hand.
"Just… prepare yourself…"
Prepare for what? My father was murdered. My father was murdered? How? Why?
Damian took an unsteady step forward. The crowd of RMP officers and Priests shuffled a little, and for once, even the journalists were silent. Nobody gathered at the gates seemed to know what to do or say.
With all the gravity of mourners at a wake, the sea of people parted.
What's going on?
The path from the front gates to the lobby of the royal residence was not long—perhaps three hundred feet. It was lined with sculptures and topiaries, decorated with flower beds and water features. Queen Amelia had often liked to sit here, protected by the tall fences and the hedges, while Damian sat and played on the grass.
Simpler times. Times we can't get back. Why must the world keep moving?
There was another, smaller crowd gathered in front of the lobby. More precisely, they were gathered a dozen paces outside the lobby doors, as though the entrance had become an invisible, impassible barrier.
"Young master!"
Gunther extricated himself from this gathering and rushed to embrace Damian.
The prince just stood there, momentarily shocked, as his butler of some fifteen years held him tightly. Something wet and warm soaked into the top of Damian's jacket, and he realized Gunther was crying.
Damian didn't return the embrace. He should have. Later, he would realize all the things he should have done. But his mind was frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, his every action rigidly performed like an automaton.
Gunther apologized profusely and stepped away, dabbing at his cheeks with a handkerchief.
Damian paid him no mind.
He had finally realized why nobody had entered the lobby.
"We're still figuring out a way of getting his body down."
Now he knew what Leon had meant. Why the crowd was standing back from the entrance.
Just as Lynn and Leon caught up with Damian, he sank to his knees, his eyes wide.
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no—
Maybe Damian screamed aloud. He couldn't recall.
His mind was reeling.
Xavier the Fifth, King of Sidralis, had been impaled through his hands and chest by spears of pure darkness.
Shadows born from the vilest pits of the Deep held the king's body in place, nailing him in a cross-like formation above the lobby's entrance. Inky shadow dripped down the glass windows of the second floor, mixed with crimson blood and ruddy entrails.
A flaming wound, the type that could only be inflicted by the wrath of an Angel, had split the king's belly open, giving off the vile stench of charred flesh.
Xavier's body hung limply, his royal robes tattered and burned. His eyes were open and his mouth hung open, as though he had died in a state of shock.
Died died died died dieddieddieddieddieddied—
From somewhere in the crowd, a voice gave life to that awful, dreaded phrase—the truth that Damian so desperately wanted to deny.
"The king is dead. Long live the king!"
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone