It was a quiet day in the Capital. Trees danced at the waving winds, which gently played on the passing citizens. There was only the sound of children playing, buzzing and filling the place with life. Parents watched from the nearby shade, resting and confident in the security of their children’s lives.
Not a single arrow had touched the walls of the Capital for hundreds of years, and those who reveled in the glory of the king became arrogant, as none would even dare to think about revolting or waging war against them. Their might was fierce, as was their strength.
In the middle of the street walked a man accompanied by imperials. Glorified guards, it was they who kept the world in check, but even in their presence the man was drenched in sweat.
It was not the weather, nor was he panting for lack of stamina. It was the letter he clutched in his hands that gave weight to his step and fear to his heart as he made his way to the Capital gates.
“Hail, Captain!” the sentries cried. They struck their feet on the ground in unison, a sign of great respect. They stepped aside and opened the gates.
Drenched in sweat, the captain barged in, pausing only when he was confronted with a great door.
“Stay here,” he commanded the imperials.
He pushed through the reinforced steel door to reveal the throne. On it sat the most powerful man in the kingdom, some would even say the world.
“It took you long enough!” the king cried.
Neither young nor old, he was dressed in the finest silks and adorned with golden rings. His curly hair rivaled the white winter snows. He wasted no time and signaled with his hand. “Well? What did you learn?”
The man took slow steps, but they were steady. He halted in front of the chair.
“The rebellion is over.”
All gathered in the chamber gave a great cheer. They shouted their congratulations and reveled in the victory as if they had been on the battlefield. Such was their joy, they almost forgot that they were in the presence of the King.
“Silence!” the King shouted at them with the full force of his lungs. “If the rebellion is over, then how come your face is as pale as this room?” he asked.
Keep reading the prologue ↓
“The Red Hand lives,” the man said reluctantly, and immediately the cries of celebrations ceased, and an aura of doubt lurked in the surroundings.
The King, quite taken back by these words. Soon, rage overtook shock as he struck the sides of the throne with his hands so hard as to break the skin.
“How could you let this him live? Was it not insulting enough that his puny force managed to push through as much as it did? And now you stand before me with this smug look on your face, and you tell me he lives . . . he lives!” the King roared enough to make the marble walls glitter in shock, striking the throne again.
“Sire, we believe he only got as far as he did because of a traitor among us. He had access to important information . . . food supplies, troop movements, it was as if he was always ten steps ahead of—”
“Hold your tongue, Sebastian! You say these things as if you enjoyed fighting him!”
“War does not excite me, sire, serving you does.” Sebastian said.
“Then how is it the Red Hand lives yet? Why is his head not on a spike on the city walls yet? Why . . . why,” he struck the throne a third time, and then silence loomed. Tension filled the air as all those gathered warily watched the King.
The King, panted, grasping for whatever air he could muster. He finally took a deep breath and sighed. “You will find me whoever supplied him with information, and I want their head next to his right here,” he cried yet again.
Sebastian nodded and bowed. As he turned to exit the court, his grip tightened on the letter.
The King stood and began to descend the throne, the anger still evident on his face.
“I will catch this fool and cast him down, as my fathers did the Titans. Mark my words!” he cried to the ones gathered. “You hear me, Sebastian? Do not show your face here without their heads!”
That was the prologue. Sixteen chapters follow.
