Chapter 4 - The Poisoner's Crown
Lord Vane was a tall, thin man in his late fifties, dressed in robes of rich velvet and fox fur. His face was sharp, characterized by cold, calculating eyes that had guided the royal court through three reigns.
"Princess Aurelia," Vane said smoothly, his voice showing no surprise at seeing her covered in dirt and blood. "You should be resting in your chambers. The physician said you were quite delirious."
"You..." Aurelia breathed, taking a step back as Elara shielded her. "It was you. You gave the order to poison me!"
Vane sighed softly, adjusting his rings. "Poison is such a crude word, my dear. I prefer to think of it as political transition management. Your father was far too stubborn regarding the tax laws. Your uncle was overly fond of starting pointless wars. And you... well, you were far too perceptive about where the royal treasury funds were going."
Elara’s eyes narrowed. "You’ve been doing this for generations. The entire High Council is built on murdered royals."
"Not all of us," Vane corrected, smiling thin and cold. "Just those who were wise enough to see that kings and queens are temporary, but the bureaucracy is eternal. Do you really think a twenty-two-year-old boy like Cassian can run an empire? He survives because I allow him to survive. And when he becomes inconvenient, he will suffer a 'sudden, tragic illness' just like the rest of your bloodline."
"Cassian will hear about this!" Aurelia shouted.
"Cassian will hear whatever I tell him," Vane replied coldly. He raised his left hand, and three heavy crossbowmen stepped out from the shadows behind him, their bolts trained directly at Elara and Aurelia. "You were supposed to die quietly in your tomb, Aurelia. But thanks to this troublesome grave-digger, I now have to execute a slightly messier plan."
"Wait," Elara said, stepping forward, holding up her bloodied, dirty hands. "You don't need to kill her here. If you kill the princess in the cellar, the guards will know. Captain Vance is fighting your men right now. The castle is waking up. You can't cover up a bloodbath in the middle of the night."
Vane hesitated slightly, his eyes flicking toward the distant sounds of shouting echoing up the tunnel.
"What do you propose, grave-digger?" Vane asked, amused.
"Take me," Elara said firmly. "Announce to the court that I kidnapped the princess in a dark ritual, and that you rescued her. Claim I was the one who poisoned her. Let Aurelia live—she can be controlled, she can be kept quiet under your guard. But if you kill her now, the royal guards loyal to her father will revolt."
"Elara, no!" Aurelia cried out, grabbing Elara’s arm. "You can't do this for me!"
"She's right, you know," Vane mused, considering the proposition. "A trial and a public execution of a dark witch grave-digger would satisfy the public, unite the court behind Cassian's strength, and keep Aurelia safely under my eye in the high tower... isolated, drugged, and powerless."
"I won't let you!" Aurelia screamed, drawing a small, concealed pearl-handled dagger from her dress and lunging at Vane.
Vane dodged with surprising swiftness, grabbing Aurelia’s wrist and twisting it until the dagger clattered to the stone floor. He slammed her back against the wall, pinning her. "You always were too dramatic, child."
Before Vane’s crossbowmen could react, Elara snatched up a heavy iron candleholder from a wall sconce and slammed it into the side of Vane’s head.
The Chancellor groaned, staggering backward, his lantern dropping to the floor and shattering. Flames instantly licked across the dry wooden crates stacked along the cellar wall, creating a blinding wall of fire and thick, black smoke.
"Go!" Elara yelled, grabbing Aurelia and shoving her up the spiral staircase toward the gardens.
"Shoot them!" Vane screamed, coughing through the rising smoke.
A crossbow bolt whistled past Elara’s ear, embedding itself deep into the oak door frame at the top of the stairs. Elara slammed the heavy oak door shut behind them, throwing the iron bolt into place just as heavy bodies slammed into it from the other side.
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They stumbled out into the pouring rain of the royal gardens, the air cold and fresh against their burning lungs. But their escape was short-lived.
Surrounding the garden fountain stood King Cassian, flanked by fifty elite guards with drawn swords and heavy torches.
