Chapter 5 - The Trap Springs
“Hide them!” William hissed, lunging forward to snatch the glowing keys off the floor just as the torchlight flickered against the curved stone walls of the eastern corridor.
He shoved the keys deep into the velvet pocket of his doublet, rising unsteadily to his feet and pulling Lucy behind him just as a phalanx of royal guards rounded the corner.
At the head of the formation walked the Chancellor. He didn't look like an old man nearing the end of his days. His posture was ramrod straight, his eyes gleaming with a cold, unnatural vitality, and a thin, satisfied smile played across his wrinkled lips.
“Your Majesty,” the Chancellor said, his voice dripping with false reverence as he bowed his head slightly. “Up so early? The coronation festivities have barely concluded, and already you wander the drafty corridors like a ghost.”
William stood tall, masking his internal terror beneath a veneer of royal coldness. He pressed his hand firmly against his bleeding temple, smearing a fresh streak of crimson across his skin. “I could say the same to you, Chancellor. Why are you marching an armed guard through the private residential wing at this hour?”
“We received reports of a security breach,” the Chancellor replied smoothly, his sharp eyes darting past William to fix entirely upon Lucy, who was cowering behind the prince’s silk robes. “A pest in the pantry. A scullery girl who seems to think the palace belongs to her.”
William stepped half an inch to the left, effectively blocking the Chancellor’s line of sight to Lucy. “She was assisting me. I suffered a severe migraine from the weight of the crown and summoned her for water.”
The Chancellor’s smile didn't reach his eyes. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his polished boots clicking rhythmically against the stone floor. “How unfortunate. That particular crown has caused many a young monarch... discomfort. But do not worry, Your Majesty. The remedy is simple. All it requires is complete submission to the rituals of the throne.”
“A ritual that nearly kills the man wearing it?” William challenged, his voice rising, laced with thinly veiled disgust.
“A ritual that preserves the stability of Oakhaven,” the Chancellor countered, his voice dropping an octave, turning sharp and authoritative. “Without the bond between the crown, the vault, and the monarch, this kingdom would crumble into dust and chaos. You took an oath, William. An oath written in blood before your father drew his final breath.”
“An oath extracted under duress,” Lucy called out from behind the prince, unable to keep her mouth shut any longer.
The Chancellor’s eyes flashed with sudden, deadly fury. He didn't look at her; he simply raised a pale, wrinkled hand and snapped his fingers.
Two guards surged forward past the Chancellor, their heavy mailed gauntlets reaching out to grab William and throw him aside.
“Unhand me!” William shouted, striking out with a swift, desperate punch that caught one guard squarely in the jaw.
Chaos erupted in the corridor. The second guard lunged, tackling William to the stone floor. Lucy screamed, kicking out with her heavy wooden clogs and catching the guard in the shin, earning a grunt of surprise. But a third guard grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her bodily into the air.
“Search him,” the Chancellor commanded coldly, stepping over the struggling prince.
The guard pinning William reached into the royal doublet, his hand sweeping inside the velvet pocket. A second later, he withdrew the three glowing iron keys, holding them up high for the Chancellor to see.
The blue light reflecting off the Chancellor’s face made his skin look corpselike. For a fraction of a second, the mask of polite authority slipped, revealing a look of pure, unadulterated panic.
“The Vault Keys,” the Chancellor hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. He turned his gaze down to William, who was pinned beneath the guard’s knee. “You foolish boy. You have no idea what you’ve unleashed.”
“I know enough,” William spat, blood dripping from his lip onto the cold stone. “I know you’re a parasite feeding on my family’s bloodline.”
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“We are all part of the machine, William,” the Chancellor replied, his voice regaining its icy composure. He turned to the guards holding Lucy and the fallen king. “Lock them both in the lower dungeons. Prepare the altar in the inner vault. Tonight, under the blood moon, we complete the cycle. The seventh king will surrender his remaining years, and the crown will feed once more.”
As the guards dragged them away down the dark, descending stone steps, Lucy caught one last glimpse of the Chancellor standing alone in the corridor, clutching the glowing keys as the castle walls around them began to groan in agonizing, deep-throated harmony.
