Chapter 951: Grandfather and Grandson

A single drop of sweat lit. Igna left the dungeon, leaving behind a screaming woman of pitch similar to a banshee. She screamed loudly, woke prisoners, rattled the walls, and forced herself into self-harming tendencies. “-RAIDEN!” cried what would son become the crying lady of Raid. A nickname given by guards who shackled her hands without care for the shattered forearm – they had her face her dead child, left to fester and decompose – a feast for rodents and bugs.

He climbed to the ground floor, following the radiance of the light atop. In a glance, silhouettes blocked the doorway, thrusting imposing shadows. Backlight rendered recognition a tad difficult.

“Majesty,” whispered disappointed sighs, “-please tell us, please say you didn’t just slaughter a child before their mother?”

“Hello Alta, how’s it going,” he acknowledged the entourage and walked at a peaceful pace.

“Please don’t avoid the question,” inferred Midne, returnee of a campaign in Easel Run Gard, “-the slaughter of little ones is taboo in most beliefs.”

“So are the abuse,” he refuted, “-but hey, the depravity of sullying the innocent isn’t stopping anytime soon. You know, abusers law-enforcement have to track and capture on the daily.”

“Don’t avoid the question,” said a cynical Alta

.....

A side-glance locked onto a quieter Medusa, “-what’s the matter?” he deflected Alta’s interrogation, “-you look unwell.”

“Majesty, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought... you know.”

“Ah, worried about Minerva?”

“Yeah, we fought again earlier – I don’t know what I should do, I’m lost.”

Two rapid and big steps passed the promenade, stopped, and spun abruptly. An ire-filled frown stabbed Igna’s casual expression, “-Alta?” he slowed to a stop.

“Don’t ignore me,” she cautioned, “-stop hiding the truth, I need to know what happened. Did his majesty truly do those obscene things?”

“You want the truth?”

“Yeah,” she firmed her stance.

“Yes, you’re king is a child slayer. Does that suffice?” the pace resumed, he coldly brushed her aside, “-don’t ever,” he mumbled. Undeterred, Alta rejoined said group at a slower and quieter pace. The exchange brought silence, none wanted to continue said conversation, and instead, chose to follow the king.

Twists and turns, climbs and descents eventually landed at the inner-castle lounge. An assortment of high-ranking guests at the bar had drinks and entertained drunken stultiloquence. The purposeful way he walked said there was more. Alta kept keen regard – soon to be faced by Piers Riverty, sat lonesome and peered deeply into an abstract painting.

“Prince consort,” a soft twist, suit jacket’s front button escaped its prison and allowed Igna comfort, “-Alta, Medusa, and Midne do take a seat,” he offered, changing expression uncaringly.

“Majesty,” he returned to reality, “-what will happen to my daughter? I failed her,” he sighed, “-I failed my wife and her belief that I’d keep our family strong. Eia had to be stubborn. She’s strong-willed and very prideful – I dare say her ego rivals those of kings. Bad traits all around, Gallienne’s stronger aura kept Eia confined and unlikely to cause havoc. What am I on again,” he sighed, “-a traitor must be treated as so, a traitor.”

Seeing an older man pour his heart, ‘-how sad,’ sympathized Alta, ‘-the man deserves to rest – peacefully awaiting death. What are we even doing,’ she bit her lips, announcing to Midne and Medusa her deeper thoughts.

“Don’t look so defeated, prince consort.”

“How can I... majesty, I heard about judgment. I’ve nothing left, no one to care for, no one to see nor cherish, I’m alone, stranded. Death seems the only way towards assured happiness.”

“Drop sadness. Prince consort, tell me, have I ever acted cruelly without reason?” he rose his hand towards the left – a cloud of smoke covered the marbled floor, “-actions speak louder than words,” he said, the smoke faded, “-and here, Prince, is proof of said saying.” Before them stood Raiden, a growing boy of gentle expression and messy short hair of blond. “-Raiden,” he spoke, the boy turned at the king and knelt.

“Yes, majesty?”

“Come on, boy,” he tousled his hair gently and offered for him to sit at his side, “-Raiden, regardless of who your biological parents are. Your mother and I are still bound by the vows of marriage,” the boy innocently stared the table, “-as the world sees it, you’re my son.”

“Majesty?” Piers held his mouth, fearful of a downpour of tears, “-what’s the meaning of this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he ordered maids for a warm meal for the boy and drinks for the table, “-Raiden Riverty-Haggard is a member of my family,” the orders arrived a few minutes later – a pause that felt instant, “-I’m not one to care about lineage,” he turned at Alta smugly, “-did you really think I’d kill a child?”

“Yeah,” she echoed, “-you would, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends,” he sipped, “-long story short, Raiden’s nothing but a pawn, one unlucky to have been born to incompetent parents.” Prince consort was enamored, unable to lift his eye from the boy, “-Piers, listen here,” widened eyes told of undivided attention, “-from today forward, Raiden Riverty-Haggard will stay in your care.”

“Sorry?” he coughed, “-what about him being your son an all?”

“Though he’s my son,” he looked over, “-it’s best he dies, annulling claims of nobility.”

“What about you, Raiden,” interjected Alta, “-Any thoughts?”

He stopped and swallowed, “-mother and father are dead,” he blinked, “-his majesty is my monarch and step-father, I will do as he tells me to.”

“Raiden,” he wiped the boy’s cheeks and looked at Piers, “-whether you understand or not – the world’s an unfair place. From today on, Piers Riverty, your grandfather, will take care of you. He will be excused from his palace duties. Alta’s melancholic thoughts were right, you deserve to rest and have a peaceful retirement. Raiden, your life starts anew, pick whatever path thee wish, and live it to your best. As your stepfather, I’ll make certain the kingdom becomes a safer place.”

“Okay,” he nodded and moved his chubby cheeks at Piers, “-grandfather, I will be in your care, thank you.”

“Awe,” he blushed, “-Raiden, I’m sorry you were born to my stupid daughter.” Before long, the duo of grandson and grandfather left the castle hand in hand. Igna kept the drinks flowing, night grabbed the castle in a rough storm. Lounge lessened in activity, Midne, and Medusa were called to duty by respective ministries.

*Puff,* “-haven’t said anything since the boy left.”

historical

“I guess I’m lost,” she sipped, “-majesty, the enigmatic aura thee haul is annoying.”

“Fair point. Still, it’s a good thing, would thee rather have an open-hearted king or someone reserved?”

She rolled her eyes, “-I don’t know... and I don’t care. Honestly, what ever was the point of staging the murder of a kid. Whole castle knows of the debacle- is it fun?”

“No, it’s not. Honestly, there was no point, no under-the-table gains or further scheme. I saw Aceline, she still has the same look of affection, I saw it in her eyes. I felt guilty, I couldn’t take my mind off the injustices I caused, she’s the only person who knows who and what I am. A woman I said I’d open my heart to... then they arrived, ambassadors, when I saw Eia’s face, I instantly knew I wanted her to pay damages. I crushed her will to live, destroyed what she cherished, and have her watch as the body of Raiden slowly decompose. She’ll experience the process of decay after death.”

“Vengeance?”

“Yeah,” he gulped, “-nothing more, nothing less.”

Days elapsed; news of the nonaggression pact flourished around Hidros and the world. Ships from the Wracian empire embarked on trips to colonize Vigrant Archipelago. Kreston’s forces were stationed at Port Smith and the capital. Refugees fled to the heart of the province – the holy land wasn’t so good with money and supplies. The white winter painted the landscape – freezing temperatures caught farmers off guard.

Under minister Eira’s orders, refugee camps were built, and food supplies and rations were returned.

“We’re saved,” prayed the duke.

“Our king had the foresight of what would befell us,” commented a wounded Erano, “-exchanging food supplies for army rations, and using said supplies to help sustain the famine. We’re fortunate.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” echoed a fearful duke, “-king Igna’s a great king, he has his feet on firm ground despite hovering above the rest of us. He’s the second coming of Staxius Haggard, the hero King of Arda. We venerate the hero, a man who died young, someone with the potential to have ruled the world.”

“I know the story. How does it reflect a second coming?”

“My gut says so,” he narrowed, “-there’s more to our king. He’s a cursed sword, not a double edged one. The day it’s drawn against the world, we may have to fear the repercussion it’ll have on us. Well,” the head shook, “-we ought to focus on post war efforts.”

Riaz, or to give the correct title; Prime minister of the Wracian Empire – landed at Vlaiwia. A humongous, infinite wall encompassed the Imperial palace. Officials paid their respect on seeing the man, they bowed, he nodded. ‘-Back home,’ the private quarters played a simple melody over the radio, ‘-any more time spent with those mongrels and I’d honestly contemplate suicide,’ outfit on a rack, the man stood bare chested before a mirror – a shadow twirled from head to toe, “-finally,” he smiled, a taller man bearing a strongly shaped nose, sternly fixed eyebrows, petit eye sockets that held an infernal-like gaze, “-back to my honest self,” he stretched and yawned.

“My lord, welcome home,” said an assistant, a smaller man of similar facial features.

“Good to be back, little brother,” he smiled and exchanged tightly warm hugs, “-tell me, how is Ares doing?”

“The general is rather angry at your decision.”

“He should be,” bellowed a smug laugh, “-we won’t go to war, not now. There are things we must do first,” he smirked, “-Hidros’ not of our concern. The new continent waits with fountains of gold and prestige. How is Alphia?”

“There’s a risk of civil war.”

“What’s the emperor going to do?”

“His imperial majesty said to allow the Alphian to bury themselves. We’ll stand ready to pick up the pieces.”

A solemn look snapped at a boldly colored cupboard, “-the church’s crusade ended in defeat. Here’s to us reducing their influence.”

Days and nights passed mundanely – Igna supervised many policy changes and worked closely with the ministers. Before he’d realize it, two months passed, and a colder August said their welcome.

“I get it now,” a eureka moment thrust Igna out of his seat, ‘-Wracia empire had no intent in partaking in war. Falling out with the church makes sense. The answer directly stared at me – how could I overlook such a simple matter. A willing surrender, they fought with the intent to lose. The leaders trusted our ability to fight off an invasion, they wanted us to do the grunt work. How shrewd,’ he laughed, “-man, Wracia Empire is an exciting opponent to go against.”

*Urgent summons,* flashed, “-majesty, you’re requested in the throne room.”

‘Ah, seems the rebellion’s made their move,’ he slipped into a navy-blue suit and exited the office. Maids working the corridors exchanged friendly waves, those of which Igna returned courteously, “-tomorrow is the Ando festival, yes?”

A startled maid nodded, “-yes, majesty.”

“Good,” he said, “-be sure to let Midne know. I won’t stand for much more hard work.”

“Yes, majesty,” she beamed, “-we’ll let the head maid know.”

Decoration and ornament used to show Hidros’ wealth remained unchanged. Everyone’s mood felt great when exposed to pretty objects, thus, the king allowed retainers to change the decorations as they seemed fit. Each month a new theme, chosen by contest, lit the castle’s life – the current exhibit was of the vampiric esthetic.

‘Long as they’re happy,’ the throne room cried a low rumble, guards guided his majesty inside where a man stood defiantly in the company of a few familiar faces. They threw murderous looks at Igna, who returned the favor.

“They want to negotiate,” whispered Alta, now direct aid to lady Eira.

“Negotiate?” he stopped and stared, “-are they daft?”