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Chapter 21: A Limb for a Life (Part 1 of 2)

As much as it pained him and tested his patience, Drake opted for his own guest chambers in the palace. Being so close to her, yet forced to keep himself at a distance, it was somehow tougher than being separated by hundreds and thousands of miles.

It was a decision Drake had made as soon as he'd noticed King Dane's penetrating gaze upon them during the feast. It was the reason he gave her no more than a gentle, discrete touch, even though that simple touch had fuelled his desire for much more. But the King kept his eyes on them.

Did he suspect something? Had he worked out that he could use Amelia against him if he so wished? That Drake would just about give up anything in the world if her life was on the line. She was his greatest weakness. After all, a man in love was both selfish and blind.

Dane may not be as crazed and malicious as Warren, but he was clearly upset enough over the revelation of Warren's crimes that the situation was still precarious. Until the dust has settled, Drake refused to take any chances where Amelia was concerned.

So he waited and spent his days in the palace drinking with the lords who'd chosen to stay in Lyons until the trial, which was most of them, because the coronation day had given the nobles a taste of unparalleled drama, and curiosity is a thirst that must be quenched.

In the evenings, he met with his spies and gathered other evidence of Prince Warren's treasonous crimes. Drake had lied at the coronation feast when he said there were other witnesses. There weren't—not at the time. It was a lie to ensure the safety of Prince Geoffrey and lies were necessary, from time to time.

On occasion, he's even had to turn down scandalous invitations from affectionate young ladies who'd gone from thinking him an uncivilised brute to some heroic overlord after his public challenge against the King. Evidently, they'd also taken his carefully maintained distance from Amelia as a sign that they had a chance. Dammit, all he wanted was his lovely wife whose eyes could spit fire.

Luckily, he did not need to wait long for the trial.

As much as Dane might have wanted to delay the trial indefinitely, the pressures of the entire court and the nature of the crimes alleged made it impossible.

And so, on the seventh day of the new king's reign, the crowd once again presented themselves in the Great Hall of the royal palace.

Against the prudent counsel of his advisers, Dane refused to recuse himself from adjudging his own brother's crimes. He wished to ensure that Warren was not convicted of high treason without the surest of all evidence. The only compromise he accepted was to allow two other respected councilmen to join him in judgment, to give some semblance of justice.

But even for a king, things would not always go his way.

Under the deft hands and effective treatment of palace healers, the former Crown Prince Geoffrey had recovered enough to present his evidence.

With a patch over his missing eye, he described how he'd walked in on Warren forcing poisoned wine down their father's throat.

With shakes through his body, he described how Warren's men took him out of the city to a secluded, derelict cabin where no one could hear his screams. There, they bound him, beat him, and forced him to give a false confession to the murder of King Theodore. He refused.

With tears of deep sorrow and regret, he recalled and described how they'd brought his wife and children before him. And still he refused, because the confession Warren sought was a betrayal to his father, to the kingdom and its people. So he watched as they killed his family one by one, down to his five-year-old son. Because he was first and foremost the Crown Prince of the kingdom, even before he was a husband and a father.

With his eye patch drawn down, eliciting another flurry of gags around the room, he described how they gouged out his eye, because there was no one else they could use against him.

With his patch pulled back over his eye again, he described how they continued to beat him, threatening to cut off his nose and limbs... until Emir Rohan's men found him and slay the guards, just a day before the coronation.

And then like Drake, Geoffrey also lied. He told the audience in the hall that before King Theodore died, he had spoken of legitimising Dane and giving him the throne. These words gave further endorsement to Dane's legitimacy, in the hopes that Dane would grant him mercy for testifying against Warren. But above that, Geoffrey wished his lie had been the truth. He wished he wasn't the crown heir, because then he might still have his family.

After Prince Geoffrey, many of Warren's former followers and accomplices came forth and affirmed the truths of Geoffrey's testimony. Some confessed to aiding in the murders of King Theodore and Prince Geoffrey's family. Some confessed to beating and torturing the prince. Others confessed to spreading false rumours about Prince Geoffrey's alleged altercation with King Theodore and implicating him in the death of the King.

Every one of them testified to committing these crimes at the orders of Prince Warren. Some of them were even able to present written messages signed by Warren himself.

These were the additional witnesses that Drake and his spies laboured to acquire before the trial. He promised he would try to ensure they kept their lives, in exchange for their honest pleas of guilt. He also promised that if he failed in doing so, he would see to it that their families would be safe and well-provisioned for. Again, Drake was left to appreciate the wonders of wealth.

It did not matter that Warren cursed at all the witnesses and valiantly denied his guilt. It did not matter that King Dane, deep in his heart, still loved his brother and wished to protect him. The evidence was too fulsome, too overwhelming for even a biased judge to find him innocent.

His plan had been perfect. He had given Amelia a replica of the original declaration with his own name on it. Then Amelia, bearing that new declaration with the Duke of Marlborough's name and seal, slipped out to visit each lord who was held hostage in different parts of the palace. With the Duke's signed declaration, and persuasion from the Duke's daughter herself, it was almost a breeze to obtain all the signatures and seals on a replicated declaration that proclaimed Dane—instead of Warren—as the legitimate heir. Then it was only a simple matter of switching the scrolls before the coronation ceremony, and burning the old one.

But that was all. At most, Warren would be deemed delusional, sick in the mind, but he would remain a prince. A brother to the king. Not this. Not buried under a mountain of evidence of murders and treason.

Dane may be king, but he had no choice. With great effort and reluctance, he declared Warren guilty of treason of the highest order—exactly as Drake had accused.

And that was all Dane could manage in one sitting. He could not bear the distress of sentencing his brother on the same day. So he ordered that Warren be stripped of his title as prince to appease the masses, and otherwise reserved his judgment on the sentencing for his crimes.

After the guards hauled his brother down to the dungeons and the guests filed out of the hall, when it was just him alone on the throne, he buried his head in his hands. It was only the seventh day of his reign, but King Dane has already had his first taste of how it felt to be powerless while seated on a throne of power. He reminded himself of the contract of gold and Amelia's words to him: Wealth is power. Truer power, he hoped, than the golden crown he wore.

* * *

There was no mistaking the misery and despair that clouded the King's eyes. They say you shouldn't kick a dog while it's down. And whilst Drake's best guess was that the King would not enjoy being compared to a dog, he couldn't very well ask his Royal Majesty for a definitive answer.

To err on the side of caution, Drake decided to give the King a little more time before burdening him with more weight upon his shoulders. But not too long, for the surly looks Amelia threw at him during the trial sent a clear message that if he did not bow down at her feet soon, she'd be screaming for divorce again.

So three days was all he gave to the King before confronting him in his study.

"You again," Dane remarked as Drake appeared, uninvited and unwelcomed.

With a deep bow to the brooding King, Drake 'cut to the chase' as he'd been directed to not long ago. "What sentence will you impose, Your Majesty?"

"Emir Rohan," Dane drawled testily. "Whatever gave you the impression that I was open to interrogation?"

"I do not mean to interrogate, Your Majesty. I'm here to have a... discussion." Ignoring all fundamental rules of royal etiquette, Drake pulled over a chair to sit himself in. Then, he crossed a leg over a knee and bounced it lightly, as if to make the point.

The King glowered darkly from behind his desk. "What if I have no desire to discuss anything with you?"

"Then allow me to change your mind."

Reaching deep into the pocket of his breeches, Drake pulled out a folded piece of parchment, creased and worn as the result of his weeks-long marathon around the North. But despite its unremarkable appearances, it was valuable. It was the weapon he'd planned to use to halt Warren's coronation, to pit the brothers against each other. Though circumstances have changed, it was still valuable.

He placed the paper on the King's desk and smoothed it out as best he could. "This here, is a declaration from all the lords of all Northern houses, declaring their absolute fealty to you. Irrevocable. For all time."

Dane leaned forward in his chair as he combed through the inked text with a perplexed furrow of his brow.

"Not the crown, but you," Drake clarified. "Even if you lose your crown one day, to invaders or an usurper, you alone will command the Northern houses, call upon our aid, and rally all our men and armies." That was why this single piece of parchment would have stirred enough pandemonium to halt Warren's accession. One brother on the throne whilst the other controlled the North—a permanent divide between the two halves of the kingdom. This was also why it took him a hell of a long time to talk and bribe all those Northern lords around, for it risked civil war of a magnitude not seen for centuries.

The King took a long while to absorb the meaning of the declaration, to count the seals of the Northern houses one by one... Slowly, he returned his gaze to the man before him, who continued to sit there, all relaxed and casual, still bouncing a leg.

Drake knew what the King was thinking. That this was no simple declaration of fealty. That the lord sitting here was not one a king could simply order around. Because this was a show of Drake's influence and reach across one-half of the kingdom. His power to procure a significant declaration of this sort from every minor and major ruling house of the Northern Lands.

Little did the King know how much effort and gold this bloody piece of paper cost.

As soon as Dane moved his hand, Drake pulled the parchment out of his reach and clasped it to his chest. "Nuh-uh. This stays with me until we have our discussion."

The King took a few deep breaths to exhale his frustration before giving in. "I will sentence my brother to imprisonment for life."

"Not enough."

"In the deepest level of the Four Hells," Dane added, in reference to the darkest, harshest level of the dungeons of Lyons where excruciating screams filled the air every second of every day. There, Warren would meet his death for certain, but at least it would not be at Dane's hands or within his sights.

"Not enough."

"He is—was a prince, albeit illegitimate. A public hanging is an embarrassment to—"

"He has already embarrassed himself very publicly at the coronation and the trial, so that is no excuse, Majesty," Drake said coolly and evenly, then shook his head. "But a hanging is not enough."

The King slammed an angry fist into his desk. "What is enough then?" he demanded.

With complete disregard for manners again, Drake rummaged through the papers on the King's desk and fished out a clean piece of parchment, on which he scribbled the exact method of execution he demanded. "This," he said as he slid the paper towards Dane, "is what needs to happen before you get this." Drake dangled the creased declaration of the Northern lords before the King's eyes before folding it up again and shoving it back in his pockets.

"I thought you said this was a discussion."

"It was," Drake replied as he rose from his seat. "But I also never said I'd give this to you after our discussion." He smiled as Dane's nostrils flared upon the realisation of the trickery, and quickly added before the King's temper reached boiling point, "However, I now give you my word, Majesty, that upon the execution of Warren in the exact manner as I have requested, you shall have this declaration."

Ignoring the King's darkening countenance, Drake made to leave the study chamber. Even though the King has not yet had the chance to read his scribbled demand, their 'discussion' was over, as far as he was concerned. He lingered by the doorway and gave his last word of advice.

"Your brother has committed heinous crimes against the crown, Your Majesty. His punishment is your opportunity to show the people you are just, even where it concerns your family, and that you will not go light on any attempt at treason against the crown you now wear."

With one last bow at the waist, Drake departed the study, leaving the King to decipher his scribbles and mull over many things.

And they were not simple things to mull over, for Dane debated back and forth whether he could afford to give up the declaration, or attempt to exchange his contract for House Rohan's gold for it, without giving in to Drake's demand.

Yet the lure was too great. The declaration meant security in his reign. It meant immediate access to enormous armies. And the considerable wealth he was due to amass from his contract with Lady Amelia could be diverted towards numerous other causes instead of raising an army. He did not wish to give up either. He wanted both. Power. Wealth. Stability.

His brother, on the other hand... He'd always known of Warren's sinister side, his ruthlessness and cruelty towards servants and the like. But he did not expect Warren to go as far as he did. Dane told himself, repeatedly, that Warren had betrayed him first by getting rid of some of his men. But that did not make things any easier, for Drake's demand was... nasty.

With a heavy rock weighing on his heart, Dane dragged his hands down his face. He didn't want to admit it, but Drake Rohan was right. Warren had to be executed in the name of justice. And if he was to die anyway... A dying man's dignity was not worth giving up either the declaration or the contract of gold. He read through Drake's written demand again, and cringed.

Dane could not deny his new respect for the man, but he was undeniably nasty. Nasty and wretched. Dane scolded himself for having wondered, at the coronation feast, whether there might have been affection between the Emir and Emira of Steersberg. It was impossible. Gods know what vile acts the man has already committed towards his wife.

He would get the declaration. Then he will see about collecting his dues from the insolent Emir of Steersberg.

———

This chapter got a bit lengthier than I planned for, so I need to polish up the next part some more, which I will post in 2-3 days because it's double-update week! 😎 It's also when we'll see the return of Dramelia, or Amelake, whatever you prefer.