The corridors of the royal palace were dimly lit, hushed with the kind of silence reserved for sickness and looming death. Nathaniel Wycliffe moved through them with precise, soundless steps, his long coat a whisper of black shadow trailing behind him. He was received without fanfare. No herald, no announcement, only a steward who bowed low and led him to the King's private chambers.
Inside, the room reeked of frankincense and dying roses. The King lay in his vast canopied bed, once robust and sharp-eyed, now pallid, bones showing through his skin like old parchment, his breath coming in shallow rasps. A nurse rose at Nathaniel's approach, retreating to the far end of the room. A physician hovered nearby, mumbling prayers under his breath, while two guards stood at attention like statues.
The Duke stood at the foot of the bed, arms clasped behind him.
Nathaniel said nothing. He approached the bed and stood at the side, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the King's rheumy eyes flicked open. Recognition sparked, dim and flickering.
"…Wycliffe," the King rasped.
Nathaniel gave a shallow nod. "Your Majesty."
"Still… sharp as a blade, I see."
"I try to keep it honed."
The King's gaze, dull but aware was fixed on him. One of his hands trembled against the coverlet, trying to lift.
Nathaniel stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "You are not long for this world."
The King coughed, a harsh rasp from deep in his lungs. "So they say," he managed. "But I hear… you finally took a wife."
Nathaniel didn't flinch. "A union of interest. One that required immediate attention."
The King wheezed a breath that could have been laughter or pain. "You've always been precise."
The King chuckled weakly, then winced at the pain. "I'll be gone soon… and they're already carving up the crown."
"I noticed,"Nathaniel replied coolly.
The King's lips twitched. "Where do you stand, old friend?"
Nathaniel didn't answer at once. His gaze drifted to the windows, where heavy blue drapes kept the world at bay.
"I stand where the kingdom's stability lies," he said finally. "With or without a crown."
The King gave a dry cough, perhaps a laugh, perhaps something worse. "You always were dangerous… because no one ever knew what you wanted."
Nathaniel didn't deny it.
Their eyes locked, two blades unsheathed. No affection. No false sentiment.
"I was loyal to you in your strength," Nathaniel said coldly. "I do not pretend to mourn your weakness."
The King grunted, then turned his head away, signaling the end of the visit.
Nathaniel left as silently as he had entered.
He had no intention of watching a once-formidable monarch choke to death in fine linens.
He was halfway down the marble stairwell when a maid intercepted him, breathless.
"My Lord" She said softly, "Her Majesty, the Queen, requests your presence."
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed a fraction. He gave a curt nod.
The Queen's private chambers were bright with afternoon sun, but the warmth was only for show. Queen Isolde sat like a carved statue in cream silk and blood-red rubies, her beauty still striking despite the hard edge that had come with years of court games and quiet cruelty. She rose from her seat slowly, regal and poised in crimson and gold.
"Duke Wycliffe," she greeted him with a smile that didn't touch her eyes.
"Your Majesty," Nathaniel said, bowing just deep enough to remain proper.
She motioned for him to sit, and a maid brought wine, which Nathaniel ignored.
"I trust your visit to the King was… enlightening?" the Queen asked.
"He's dying," Nathaniel replied plainly.
She tilted her head. "You sound disappointed."
"I'm never disappointed by inevitability. Only by poor strategy."
The Queen's smile faltered, then returned with more teeth.
"You've been neutral for too long, Nathaniel. It's unnatural. Suspicious, even."
"I'm not a man who takes sides, Your Majesty. I deal in consequences, not allegiances."
She studied him, eyes sharp beneath her heavy lashes.
"You've spoken with members of my circle."
"I speak with many people. It's the only way to know who's lying."
Her fingers tightened around her goblet.
"Don't play coy, Lord Wycliffe. I know you're up to something. You always are."
He leaned forward, his gaze piercing.
"And yet you summoned me. That says more about your position than mine."
The Queen's composure cracked for a breath, a twitch of her brow, a flare of her nostrils. She stood abruptly.
"Leave, Lord Wycliffe," she hissed, voice low and venomous. "Before I decide to remind this court how treasonous your bloodline once was."
Nathaniel rose, unbothered.
"Reminders work both ways, Your Majesty. And history doesn't favor the reckless."
He left without another glance. Behind him, Queen Isolde hurled her goblet at the door, where it shattered with a sharp, satisfying crash.
"Arrogant bastard," she snarled.
Outside, the skies had begun to clear. Nathaniel walked across the courtyard toward his carriage, when a voice called behind him.
"Well, well...if it isn't the Ice Duke himself.", a voice called out.
Prince Benedict stood beneath a columned arch, his princely garb impeccable, a falcon ring gleaming on his gloved finger. He strode forward with a confident, practiced smile.
"Your Highness," Nathaniel said with a shallow bow.
"You make quite the impression on Her Majesty," Benedict said, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. "I passed her antechamber. Sounded like murder."
Nathaniel's face remained impassive. "She has a flair for drama."
Benedict chuckled. "I hear you've been meeting with some of my associates."
"I meet with anyone who can speak plainly. A rare trait in this city."
The prince's smile cooled.
"I also heard you've been making waves and stirring old waters."
Nathaniel gave him a glance. "And I hear you've been playing king before the crown is cold."
Benedict chuckled. "Someone must. The kingdom cannot pause for grief."
They walked in silence a few steps, a hollow sort of camaraderie lacing their strides.
"You've stayed above the game for too long, Lord Wycliffe. People are beginning to wonder if you play it at all."
Nathaniel's reply was calm, razor-edged. "I don't need to play, Your Highness. I simply wait for everyone else to exhaust themselves, then I decide what's left worth owning."
There was silence between them, heavy and dangerous.
"You could be useful," Benedict said slowly. "To the right side. And richly rewarded."
Nathaniel stepped closer, his voice a whisper meant to slice.
"You misunderstand me, Prince. I don't bend for gold or favor. And if I ever take a side… it won't be the one that needs to bribe me."
Prince Benedict smiled coldly, his eyes narrowing dangerously."I suppose we'll see each other again soon, at the council," Benedict said.
Nathaniel finally turned to look him in the eye. "We always do."
The prince's smile remained fixed. "Then I'll be sure to wear my sharpest crown."
Nathaniel stopped at the carriage. "Do that. You'll need all the shine you can summon."
Without waiting for a farewell, the Duke mounted his carriage and disappeared into the streets of London, leaving behind a court shifting like sand and the vultures circling overhead.