The entire scene had seemed eerie and out of place.

Light poured in through the windows just enough to hit a light on the smiling corpse, and it had felt like the gods had indeed come to collect his soul.

He looked like royalty even in death. A sort of regal glow emanated from him, and the lack of blood suddenly made me think he would open those beautiful purple and blue eyes at any moment, and finally run away.

But I would never make such a mistake. He would never run.

A vicious part of me wished he would carry through with asking the gods for forgiveness on my behalf, but another part of me reminded me to stop thinking.

This was the choice I made all those years ago.

That was the only way I would survive.

I turned my back and left The Sixth Prince on his throne, not daring to touch him, not daring to disturb whatever peace he might have found.

Maybe death was better than the sort of life I was living.

Do not think, I reminded myself. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and went toward my savior.

The halls of the castle had emptied out, windows had been smashed and bodies decorated the sides. Blood was everywhere, splatters that suggested heavy losses on both sides. It was clear that the people against us had not gone down easily.

I felt sick.

The smell, however, was the most unbearable. A heavy metallic stench of blood hung in the air, along with a flowery sweet smell and the smell of rot.

I could guess that The Third Princess had been fighting around here, as it was the scent of her poisons and perfume, but I could not spot her corpse. Did she survive? Did she join us? I could only hope for the latter.

Every prince would need to die for The Fourth Prince to be satisfied, but the princesses were another matter. They had a right to the throne, yes, but they could also be used for alliances, and The Third Princess especially would be valuable to him.

If only her pride didn’t get her killed first…

With a heavy heart, I tried not to think about her. She had always been nice… In her own way. Even to a mere tool, like me.

I hastened my pace. The fight that happened here had been over for a while, and I didn’t need to linger.

I knew where my master would be. 

The Throne Room.

It was a place I had been to many times. The gold and silver adorned the entire space, with a staircase of exactly nine steps up to the throne, where The Fourth Prince sat in all his unbothered glory.

Unlike The Sixth Prince, The Fourth Prince seemed to be swallowed whole by the bejeweled and ornamented chair. It was somehow too big for him, too grand. One wrong movement and he would fall into it, never to return.

I shook my head. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t possibly think such thoughts about my master, my savior, my king.

Because that’s what this was all about. He had taken the throne, the crown and the castle. There was no doubt that he was the king, even without the official crowning ceremony.

For a while I stood, pondering how I should address him. My Prince somehow tasted foul in my mouth when directed to him, now. And why wouldn’t it? He was my king, now. 

Right?

But I didn’t get the chance to figure it out before he looked up from a see-through jewel, that might as well have been glass if not for the translucence shining through it every time it caught new light, and spotted me. I immediately kneeled down and bent my head.

This would not be a pleasant conversation, and I didn’t want to look him straight into the eyes. It was a coward’s way out, but then again, I had always been a coward.

“Oh, you’re back. I assume your mission was a success?” he asked, voice pleasant. Though I could not see his sneer, I could hear it clearly.

“Sir Mallis reporting to The Fourth Prince. The mission has been completed.” I said, deciding that calling him a king was too risky. He might see himself as one, but to be called so after having just taken the crown would have possibly felt like an omen of bad luck, and it was safer to call him what I always did, until told otherwise.

Until ordered otherwise.

“Hah. So formal,” he sighed, now sounding annoyed. 

Then I heard a clapping together of hands, and he continued with a friendlier tone, “No matter. So how was my dear brother in his last moments? Did he cry? Whimper? Beg for mercy? Do tell me he at least puked up blood or something.”

The word brother was spoken in a way one might confuse for rat or something similarly unpleasant. It was clear he didn’t mean it. The friendly tone turned higher and higher as he talked. I could sense swooshes in the air, hear fabric turning and swirling. Was he… Dancing? A small urge to look up tried to take hold of me, but I shook it off. I couldn’t afford to.

“Aaaah! I wish I could have seen his face as life left his eyes, but oh well. I was busy.” The Fourth Prince sounded almost ecstatic now. In a dreamlike state. It felt like he was replaying memories he did not have, of all the ways the final moments could have been. How horribly and obscene The Sixth Prince could have died.

I inhaled deeply. 

This was the moment I would utterly ruin his mood and deliver The Sixth Prince’s final message.

Holding my breath, I gave it a few more moments before I stammered out the first words.

“He told me…” I exhaled, “he told me to say farewell from him.”

The room fell silent. The swooshing fabric, the dancing, even the breathing stopped.

For one terrible moment, nothing moved.

“He did… What?” The Fourth Prince finally asked, ice in his voice I had only heard a few times in my life. It was much too brittle to walk out on, and yet I had no choice but to take a step forward.

“Say farewell to you. From him.” There was an unrecognizable force in my voice. What I thought would have come out as a whisper came out clear and crisp, with no hesitation.

I was digging my own grave.

“Why?” The ice was hardening. His voice had no warmth. I knew he would be angry at the taunt, and yet I was surprised by the effect it had. It unnerved me to the point of wanting to backtrack. Take it all back. Unsay and unpromise.

“I don’t know, My Prince. I am simply doing what he asked.” I said, words stumbling out. Whatever force they had before, gone. Calling him ‘My Prince’ too much a force of habit to change in a situation like this. Reminding me too much of how bad a situation I had put myself in.

“And why are you doing as he asked?”

Because it was the least I could do? No. 

Because I wanted his forgiveness? No.

I had no proper answer I could give, nothing that would satisfy him. The Sixth Prince had given his life up easily for this taunt, even though he would not be around to see it.

Had he known how well it would work? Had he known that using The Fourth Prince’s tool to deliver a Farewell would make him this angry? Or had there been something more in the message I was unaware of?

I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I had promised to deliver, and so I had. Which was why, the only thing I could say was the truth.

“It was his final wish, My Prince. I thought it – ”

“You thought?” He interrupted. His footsteps came directly towards me. He gave me no choice but to look up at him as he continued to berate me, “I never gave you permission to think. Follow your orders. Nothing more and nothing less. That is all I have ever asked of you. Do you understand?”

“…Yes.” I responded, almost choking on the word. 

His eyes were bloodshot and murderous. I had seen him like this only one other time, when he had fallen incredibly sick for a week, only to discover that The Second Prince had been responsible, poisoning his favorite sweets. Apparently, it had been vengeance from when The Fourth Prince stole The Second Prince’s favorite maid, but The Fourth Prince didn’t see it like that.

“Yes, what?” The Fourth Prince asked, impatiently. I knew the words he wanted me to say, and though the habit had kicked in a few times without me thinking about it, the thought of saying them by my own choice made the words taste like how the bloody hallway had smelled.

Flowery sweet and rotten.

And yet, I put my hand on my heart to kill my feelings, looked straight into his murderous eyes to shut off my thoughts, and spoke the words with the same conviction I had the day I swore my loyalty to him.

“Yes, My Prince, I understand.”

“Good. Now leave me. You have soured my mood.” 

I ignored the echoing words playing in my mind that were so similar, yet so much more regal and elegant.

I guess my rather gloomy mood was indeed contagious.

“Yes, My Prince.” I said, but I was no longer sure to whom the words were directed.

The new king… or a ghost.