The sun set completely and nightfall blanketed the castle. Its halls were brightly illuminated with floating lanterns covering the high walls. Antares felt rather underdressed compared to those he saw. His sparring attire gave him the appearance of a beggar rather than one of noble blood, and yet his presence still gave way to one of such background. Lady Alena was quick on her way and he followed close behind.

  "I see Anastasia left," Lady Alena quipped.

  Her sudden words jolted the silence between them, "Yes, soon after my coronation I believe." There was sadness in his words.

  "You both cannot still harbor bad blood?" Lady Alena looked at him with concern. She knew how difficult her youngest child could be.

  Antares shook his head, "I have nothing but adoration for my sister. She refuses to speak to me." exasperation creeped into his voice as memories of numerous attempts to speak before she left. "Once more, you were talking of the family image? We are not the ones you should be telling that to."

  Lady Alena slowed her walk slightly, her expressionless face completely devoid of any tell on her emotions. She knew Antares spoke true, Anastasia's public denouncement of Antares had done nothing but further expose a divide within house Xerxes. One that had shown signs of cracking with Antares' exile five years ago, and now with the warden of White Mountain denouncing her own king brother. It showed to those who would seek to exploit, that the king's attention was divided.

  "She is hurting, and Minerva is taking advantage of that," she concluded.

  The air changed.

  "Do not speak that name in my presence." Antares spoke with tempered hatred in his voice.

  "You cannot deny her forever." Her sunset eyes peeking through her head wear. "She is your foremother."

  "She is a murderer." Lady Alena shook her head, Antares continued, "Yes she is. She ordered the murder of my birth mother."

  "We have been over this countless times young one, there is no proof-"

  "I was there!" Antares yelled, the halls shook violently. Those unfortunately present blown back by the resolute Will of a monarch. "I was there, I watched her die... I was there. I know what I saw."

  Lady Alena said nothing, allowing her king the chance to cool himself. She was disappointed in herself for her off hand remark. For just a moment she saw the six year old boy who never quite had the same look in his eyes ever again. The boy who was powerless to save the woman he loved most in the world. She swore to herself when she became the king's consort she would raise him like her own, how Myrra would raise him. She reached out for his hands and he took hers.

  "I will talk to Anastasia," Alena began, "She is in pain, all of us are in so much pain. I did not know how much I relied on your father." She laughed a painful laugh.

  Antares placed his arms on her shoulders, "I am here. You can rely on me." he reassured her.

  His warm smile reminded her so much of his father. The look of complete determination in their eyes. Their presence invoked a sense of confidence and security. Every time she looked at Antares she missed Barranagan a thousand times more. But she could never let Antares know that. Such a revelation would crush him. Even if he did not tell her, she could see it in his face he carried so much already. She would not be another avenue of concern.

  She tried to clean his damaged sparring attire, "You have far too much to worry about to concern yourself with me." Antares had not noticed they continued walking until Alena stopped. "Furthermore, there are more pressing matters to attend to."

  She stepped aside revealing they were in front of the king's study. Antares stepped past Alena and opened the door. There standing in front of his desk stood a skinny boy covered in what Antares thought to pass for clothes among the common folk. He looked tired and hungry, his sunset eyes locked onto the walls of books studying them.

  "Whose this?" Antares asked Alena.

  Cyrus straightened up, he turned around to see the king of the Stygians standing before him. The first thing he thought when he looked into the storm filled eyes of the man he was here to see, was the overwhelming presence he carried. He merely stepped into the room and it felt like he occupied the space, his breathing became slightly labored and heavy. This was nothing like he remembered, it was the same person but he was different, greater.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Lady Alena motioned for the boy to introduce himself, "H-hello sir, I mean my king." Cyrus bowed awkwardly, he rose looking to Alena for approval which she gave. "I have come to deliver a letter."

  Antares raised his eyebrow and sized up the boy. He was riddled with bruises all across his face and body, much of his appearance was obscured. Because of it, it made it hard for Antares to recognize him at first. What part of him that wasn't bruised was covered in bandages. But even still. It took a moment but all the same Antares recognized the boy, the shock apparent on his face when he also realized the boy recognized him. He turned to look at Lady Alena who seemed unaware of the relation the boy and Antares shared.

  "From that expression I assume you know the boy?" Alena looked on.

  He let out a dry laugh, "It has been a few years. The last time I had a good look at him, he was but a snakelet." He turned back to look at him, rubbing his chin. "Now, he seems to have grown fangs."

  Cyrus outstretched a hand, in it a crumbled letter, "This is for you, my father said to give it to you."

  "Oh?" Antares took the letter, and examined it carefully. "And where is the naive old dog?" He looked at the seal, instantly recognizing it as his own personal one.

  Cyrus was quiet for a long time, the words stuck in his throat.

  "His father died the day of your coronation." Lady Alena interjected.

  The king stopped examining the letter. Truthfully the moment he saw the letter and his own personal seal, he knew it was authentic. With that thought he had an inclination of the contents of the letter. It had been a long time, and in many ways a different life for him since he last spoke with Dijkstra Locke. Even now Antares could remember the look on his face when he told him he killed his wife. Behind the overwhelming sadness that filled his eyes, there was some appreciation. At the time Antares found it strange, inhuman in some ways. His grief internalized, not once during their conversation did he ever raise his voice nor spoke ill of the then prince. He listened, nodded and thanked him for personally delivering the news. It was only as he left did Dijkstra find it within himself to ask something of him, and Antares listened.

  "This is true?" Antares turned to Cyrus as he looked away wiping tears from his eyes. The boy struggled to maintain his composition. The air of confidence he had carried throughout the day was on its last legs.

  "Yes, sir," he said softly, barely above a whisper.

  Lady Alena quietly watched as Antares' demeanor softened as they spoke. None more than him knew the pain one experienced watching the death of a parent. It was unfortunate Fate sought to grant Antares the privilege of experiencing twice. Taking one look at Cyrus she could see beyond his eyes, passed the pain and sadness a rage had begun to build. A rage only Antares could understand. One she failed herself to help him overcome.

  Rarely did the former queen consort hope. It was far too human for her own liking. Hope led to desperation, and that led to an even darker path. But tonight, she would allow herself that small pleasure. The sight of her wayward son, her eldest guiding another, was all she had ever wanted.

  "Where is your father's body now?" Antares asked, a softness in his voice even he was not aware of.

  "The Weeping Chambers," Cyrus said unable to meet the gaze of the king. "I-I wasn't strong enough to carry him back home."

  His Akashic eyes had caused him great trouble for many years. Often those around him saw it as a blessing by the ancestors but to him they were nothing more than a malignant birth defect. For he saw everything differently, and thus he thought differently and felt differently. But as he looked upon Cyrus, upon his very essence. And watched as it bloomed and flowed inside and around him, speaking to him in ways Cyrus could not express. And for perhaps the first time in his life Antares was appreciative of his eyes.

  "Do you know how to perform the last rites?" the king asked.

  "A little bit, I've practiced the words.'' He recalled the nights leading to his fathers death as he recited the words to himself.

  "Very well. Let us go," Antares motioned towards the door. Lady Alena already opening the door.

  Cyrus stood there in bewilderment. His plan was merely to deliver a letter, truly an inconsequential quest from his father. And now that quest led him to not only an audience with the king, but within his very own private chambers. But that was not all, said king now wished to accompany him to see his father. This was greater than any magic he had seen throughout the day and the shock was enough to root him in place. Cyrus noted as saw the back of him; his hair darker than black, the very night sky twinkling within it softly. He felt he could see all the stars he and his father looked at when they walked through Akkad. He was in awe at how the very king himself looked ethereal. But it was not just him, for the boy Lady Alena, and the other Stygians he met all carried the same air. Signs of envy riddled his face.

  The young king turned in the frame of the door and gave him an eager smile. Cyrus blushed at his beauty. He held up the letter and motioned for the boy to follow him, he looked over at Lady Alena for approval and she gave it. He was tired, hungry, his wounds ached all over and he wanted so badly just to lie down and cry. Despite that, he consciously placed one foot in front of the other and walked towards the king, this time his only company would be the night and the ruler of Iliad, and because of it, his life would forever change.