Shadow Touched (Editing)

3. FINCH

My eyes scan the room with hawk-like precision. Receiving days pose some of the greatest risks each week to the King. With the castle gates down and the doors open, any Atheccan with a request—or grudge—can walk through the door to make their demands and displeasure known. This also means it's much easier for a disgruntled Lord, with his guards in tow, to burst through the door to challenge the King. Or, an assassin dressed as a peasant could sneak in and make a play to take out His Majesty. Receiving days require I be at my most vigilant.

As Captain of the Guard, I could assign someone else to oversee the crew I hand-picked to guard the King, but it's good for my men to see me take on active duty. There's nothing worse than being led by a soldier unwilling to step into the trenches with those he leads.

I bring my eyes back to the dais. The King sits on his throne—a big, ugly chair covered in blood-red velvet and lined with Veridian gold. The throne to his right, empty only moments ago, is now occupied by Prince Greyling.

Until his late arrival, I scanned the room, switching between searching for threats and the missing Prince. As I prepared to signal one of my men to take over so I could discreetly exit the room to search for Grey, he waltzed in.

Completely unbothered, his blonde hair, with its golden hues, tied back with a piece of soft leather, giving him a roguish look. The look offsets the overall...royalty of him.

His blue eyes and patrician features—square jaw, straight nose—mark him as King Vincent's son. His clothes, all black, are perfectly tailored.

But that hair—he keeps it long out of spite. He knows the King finds it unseemly, un-prince-like. He likes that it shows him capable of rebellion. It's his own form of protest, his one way to remind himself that, yes, he has free will. It doesn't hurt that, along with making his father's blood boil, it also makes women swoon.

Despite this and the nonchalant way he walks up the aisle, I know inside he's fighting a battle between not caring one bit that he's late and that boyhood fear of one's father a man never entirely escapes.

He makes his way up the aisle, and for a brief moment, our eyes connect. I suppress a chuckle. Quickly, but I know he catches it. He takes his place next to the King, and I continue to stand Guard.

~*~

Hours later, the Receiving is, mercifully, over. I watch as His Majesty is escorted from the throne room, General Lorris Welland fast on his heels.

I fight the urge to make a face. Welland is my leader—tasked with running the King's armies, yet it's not always easy to hide my contempt for him. The man's a snivelling sycophant.

It feels arrogant to say, but I'd hazard a guess that most of the men and women in the Guard view me as the more decisive leader despite my rank. I was trained by the late General Roman, one of Athecca's greatest heroes. I'm also a vocal advocate for modernization.

Welland would have us believe that because we live in a time of peace, there is no need for the constant drills—the vigilance—I demand. I know better. In Athecca—in the Six Realms—peace is capricious. It is the space between one bought of The Blight to the next. There's no telling when our world will once more be thrown into the chaos of the Gloaming. After what happened during the last one, I'm certain that whatever force controls it is only biding its time, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike again. And so, I keep my soldiers on Guard.

Satisfied that the King is safe, I move to escort Grey, only to discover he's already left. How he's escaped without me noticing is beyond me. Yet, I know with absolute certainty the exit he's taken—the catacombs.