The Order of the Wolf: a Short Story

I

 Rowan wasn't a knight. He wasn't a king. He wasn't a Lord. And he certainly, by all means was not a hero.

He was a servant.  But a servant, nevertheless, that witnessed the inclosed events.

 When he was first invited to attend one of the meetings of the Order of the Wolf, he was hesitant. His life had been a smooth one in the castle, and he didn't want to jeopardize it by conversing with radicals in secret.

 But the thing is, he went to the meeting. And because he did, his life simply wasn't the same. Because he attended that meeting, he wasn't able to look at the newly crowned King Maximilian of Egisland without thinking about how he was going to die.

 And this meeting was where he was at now, sitting in the corner as some of the highest knights in the court discussed how King Maximilian's death was going to come about.

.  .  .

 "All members of the Order, which is a great and noble order, lay down your arms," said Sir Xalvador, a knight known well by all the kingdom, but not known to host secret meetings. The dozen or so knights unsheathed their swords and placed them on the small table, filling the dark room with the clinking of metal.

 Rowan had on no weapons. Very few times had he wielded anything used to inflict pain upon others. All he had on were his dark blue servants robes which hid against the bright, vibrant robes of the knights.

 The ceiling of the room was low, and the width short. Rowan tried to suppress the feelings of imprisonment that always accompanied him into small spaces.

 "The calling of the roll shall proceed," declared Xalvador. He began to list off names that belonged to the most talented knights of the court. "Doran, Dain, Leif, Fendrel, Tybalt, Borin, Forthwind, and Terrowin."

 Rowan's close friend Terrowin, stood and nodded before sitting back down.

 "For the swearing of the oath," called Xalvador. The knights promptly stood and began to chant in monotone. "As members of the Order of the Wolf we swear. We swear by heaven and all that is good and holy that the true king of Egisland is Ulfur. No other man can take his place as no other man is extraordinary. We believe that King Ulfur will come again. His death is only temporary and he shall take the throne again. And that is our mission: to assassinate the man Maximilian."

 The knights were sitting down again. Rowan glanced around at the young men in a new king of fear. But he couldn't stop thinking of how right they were. The King Maximilian wasn't a strong leader. He was too trusting and always saw the best in people, even when it wasn't there. The distant cousin of King Ulfur had only recently taken the throne, but already, the kingdom had been thrown into an unnecessary war because of how swift Maximilian had been to trust the surrounding kingdoms.  Despite this, Rowan wasn't very sure killing him could be the answer. Every knight swore to stay loyal to the kingdom, but that wasn't what these knights were doing. These knights wished to kill the king. It made Rowan's stomach churn.

.  .  .  

 Rowan was staring down the endless length of the throne room. High above his head, ntricate designs of cherubs and gods woven into the pillars and walls watched him, and he didn't mind it. The throne room reminded him of a cathedral, and although he personally didn't feel any ties to a superior being, he couldn't deny the feelings he felt in places like cathedrals and throne rooms, like there was something else there.

 King Maximilian and Queen Jacquelyn were poised in their thrones, as they had to be. The fair queen had no relations to the new king so far, to no one's surprise. The malice was obvious every time she gazed upon him.