The Imperial Carriage did not escort Lucian to the palace, it locked him away.
Outside the shiny glass windows, the capital city of Veridia could be seen in a blur of white stone, crowds of people crying and black silk banners hanging from every marble archway. Next to him was High Alchemist Malakor, completely still, with his hands folded inside his green sleeves like a hunter waiting for a dead animal to stop moving.
"Wipe your face, Your Majesty," Malakor said, his voice flat and without any of the usual respect to the Crown Prince. "A Crown Prince does not go into his father's funeral chamber crying like a weak person."
However, Lucian did not wipe his tears. He didn't listen to what Malakor told him. His long, slender fingers held tightly onto the bottom of his dark linen seminary robes, his knuckles white, his nails digging into his palms until the pain served as his only anchor.
When the heavy carriage doors were hauled open, the humid, jasmine-scented heat of Veridia hit him like a suffocating blanket. They didn't bring the heir through the grand marble gates. Instead, Lucian was hurried through the narrow, shadowy servant passages, a secret entrance designed to keep the court from witnessing the shaking, tear-streaked scholar who was about to inherit the world. They treated him not as a grieving Crown Prince, but as a hostage. As Lucian was grabbed and pulled to the side, Thomas was also dragged away to a different room.
They were in the private royal wing, the towering labyrinth of polished quartz and golden mirrors that Lucian had not been in since he was ten years old. A dozen court attendants in formal clothes bowed low as he was hurried down the corridor, their eyes quickly looking at the weak, red-haired young man being led towards the changing room.
"The King's personal attendant was already waiting inside," A palace official quietly suggested, expressing their deepest respect for Malakor. "We attempted to commence the bathing ritual, but the old woman insisted on maintaining the traditional respect for the Prince's ceremonial robes."
"Just let her." Malakor muttered coldly, sweeping past the heavy mahogany doors.
The air in the room was thick with the strong, sharp smell of chemicals used for embalming, along with the scent of cloves and myrrh incense. Sunlight poured through the tall, arched stained-glass windows, lighting up a huge carved stone slab right in the centre of the room.
King Caelum Sol Veridian was lying on it.
Lucian didn't say a word as he looked at the king's body on the bed, totally still. The old man's face was pale, his long, silvery-white hair looked shaggy. The moustache that Lucian remembered as neatly groomed framing his wrinkly face, was now gone.
All that was left was a messy moustache and a thick beard that covered almost half of the old man's face. He looked a bit rumpled towards the end of his life.
The air in this chamber doesn't smell of flowers, it's more like the scent of old parchment, cold stone and the slight metallic tang of old plate armour. Deep, indigo tapestries hang on the walls, like heavy shadows, with gold threads and ancient symbols sewn into them. A grand, gold-wrought chandelier hangs from the dark rafters, its candles burning with a steady, unwavering flame that doesn't flicker.
He felt like he was familiar with every corner of the room, but at the same time it felt weirdly foreign to him.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" A woman of roughly the same age as Thomas walked into the room, her face all wet with tears.
Lucian remembered the woman. Lyra Aethel. She was the head maid who had worked for his mother, Queen Seraphina, for a long time. She hadn't changed a bit, just like she did in Lucian's memories, except this time her face was all messed up from crying.
She bowed her head respectfully in front of Lucian, "Your Majesty, it is a pleasure to see you again. While the circumstances are not entirely joyful, I am delighted to see you back here." Her voice trembled.
"Lady Aethel…" With his eyes locked on the woman's petite figure as she bawled in front of him, Lucian uttered a soft murmur.
Lucian stayed where he was as palace servants moved around him, preparing for the funeral. He tried to process what was happening until the bell that meant the king was dead, rang again.
During his time at the church, he was informed more than once that his father was suffering from illness. The council members continuously asked him to go home and check on his father's health, but he always refused. He did everything he could to cut all ties with the king in order to finally break free from a bond he had never wanted.
Lucian had not expected his father to die.
The ceremonial silk felt heavy and suffocating against his skin. He was wearing the same long, white-and-gold habit of Veridia that he had worn ten years ago at his mother's funeral. Only now, the golden thread felt less like a royal adornment and more like a shroud binding him to his father's corpse.
"Your Majesty.."
Lucian turned, Thomas looked tired and disheveled.
"You've even used that title for me here, Thomas." Lucian said, his deep, heavy voice softening but remaining cold. He walked over to the wooden chair near the king's bed, dragged it over to the end of the bed and sat down.
Snow had been falling since last night and it was still coming down as morning came around. The clouds were dark and the air was cold, people were praying at home for their king who had passed away.
Lucian wasn't too keen on the vibe there.
"He looks peaceful." Lucian started talking when the servants left the room, leaving him and Thomas alone. He leaned back in his chair and stared at his father's face. "He was so happy because he'd been waiting a long time and now he finally got what he wanted. The day of his death."
Thomas couldn't help but look at the king's cold body with teary eyes, he glanced at the Crown Prince. He couldn't guess what Lucian was feeling.
The king's crown, a symbol of greatness, sat on the edge of the bed, shining beautifully because it was made of pure gold. The Crown Prince who was going to be king was going to wear it during the ceremony, replacing the crown that is now on his head.
"Even when he was about to take his final breath, he still managed to look at Mom." Lucian mumbled again and Thomas turned to him. The Crown Prince stared at the big, beautiful portrait of his mother on his father's bedchamber wall. It had been painted a long time ago, long before his mother died.
A knock on the door interrupted Lucian's monologue. Malakor bowed at the door. He always has that faint, metallic smell of alchemical reagents and old blood around him. The man took a gold pocket watch from the cloak he was wearing.
"It would be to consider the possibility of a coronation, Your Majesty." Malakor said as he put his pocket watch back and looked away at the Mother Tree from the window, which was starting to shed leaves even though it was winter. "The funeral will be held first, followed by the coronation. I apologize, but I don't think we have much time to mourn now. The tree appears to be quite delicate."
Thomas turned slowly, his tall frame placing itself directly between Malakor and Lucian. His expression was a mask of cold, polite defiance. "The Prince has spent his life in sacred study, High Alchemist. I am his valet. I will prepare for him. You and your guards may wait outside the partition."
Lucian didn't move from his spot, though. He was still staring at his father's body. That big, strong body was gone, all that was left was a dry, skeletal form. Lucian could remember how, before his mom passed away, that big body used to give him a hug and be there for him until everything just... disappeared. There were no more warm embraces, no more best places to lean on.
"I just need a minute..."
"Ten minutes, Lightvein," Malakor spat softly. Instead of replying to Lucian, he turned to Thomas. "If he isn't ready, my guards will drag him out by force."
The old alchemist slammed the door behind him.
Lucian forced his pale, glassy gaze to lock onto Thomas's calm stare as the door closed. "I'm afraid I can't do this, Thomas. He's gone. They want to put me on the throne. They want—"
"I know what they want ," Thomas replied, his expression hardening for a moment as his eyes wandered towards the door. "And today, we're going to put on the very spectacle they're after. But you've got to keep your chin up, Cherry. You're a scholar of sacred law. There's more truth in the tip of your little finger than in the whole palace archive."
The heavy oak doors clicked open before Thomas could even finish his sentence. Malakor was standing on the threshold, a pale silhouette against the corridor lights. "Time is a luxury the empire doesn't have any more, Your Majesty," the High Alchemist said, sounding a bit cold. "Outside, the snow falls on a city without a ruler. The Mother Tree stirs, and the people demand their King." There wouldn't be time to mourn. The dead king was left behind in the dark and the live puppet was dragged toward his altar. Lucian looked at 'The Mother Tree.' The tree that started it all for Arboris and powered the Veridia kingdom for ages.