All Chapters of The Prince's Shadow : Chapter 111
- Chapter 120
127 chapters
Chapter 111: The Queen's Shattered Silence
Chapter 111: The Queen's Shattered SilenceThe Royal Palace' buzzed with a trained jollity on gala day. Servants, moving with forced cheer, polished every surface until it glowed, arranged pyramidal floral patterns, and laid tables laden with dainty. But behind the mask of festivity, an unspoken tension filled the air, a quiet acknowledgement of the "Crown Executor's' total control. No one dared relax in earnest, no one dared grin.In her high, but increasingly stifling, rooms, Queen Alys prepared herself for the evening. Around her, her own attendants, young women specifically chosen by Malrick for their uncritical obedience and lack of palace history, bustled about, selecting gowns and jewels. Alys moved automatically, a ghost, her heart a leaden weight in her breast. Every moment since Kairo's "transformation" had been a torture, every interaction with the impostor a play of grief and shocked compliance that wore away her very soul.Her gaze fell upon her embroidery stand, a tiny
Chapter 112: The Hour Of Reckoning
Chapter 112: The Hour of Reckoning The crypt chamber, usually a site of solemn and irreparable finality, hummed with the tense environment of a war council. The news from Sheila – that Queen Alys had indeed received and decoded the encrypted message – had generated an uncontrolled spasm of hope, but also raised the stakes to near intolerable levels. They now had a member within, but one under unceasing, watchful observation of the impersonator. The gala loomed just hours away. Sheila unfolded a hastily drawn map of the Royal Palace across a stone table, the faint glow of Elias's single, swaying lantern illuminating the way. Tate, his face set in a scowl, traced lines with his finger. Elias, silent watchful guardian, kept an eye on Kairo, his ragged breathing the only sound besides the faint murmurings of their quiet talk. "Queen Alys knows," Sheila stated, her voice husky and commanding. "She received the message. The 'sleeping monarch's crypt.' She will be hunting for us, or a
Chapter 113: The Ghost In The Asylum
Chapter 113: The Ghost in the AsylumThe gala scheme was bold, elaborate, and entirely dependent on the visible proof of the shimmering portrait. But as the final hours before the affair slipped by, a disturbing uncertainty bothered Sheila. The imposter, a knitter of lies, might even be able to disprove the painting, to make it a forgery, or an item of magic produced by "delusional shadows." They needed something more, something undeniable for those who would cling to his fabrications, something that dealt with the material, undeniable fact of Kairo's suffering."The poison," Sheila breathed, pacing the crypt chamber. Tate and Elias were rechecking the hidden corridors, breathing in the scents of wet loam and urgency. "Malrick poisoned Kairo. He left him to die, believing the monks would find only a corpse. We've seen the wounds, the weakness. The monks told us it was a 'slow poison,' one that acted on his head as much as his body."Tate paused, his hand on a hidden lever that would
chapter 114: The Serpent's Final Demands
Chapter 114: The Serpent's Final Demands Meanwhile, as Sheila and Tate navigated the horror labyrinth of the Asylum of Saint Vex, pretender king, now self-styled as the "Crown Executor," was orchestrating his final, horror-fueled act of domination prior to the ball. In the rich, but increasingly sterile, private apartments of the Palace of the Monarchy, he held a "private audience" with one of his most wicked and longest-active enemies: Lord Gareth of House Blackwood. Lord Gareth was a wise, clever vixen, an old fox of a man whose commitment to the rightful royal lineage was as profound as his own kin's roots within the mountains to the north. He had served the former King for many decades, a virtuoso of backroom politics and the cunning use of intrigue. He had ridden out Malrick's purges on an apparent collar of tired obedience, a subtly formed silence. Malrick, despite his power, knew that Gareth's grip ran deep among the older nobles, and that his silent disapproval was a dangero
Chapter 115: The Trojan Prince
Chapter 115: The Trojan Prince The last few hours before the gala flew by in a whirlwind of meticulous preparation in the chilly, wet crypts beneath the palace. The weight of the impending battle hung over them, but an eager, near-manic energy propelled Sheila and Tate. Elias, the pragmatist, was as always quietly efficient, his deformed hands conducting final checks on their secret transportation. The center of attention at this phase was Kairo himself. He rested in his deep, poisoned slumber, a helpless, oblivious passenger in the grand deception that was to unfold. Elias had obtained a special receptacle, not the simple coffin he'd first mentioned, but a large, ornate wooden chest normally used in shipping valuable and exotic tapestries or ceremonial robes to be presented at court ceremonies. It was a work of art in hidden compartments and false bottoms, created to deceive even a diligent inspection. "This chest," Elias said, rapping the black, polished wood, "is never inspected
Chapter 116: The Perfected Mask
Chapter 116: The Perfected Mask The last few hours before the gala were a cacophony of organized chaos within the Royal Palace. The air, thick with the scent of beeswax, expensive perfumes, and roasting meats, hummed with a nervous tension. The usurper king, surrounded by his inner circle, was in his private quarters, finishing his preparations for the night he would cement his rule forever. Yet, as he gave curt, definitive orders, he felt a slight, almost imperceptible tremor of unease. Lord Varrick, a tall, dour man, stood before him, his face a grave mask. "Your Majesty, all is in place. The guards are on full alert. All entrances are secure. Lord Gareth has been seen to make ready for his public declaration; he appears. compliant." "Appearances, Lord Varrick," the pretender purred, his voice low and musical, "can be deceiving you know that better than anyone." He stepped away from the window over the city, his eyes unsetting in their intensity. "What of the traitors? The so-cal
Chapter 117: The Queen's Stealth Weapon
Chapter 117: The Queen's Stealth Weapon While the impersonating king perfected his cloak of feminine ruthlessness and Tate donned the lowly robes of a curator, Queen Alys was subject to her own desperate improvisations in the confines of her cage of gold. The letter, concealed in the tapestry of the lily, had stirred her grief trance, fanning into a fierce, motherly fire within her. She understood the pretender's motive, his need for absolute loyalty, and his utter lack of empathy. She had seen it with the recent cleansing. Yet she also knew Malrick's greatest vulnerability: his pride, his failure to notice anything beyond his own manipulative maneuvers. By carefully inspecting the coded embroidery and cross-referencing it with the antique palace maps she had secretly purchased, Alys determined the "Sleeping Monarch's Crypt" site. It was a forgotten chamber, placed in the farthest recess of the oldest portion of the palace's catacombs, a section rarely, if ever, entered, and most ce
Chapter 118: The Queen's Agony
Chapter 118: The Queen's Agony The hours leading up to the gala crawled by for Queen Alys as an eternity. The Crown of Whispers, when it returned to her bedroom, lay upon her vanity, a glittering circlet of silver holding not just a hidden relic, but also the weight of an unfathomable choice. The Lullaby Nightingale, hidden away in its secret compartment, appeared to stir, humming with a faint, nearly imperceptible warmth against the cold metal. Surrounded by her maids fluttering about her, dressing her and bedecking her with jewels, Alys's thoughts were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The fear, the anger, the growing hope – they warred with a profound, freezing moral dilemma that gripped her soul. She looked in the mirror, not at the Queen, but at a woman who teetered on the edge of a precipice. Her hands instinctively lay against her belly, where she had once cupped Kairo. The shadow of remembrance, of his tiny kicks, of raw, animalistic need to protect him, swept through he
Chapter 119: The Serpent's Suspicions
Chapter 119: The Serpent's Suspicions The spacious grand ballroom of the Royal Palace sparkled with a false radiance. Scores of magically empowered candles that did not emit smoke or fire but still lit up the assembly of nobles, foreign envoys, and palace mandarins. The air was heavy with the aroma of roasting pheasant, fine wine, and expensive perfumes, punctuated by strained bonhomie and polite conversation, and the playing of a chamber orchestra. But under the thin disguise of rejoicing, there was a substratum of tension palpable in the air, a common knowledge of the "Crown Executor's" complete control. "Marvellous in robes of rich red and gold," "Prince Kairo" ruled at the far end of the ballroom, his grin entrancing, his laughter rich, his eyes sweeping over his assembled subjects with an air of gracious superiority. He moved among his guests, making the courtesies, basking in their carefully worded flattery, his pretence wonderful. But backstage, his inner circle, particularl
Chapter 120: The Brink Of Dawn
Chapter 120: The Brink of Dawn The Grand Ballroom, a din of light and constructed smiles, was a world away from the dark, frigid crypts where Tate and Sheila teetered on the edge of their bold plot. Kairo, dressed in disguise and safely concealed in the ceremonial tapestry chest, waited patiently in an obscure antechamber out of the way of the ballroom, awaiting his final, perilous journey to the private study. Elias, deathly pale in the dark, was already far down the palace maze of passageways, establishing the escape route. Tate, his nose now adorned with spectacles, fiddled with them, the robes of academia draping heavily yet liberating. Sheila, as elegant, understated Lady Lyra, caressed the rich velvet of her gown, her heart pounding like a mad drumbeat in her chest. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old stone, their own adrenaline, and the cold, stark end-of-things reality of what lay ahead. They exchanged a moment, a fleeting, stolen instant of shared time in a forg