The nobles clapped at the comment, which only made Christopher’s expression pale further. Something about all of this was simply not right. And it wasn’t that his father had done the same act last year. He’d expected that.
No, it was something different. Something sinister. If only he could remember what it was.
Waiters and waitresses rushed down into the wine cellars to grab several bottles of the finest wine the kingdom had to offer – Kane’s Fortune. A few of the waiters brought up an entire rack. The remaining servants scurried about from place to place, passing out the fine crystal goblets and being very careful not to drop any of them.
Christopher watched them scurry about almost in a trance. Their movements were eerily precise, and not once did they so much as spill a drop of the expensive liquid as they went about their movements. As one of the head waiters stooped to fill the king’s goblet, Christopher felt a knot tighten in the base of his stomach. This was all wrong. He had to do something to shake things up.
But he wouldn’t get the chance, for Richard stood up not a moment later, calling for silence. “I would like to propose a toast,” he said to the congregation, “to the growth of our fine nation as a whole, and to my son Christopher’s birthday! Today, Christopher is fourteen and old enough to take the throne. May he do so in about thirty years!”
“Hear, hear!” the nobles cried out in between chuckles as they clanked their glasses together and drank from them.
All at once, the dream came back to him. He remembered all of it – the speeches, the motions, and how the wine had been poisoned. He looked up at his father with horror in his eyes.
“Drink up, son!” his father called out to him as the man started to lift his own chalice to his parched lips.
It was now or never. He had to act fast. “NO! Dad! Don’t drink from that cup!” he pleaded, shooting up from his seat.
The room fell deathly quiet and his father looked at him with a stern expression, but he didn’t heed his son’s words and kept raising his glass anyway.
With the speed of a madman, Christopher lurched forward, smacking the goblet away from his father’s hand in a last-ditch effort to save his life. The tainted wine spilled from the gilded goblet and splashed on the carpeted floor, leaving a wide red stain in its path not unlike the color of blood.
Alas, he was too late – the king had already swallowed some of the liquid.
Richard stumbled and bumped into his chair. He looked down at his son, took his son’s head in one hand, and smiled weakly. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say through halting breaths. Then he slumped down into his chair.
“Father?” Christopher said, a single tear streaming down his cheek, ruining the makeup that he’d heaped onto it. “It’s okay, Father. We’ll be okay.” He put a hand on his father’s head and another on his wrist, feeling for a pulse that he knew wouldn’t be there.
“My liege, what is wrong?” Talon asked suddenly. “Please, say something.”
“King Richard? My liege? What has happened? Why will you not reply?” Adam asked before he too came to the realization that King Richard had died. “Christopher, I’m sorry, but your father, he’s-”
“Father! Father!! FATHER!!” Christopher cried out in agony, ignoring everyone else as he finally accepted the truth.
If only I’d remembered in time. If only I’d been faster.
Slowly, he put his head on his father’s chest and started crying. In the same moment, he noticed many of the gathered nobles turn to leave.
“I’m sorry, Christopher,” Talon said in the awkward calm that followed.
Christopher lifted his head and glared at the nobles who were still milling about. “Go away!” he demanded of them.
Those who hadn’t already taken the hint filed out of the grand ballroom, and soon it was just Adam and Talon still there with him.
“If only I’d been a little bit faster,” he mumbled in a quieter voice that only he could hear. Then he buried his head in his father’s chest once more as he wailed in agony.
A warm, smooth hand reached out, settling on his shoulder. The weight of the hand set Christopher on edge, making his body tense. His emotions were swirling so fast he couldn’t tell if the hand was friend or foe.
The act sent him into a blind rage. In one swift motion, he took hold of the hand that was on his shoulder and used it to flip the man to the ground.
“You poisoned my father and shall burn in dimgate for your heinous crimes!” he shouted. When he calmed down enough to look around and see who it was that had assaulted him, he found Adam sprawled out beside him. Christopher blushed immediately, embarrassed at what he had done.
“I’m sorry, Adam,” he said at once as he helped his advisor to his feet. “I was in such a state of confusion over my father’s death that I overreacted. I thought you were the assassin trying to kill me as well. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s understandable, my liege. Really, I should not have been so rash, putting my hand on your shoulder like that,” Adam replied through a cough, rubbing at a bruise forming on the back of his head. “Really, Sire, do not be sorry for what you had no control over. If anyone should apologize, it should be me for-”
“What reason do you have to apologize, Adam?” Christopher demanded, interrupting. He already knew Adam was going to give an apology like a servant would give a king, and he didn’t want to hear it. “You didn’t kill my father or hurt my family or hurt me. In fact, I hurt you, so I am the one to apologize, not you.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Adam shook his head slowly, giving up the fight. He backed away slowly
