Chapter Nine: Who Is This Young Man?
Grief enveloped Rhine Palace like a black cloud swallowing the sun. The palace, once echoing with princes' laughter and celebrations, had become a temple of silence and pain. Its very walls seemed to weep, and the corridors that had witnessed the passage of kings and princes through generations now groaned under the weight of tragedy.
It was time to lay Prince Cain to rest. The scene was heart-wrenching and bloodied the eyes.
In the ancient Rhine family cemetery, where the bones of great kings and princes rested, attendees stood in tight rows. At their forefront stood King Edward of Abindor, like an ancient tree battered by winds yet refusing to bend. His features were stony, his eyes red from sleepless nights and endless tears, yet he struggled to maintain regal composure while bidding farewell to his son.
Beside him stood Prince Ned, the deceased's brother, ravaged by grief. He made no effort to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks like rain. His body trembled with each sob, as if his soul were tearing apart with every drop.
"Cain… my brother… why?" His fractured whispers slipped between quivering lips.
Among the mourners stood a woman in an elegant black gown, her silver-white hair dancing in the cold morning breeze. Lady Mary, Cain's mother, wept with a anguish that tore at heartstrings. Her tears were silent, but the screams of her soul echoed through the cemetery. Beside her stood her younger sister, Ned's mother, who shared her features and stature, gripping her hand tightly as if fearing her sister might collapse from the horror.
King Edward had married the sisters in years past, each bearing him an heir. But Cain's mother, with a mother's wisdom, had been spared the sight of her son's coffin. Had she seen what others had, she would have died from the horror.
Behind the royal family stood ministers, military commanders, nobles, and commoners who had loved Prince Cain and pinned their hopes on him as a future king as just as his father. Their faces were pale, eyes tearful, whispers sorrowful.
"He would have been the greatest king Abindor ever knew…"
"He was fair and merciful even to his enemies…"
"Who dared do this to our beloved prince?"
Amid this tragic scene stood a lone young man, distinct from the crowd. He stood beside Ned, his jet-black hair swaying in the wind like raven wings, his deep black eyes bearing a strange gaze—neither pure grief nor utter coldness, but a complex mix of conflicting emotions no one could fathom.
Linder, the third prince, did not weep. His face was a blank canvas, but those who studied his eyes saw a tempest of memories and experiences. How many brothers had Linder lost over a thousand years of repeated trials? How many had betrayed him, stabbed him in the back? How many lovers had deceived him, friends abandoned him? These memories clashed within, preventing him from drowning in simple grief for a brother he'd known only a few years in this life.
Linder stood like a black marble statue, a thousand years of experience and pain weighing on his shoulders. He observed the scene with falcon eyes, capturing every detail, analyzing every reaction, measuring every tear. His mind worked with machinelike precision, his heart buried under layers of ice accumulated over countless lifetimes.
The burial concluded with poignant words from the kingdom's priest, followed by mournful prayers and calls for eternal peace. The coffin was lowered into its final resting place, and King Edward tossed a handful of soil over it, followed by the rest of the family.
After the ceremony, King Edward gathered his ministers and commanders in the throne hall. His fury mounted by the moment, his voice rising like thunder echoing through the palace.
"How did you allow this?!" he roared, neck veins bulging. "How did you fail to protect the crown prince?! Where were your guards? Your intelligence?!"
The ministers and commanders trembled before their king's wrath, bowing their heads in shame and remorse.
"I demand a full investigation!" he thundered. "Search every inch of the kingdom, interrogate everyone, overturn every stone! If I discover an entire kingdom is involved in this crime, I will erase it from the earth!"
He then stormed out with heavy steps, leaving behind a dreadful silence.
Linder waited, then followed his father to his chambers. He knocked gently and entered to find the king seated on his bed's edge, head in hands, shoulders shaking silently.
"Father…" Linder said softly, feigning carefully crafted sorrow. "Ease your heart. We'll find the killer, no matter the cost."
The king lifted his head, eyes red from weeping. "How can I ease my heart when I've lost my flesh and blood? How can I sleep knowing his killer walks free?"
Linder approached, pulling a small vial of clear liquid from his pocket. "Take this medicine. It will calm your nerves and help you think clearly."
The king reached for the vial, nearly opening it, but Linder stopped him with sudden words:
"Yet I suspect something that may aid us…"
The king froze, sharp focus returning to his eyes. "Speak quickly! What do you know?" he demanded, clinging to any lead.
Linder hesitated, as if weighing his words. "Ned and I sometimes visited a tavern in the city… The owner knew our true identities but was loyal. Today, Ned was busy with treaty matters, but a merchant sent him a message there… from Kuandor."
"A merchant from *Kuandor*?!" the king exclaimed, suspicion igniting in his eyes.
"Yes, I was equally surprised," Linder replied with feigned innocence. "I doubted it but didn't open the letter."
"Give it to me! Now!" The king extended desperate hands.
Linder feigned reluctance, as if fearing error or hesitation to implicate his brother. After theatrical hesitation, he produced the letter.
The king read with trembling fingers, his expression shifting from shock to rage to profound pain. The letter stated:
*"Prince Ned, we executed the plan and killed Prince Cain. Handle Prince Linder as agreed."*
But what devastated the king most was the official seal at the bottom—Kuandor's royal emblem, unforgeable and undeniable.
The king erupted like a storm, charging to the main hall where Ned stood discussing investigation plans with ministers.
Before Ned could react, the king struck his face—once, twice, thrice.
"You plotted your brother's murder!" he screamed, voice quivering with fury and pain. "Why?! He loved you! You were soul twins!"
Ned staggered back, hand on his reddened cheek. "Father… what are you saying?! I did nothing! I'd never harm Cain!"
"And this letter from Kuandor?!" The king threw it at Ned's feet. "Bearing their seal! You conspired with them!"
Ned picked up the letter with shaking hands, reading rapidly. Horror and denial crossed his face. "Father, I swear—I never conspired! This is a lie… a plot!"
Linder watched from behind, eyes glinting with vulpine cunning, lips pressed thin. He awaited the perfect moment, a patient hunter.
The burly supreme commander, Ned's direct superior, intervened. "Wait, Your Majesty. This may be Kuandor's plot to sow discord."
Though King Edward was known for wisdom, grief and rage blinded him. The possibility of forgery or deeper conspiracy never occurred to him.
Linder stepped forward, unleashing his final blow—a sentence planned for a millennium:
"Ned, you did this! That's why you met Kuandor's minister alone at the tavern without me. Why?!"
The words fell like poisoned arrows, sowing doubt in all hearts. Even Ned's staunchest defenders wavered. To the king, this was irrefutable proof.
Ned tried defending himself through tears: "No! He only discussed the treaty!"
But his admission of meeting Kuandor's minister alone drove the final nail into his coffin. The king's roar shook the palace:
"Take him to the dungeons!"
Guards seized Ned as he resisted and screamed: "Believe me, Father! I loved Cain! This is a plot!"
His pleas vanished into the wind. Had another been accused, the king would've ordered immediate execution. But this was his son, and paternal mercy stayed his hand.
Dragged away, Ned left heavy silence in his wake. The king returned to his chambers, torn between rage, grief, and regret—regret for not attacking Kuandor sooner, for missing betrayal in his son's eyes, for failing Cain.
Entering his room, his eyes fell on Linder's vial. He drank it in one gulp, hoping to numb his pain. Moments later, strange dizziness struck, a knife-sharp headache piercing his skull.
The vial contained not medicine but slow poison. The king staggered, colliding with furniture, clutching curtains to stand. A pain-filled scream—then King Edward fell by his bed, convulsing, white foam seeping from his mouth. As life faded, late understanding flashed in his eyes—Linder might have orchestrated everything. But too late. His eyes closed forever, leaving a kingdom on the brink.
Meanwhile, in Kuandor's palace, King Nork and his prime minister dined luxuriously.
"Events accelerate in Abindor. The plan proceeds perfectly," said the prime minister, cutting meat.
"Yes, this Linder is cunning. Reminds me of your younger self," King Nork smiled faintly.
The prime minister, once an orphan climbing power's ladder through endless battles, saw his ambitious youth reflected in Linder.
"Thanks to you, I now serve this great kingdom," he said, elegantly pouring wine.
King Nork sighed. "Generations change. I wish I had a son to inherit this crown."
The prime minister smiled enigmatically.
Moments later, the king felt strange—the prime minister's poison coursing through his veins. He gripped the minister's collar.
"What did you put in my drink?!"
"Apologies, Your Majesty," the minister replied calmly. "But you said it: generations change. I deserve the throne more than your foolish kin."
King Nork surrendered to encroaching death. "I knew you might betray me… Perhaps you truly deserve it…"
He smiled a warrior's smile acknowledging defeat, then closed his eyes forever.
The prime minister had planned meticulously. Servants and guards dismissed earlier, he controlled the army completely. With the king dead, seizing power would be effortless.
Weak siblings couldn't challenge him. None would dare accuse him once crowned.
A day of profound sorrow. Two great kings fallen to unexpected betrayal. A day that upended power balances in both kingdoms.
Seven days prior, during Linder's Kuandor visit, a secret meeting occurred between him, King Nork, and the prime minister.
"Now I'll explain the plan," Linder began calmly. "It must be executed flawlessly. One misstep dooms us all."
The king and minister nodded intently.
"First, we kill Cain brutally to eliminate the rightful heir."
"I see killing Cain as heir," the minister interjected. "But why spare Ned? He'd be next in line."
Linder smiled coldly. "Killing both would make King Edward a wounded beast—merciless. If he links this to Kuandor, he'll annihilate you."
Pausing, he added sharply: "We must anticipate every scenario. Another reason: implicating you ensures my interests align with yours."
His bluntness shocked them, but Linder used it to bolster credibility.
"Implicate us? How?" King Nork asked suspiciously.
"Send a letter to a tavern I'll name on Cain's death day. The carrier must be your merchant. The letter states your pact with Ned to kill Cain. A day prior, send a minister to meet Ned alone there, urging treaty leniency."
He continued: "A composed King Edward might detect the plot. But Cain's brutal death will unhinge him. He'll jail or execute Ned."
"But he'll know we killed Cain and attack!" the minister protested.
Linder replied confidently: "He'll be consumed by Ned's case and mounting crises. By his awakening, I'll be king."
"What of King Edward himself?"
"Leave him to me. Execute my orders."
King Nork and the minister studied Linder, wondering: *Who is this youth?* How did he develop such cunning? What horrors forged this icy precision? Could even Satan devise such a scheme?
They didn't know Linder wasn't as he seemed. They couldn't fathom his millennium of suffering, betrayal, and loss—trials that honed him into what he was.
Linder interrupted their thoughts: "Aren't you asking how I'll honor our deal post-coronation?"
He answered preemptively: "I'll write a signed, royal-sealed confession."
The sacred, unforgeable royal seal sufficed as guarantee.
"We'll proceed," King Nork agreed, ending the meeting.
Unknown to them, Linder had planned their fates too. He knew the ambitious minister would seize the throne, making King Nork's death integral to his grand design.
Thus, in one day, two kings and a prince fell, altering both kingdoms' power maps—all by one mind: a young man none ever deemed significant.
**To be continued...**