**Chapter Ten: New Kings**
That muffled, choked death scream pierced the palace silence like a sharp knife. The sounds of King Edward's thrashing in his room echoed through ancient stone corridors, heralding the end of an era.
Linder stood in the lower floor, head slightly raised, ears sharpened like a predator eavesdropping on prey. His face was neutral, but his deep black eyes flashed briefly with a strange glint—a glint swiftly buried beneath a mask of feigned concern.
"What are these sounds from the king's chamber?" asked Marcus, the chief servant, genuine anxiety etched on his wrinkled face.
Linder turned to him with calculated poise, his features mimicking panic. "I don't know! Hurry, something terrible may have happened!"
Linder rushed up the broad marble stairs, followed by Marcus and several servants. His steps were hurried, tense, projecting surface-level panic while his mind worked with icy calm, calculating every second, measuring every reaction.
"Father! What's happening? Are you alright?" Linder pounded the door with feigned urgency, his voice laced with carefully crafted worry.
Only silence answered—a heavy, charged silence holding the truth behind the closed door. Linder kept knocking, knowing no one would answer. Finally, he shoved the door open, pretending haste and anxiety.
The scene confronting them was horrifying even to those accustomed to death. King Edward, the great monarch of Abindor, lay twisted on the floor beside his royal bed, convulsed in a grotesque posture, white viscous fluid oozing from his mouth. His eyes were wide, bulging, staring into emptiness as if they'd glimpsed a ghost in their final moments.
Silence reigned briefly, thick with shock and terror. Then the maids' screams erupted, filling the room with wails and lamentations.
"Ah! Ah! The king! The king is dead!"
Linder rushed to his father's corpse, kneeling beside it, cradling the cold body in his arms. Tears streamed down his cheeks—real or feigned? Even Linder himself wasn't sure. His emotions were a tangled web of thorns and roses, complex and contradictory.
"Father… Father…" he whispered tremulously, gently shaking the king's body. "What happened to you?"
He suddenly lifted his head, eyes blazing with an eerie fire. "I'll avenge you, Father! I'll annihilate everyone involved! I swear by Rhine blood!"
His voice carried genuine pain fused with iron resolve. But was his grief for a beloved father or another step in his intricate plan? Perhaps both, for even after a thousand years, Linder couldn't fully kill the remnant of humanity in his soul.
Now, with his father dead, Linder was the sole legitimate heir. Cain was murdered, Ned imprisoned for treason. Ned's innocence might later surface, but by then, Linder would be crowned, the kingdom wholly under his control.
That day marked the darkest in Abindor's history. A king and his heir dead in one day, both shrouded in mystery. Rumors spread like wildfire, fear and confusion gripping the kingdom.
King Edward's funeral was held with grandeur befitting his greatness. The crowd dwarfed Cain's, for the people had loved their just king, flocking from across the realm to bid farewell.
In the Rhine family cemetery, where kings and princes had lain for centuries, grief hung like lead. The tombs themselves seemed to mourn, ancient spirits weeping for their new companion.
Linder stood before his father's grave, alone amidst the masses. Dressed in elegant black, a small crown—symbol of his new status—rested on his head. His face was stoic, obsidian eyes staring cryptically at the grave.
As he stood there, a memory from a past trial flooded his mind—one brief not in duration but tragic end.
This was his third trial post-doctor. He'd awakened a legitimate heir to a kingdom. He'd thought life finally smiled, planning to patiently await his coronation, especially with an eighty-year goal.
Even without the throne, he'd found something priceless—a father who loved and cared for him, a just king resembling Edward. A younger brother he believed he loved. He'd felt peace might make this his best trial.
But does life grant happiness so easily? Does luck ever favor anyone? No, not even in dreams. We often wake from sweet dreams at their peak.
Linder fell victim to his brother's plot for the throne, framed for treason and patricide. What he hadn't known was the seemingly kind king had murdered his own siblings to seize power.
What Linder remembered clearly was begging the king, screaming his innocence: "I didn't do it! I swear I never plotted against you!"
But the king, stone-faced, ordered him burned alive. As flames consumed his body, agony shredding every cell, a final tear fell—embodying all betrayal and pain.
As that tear evaporated, Linder burning alive, his tormented soul wondered: *What is the truth of human bonds? Is every love, hate, grudge, friendship justified? Do all mothers love their sons? Are all friends loyal? Or is betrayal fundamental? Not every mother loves her child, not every friend stays true. Life remains complex and cruel, even if all humanity united to understand it.*
Linder closed his eyes and died in that trial, burned by flames lit by those he'd trusted.
Now, a millennium later, Linder stood before his true father's grave, uncertain of his feelings. A thousand years of pain, betrayal, and loss had blurred all emotions.
That sorrowful day ended with Linder's premature coronation. Despite exceptional circumstances, the ceremony was majestic, crowning Abindor's youngest king.
In the grand throne hall, under the gaze of nobles, ministers, and commanders, Linder sat on the golden throne for the first time. He wore regal dark blue silk embroidered with gold—the Rhine crest: a golden eagle soaring over a mountain. The high priest placed the crown on his head—pure gold, gem-studded, heavy in weight and symbolism.
"Nobles, ministers, commanders, great people," the high priest began sonorously. "We gather in sorrow to crown a new king. Linder Rhine, third son of Edward, is now our sole heir after the royal tragedy."
He paused, then continued: "But light is born from darkness. From tragedy, hope. Linder Rhine, do you swear loyalty to Abindor and her people? To protect and defend against all foes, internal or external? To rule justly and mercifully, by kingdom law and tradition?"
Linder stood straight, head high, voice firm: "I swear by Rhine blood, ancestral spirits, and my honor as king to be faithful to Abindor and her people. I swear to protect with my life, rule with justice and mercy. I swear to avenge my father and brother, bringing justice to all involved."
The crowd cheered: "Long live King Linder! Long live King Linder!"
But beneath cheers and celebration, doubts and fears crept into hearts. All knew Kuandor was implicated in Cain's death, possibly Edward's. The people expected their new king to retaliate fiercely.
Yet Linder, though king, lacked full authority or deep military knowledge. A thousand years' experience made him perhaps the finest strategist the Five Kingdoms had known, but as a new monarch, he needed commanders' loyalty.
But Linder had anticipated this. Phase two of his plan was ready.
The day after coronation, Linder descended to the dungeons where Ned was held. The cell was damp, dark, reeking of mold and despair. In a corner sat Ned, pale, exhausted, eyes sunken from sleepless weeping.
Seeing Linder enter, he trembled, recoiling like a wounded animal fearing more pain.
"Don't fear, Ned," Linder said softly, oozing feigned compassion. "I'm not here to harm you."
He approached the bars, gripping them, eyes locked on Ned's. "I doubt everything that happened to you. It might truly be that cursed kingdom's plot."
Ned hesitated, disbelieving. "Truly? You… believe me?"
"Yes, Ned. I need your help to avenge our father and brother. I need you beside me in this battle."
Ned's eyes welled, lips quivering. "Do you truly believe me?"
"Yes," Linder affirmed, reaching through bars to clasp Ned's hand. "You're my brother, my blood. I need you now more than ever."
Ned wiped tears. "Then we'll crush that kingdom together. Avenge our father and Cain."
Linder ordered Ned's immediate release, publicly declaring the accusations suspect, part of Kuandor's plot to sow discord.
Ned became Linder's right hand, especially in military affairs, having assisted the commander pre-imprisonment. Through this feigned compassion, Linder secured Ned's loyalty—or so it seemed.
Linder convened a secret meeting with Ned and the commander, away from ministers' eyes, fearing spies.
The commander was a towering, muscular veteran, his short white beard framing a strong jaw. A lifelong defender, his loyalty to the Rhines was unquestionable.
Even Linder, with his millennia, noted the man's dedication. His support was crucial.
"First," Linder began calmly, "I excluded ministers, suspecting spies. We must expect all possibilities."
"You're right, Majesty," Ned agreed eagerly.
"Don't call me 'Majesty,'" Linder smiled warmly. "Call me 'brother.'"
Not from affection, but to strengthen bonds—Ned was now his true pillar.
"But Ned's right," the commander rumbled. "You're king, deserving respect."
"No, Ned is truly my brother," Linder replied. "He may treat me as such."
He turned to business: "I'll explain the full plan. Listen carefully."
He inhaled deeply. "Kuandor is in transition. Post-Nork's death chaos reigns; their new king will be crowned in a week. We'll arrive a day after, feigning congratulations and peace talks."
Pausing, he added: "But secretly, we'll mass troops at the border pre-coronation. With their chaos and our superior army, we'll easily take the capital."
The commander interjected: "Why not attack mid-chaos or during coronation?"
Linder anticipated this. "Other princes or envoys may attend. Plus, we need days to fully prepare."
The true reason unspoken: Linder had signed a confession, sealed with his royal crest, admitting Cain's murder. He feared Kuandor's prime minister would expose it if betrayed. The solution was a swift, surprise strike.
"What of the High Court?" Ned asked. "Do we have legal right?"
"Yes," Linder asserted. "Kuandor's confession letter bears their seal—sufficient justification."
After Linder's explanation, brief silence followed. Ned and the commander stared in awed admiration. How did this marginalized prince possess such strategic genius? Luck or centuries of planning?
The meeting ended, the commander departing to execute orders. Before Ned left, Linder requested two hundred elite soldiers for direct command, planning a week of intensive training.
The week flew. The visit arrived. Linder's entourage reached Kuandor's palace, where the new king—former Prime Minister Nij—awaited. The reception surpassed previous pomp, befitting a king's visit.
"Hail King Linder," Nij began, extending a hand. "We deeply regret missing King Edward's funeral, given our… similar circumstances."
"I appreciate your condolences," Linder replied softly. "I mourn King Nork's passing. He was great."
"Let us enter," Nij gestured.
The reception proceeded smoothly, kings discussing trivialities. Mid-ceremony, Linder whispered to Nij: "I need a private word."
Nij obliged, leading Linder to a secluded room. Ministers wondered but dared not protest.
Alone, Linder began: "I want my confession document back in exchange for the peace treaty and trade route as agreed."
His eyes scrutinized Nij's face for deceit. His army silently advanced on the city walls, ready to strike at his signal. The grand game had begun—no turning back.
**To be continued...**