MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING!!

MENTION OF SOUP OF SIDE.

ALSO, THIS AUTHOR WROTE SOME MILDLY DISTURBING IMAGERY.

"His Majesty requests your presence in the court room.'"

The guard announced loudly through the closed ebony doors. "I'm here to escort you."

Kaizer Schulz felt the informal address slicing into his pride like a shard of glass. Slowly, he crawled to his feet, biting down on his lip hard enough to reopen the barely healed cut.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Facing his father with bloodshot eyes, puffy face, and tear-stained cheeks would have its consequences. The busted lip was a reminder from the last time he cried in his father's presence, which was a week ago, when his mother took her own life.

It was never wise to keep Cyra Schulz waiting. Kaizer hastily splashed water on his face, hoping to get rid of the shameful remnants of his meltdown. It provided little relief; the bluish crimson around his silvery eyes and abused lips standing in stark contrast to his ghostly pale skin. That, coupled with his whitewashed features made him look like a fragile paper cutout in comparison to other kids his age.

Running his fingers through his white-blonde hair, he attempted in vain to tame it into a more presentable style. After ensuring his face betrayed not a hint of the storm inside, he followed the guard to the court room.

He held his head high, shoulders squared and gait confidently. The former crown prince concealed the frantic tremor of his hands within the flowing folds of his black mourning garb, away from the belittling gazes of passersby.

He could tolerate the ridicule. Sympathy? Not so much.

The majestic, dark ebony doors, accentuated with silver, swung open before him. He stepped over the threshold of the court room, shuddering at how dramatically cold the regal hall was. Kaizer loathed how those giant marble pillars and soaring ceiling made him feel miniscule. The throne room was disturbingly spacious, and being swallowed up by it always made his heart clench.

The colossal chamber saw many distinguished guests on this day; dignitaries and officials from all four corners of the Western realms. Kaizer noticed specks of white, black, and red dusting the sea of royal blue livery as he traversed the hall. Each leaden step he took reverberated hauntingly off the walls, the echo lingering in the deafening silence that descended the second he entered.

Cyra Schulz peered down his nose at his eldest son from his lofty throne as Kaizer bowed deeply. Draped in three layers of exquisite dark blue silk threaded with silver, the man appeared nothing less than a majestic beast. His eyes, the same steel gray as his son's, held not a hint of warmth. They gleamed heartlessly under the sunlight, mirroring the cold, bejeweled silver crown atop his chestnut hair.

The West King clicked his tongue; the sound piercing the quietness like the thunder of a whip. Kaizer flinched, only years of practice holding him back from breaking into a maddened sprint. His father had noticed his reddened nose and cheeks, and now there was no salvaging his final strips of dignity.

"Let's commence," His voice boomed through the chamber, causing even the dome to tremble. All eyes shifted from the peculiar-looking twelve-year-old to the esteemed king of the West.

"This is my first-born child," Cyra Schulz continued with his trademark lackluster yet authoritative tone. "Kaizer Schulz."

Kaizer's throat burned, the taste of bile flooding his mouth, but he clenched his jaw to stave off the urge to retch. Refusing to crumble under the weight of a hundred condescending gazes, he tightened his grip on the black fabric and stood resolute.

His father sighed, as if to relieve some of the disappointment from his lungs. "Going forth, he is no longer the crown prince of West."

A wave of hushed whispers washed over Kaizer, rising, and falling, like the hum of a beehive. Kaizer dug his nails into his palms hoping that the pain would keep him sane through the meeting. Crescent shaped scars littered the soft skin of his palm from the bad habit, but it successfully distracted him from shedding tears and disgracing himself.

"The role will be filled by my son." He languidly pointed at the two-year-old baby sleeping in the hands of a nanny. "Wolfram Schulz"

Kaizer tilted his head further up, dreading the stinging in his eyes. He felt as if he was a glass filled to the very brim with salty tears and even the slightest of movement would spill everything out. The embellished ceiling blurred, and he blinked rapidly, ignoring how his heart felt like it was being clawed out of his ribcage.

"I gave him generous twelve years, but he shows no signs of possessing divine powers."

The tone of his father was poisonous with accusation, like Kaizer had deliberately done something wrong that caused this shameful shortcoming. "I made this decision for the sake of Kingdom's future. It has no use of such a powerless, weak king."

His tears chose this precise moment to flow over the rims of his eyes, down his face. He was a second too late to wipe them off because his father scoffed before adding, "He is even crying right now, it seems."

Kaizer's ears started ringing from the wave of muffled giggles that followed the King's deadpan delivery of a cruel joke. His knees wobbled dangerously, threatening to drag him further through the mud.

"He is welcome to reclaim his position," Cyra Schulz droned on, shushing the crowd into tense silence. "If he manages to rightfully defeat me one day."

He rose from his loft throne and descended the platform, his graceful steps not disturbing the pin drop quietness. He swayed as he set one foot ahead of the other, reminding his audience of a predatory wolf prowling through thick layers of snow that covered mountains of Whiolf. The train of his regal robes faithfully followed him as he approached the trembling boy. He paused by his son's side, looming over him like a mountain.

Kaizer felt his father's eyes burning into his head, intense enough to set his hair on fire. He knew the king was waiting for him to stare up and accept the challenge; to show that he was not spineless. But Kaizer kept his eyes glued to his feet, shivering in shame and fear. His neck was bent into submission and there was nothing his father abhorred than a head that couldn't keep a crown from slipping down.

The king clicked his tongue again; his way of spitting on someone's face.

"If any of you believe that day may come, you are welcome to remain with him in the hall. He added flatly and sauntered breezily past Kaizer. "I'll take my leave first."

Cyra Schulz was notoriously famous for issuing seemingly lighthearted challenges and annihilating whoever dared to accept them. No one in the throne room was foolish enough to miss the sound warning in the offhanded invitation.

It loosely translated to "If you stand with him, you stand against me."

Behind his languid and detached demeanor was a beast who would hunt anyone brazen enough to cross him to the end of the world. And the steady drainage of the crowd proved that no one wish to be on the receiving end of his ire.

Kaizer screwed his eyes shut. Each pair of feet that walked away from him was a new gash on his already bleeding heart. He listened to the clatter of footfall, the sound reminding him of a downpour. He waited with his eyes closed as the rain thinned to a drizzle and eventually died out. The hall resumed its tomb like silence, unmistakably empty.

He slowly opened his eyes; his long lashes sticking together with tears.

Yes, the stretch of the deserted chamber would be a sight that would haunt him to his bitter end, but he could not run away from it. His vision gradually cleared, and his heart lurched at the sight in front of him.

A boy knelt on one knee before him, his head bowed in a gesture of complete submission.

For a second Kaizer firmly believed he was hallucinating. He glanced around the vacant chamber and realized that this raven-haired boy was the only one who hadn't left.

"You don't have to bow, Ei" Kaizer couldn't help but chuckle grimly. "I'm no longer the crown prince."

He had forgotten Einar was present at the gathering too. Of course, he would be. He was the last remaining Whitlock. He must attend representing his clan. He was also here as Kaizer's personal guard.

Even at the tender age of seventeen he was such an impressive swordsman that Cyra Schulz personally appointed him to shadow his son two years ago.

Had he remembered that Einar was also present, he would have made a greater effort to avoid crying so pathetically.

"You can leave, if you want" Kaizer whispered, averting his eyes from the kneeling man.

He felt warmth enveloping his trembling hand, as Einar gently clasped it in his own. Kaizer snapped his head to see Einar's glossy brown eyes looking into his. There was a fire burning in them, gentle enough to warm Kaizer's soul yet fierce enough to scorch everything that hurt him into ashes.

His hold tightened on Kaizer's much softer and paler hand, and Einar scanned his face. Kaizer watched his frown deepening with each passing second before he realized that he had a busted lip.

"It looks worse than it is" he reassured, but the hold on his hand did not loosen. He hesitated for a long minute before he muttered,

"Why did you stay?"

"You are here. Where am I supposed to go?" Einar asked without missing a beat, as if he was waiting for the question.

Kaizer felt hot tears pooling in his eyes again, blurring Einar's face. This time they flowed, unrestrained. A sob choked him, then another, before he was gently pulled by his hand into a embrace so warm that it completely melted the frost that had been numbing his soul for weeks now.

A guttural scream escaped him and echoed in the hollow chamber, as he clawed at Einar's robes and cried. One of Einar's hands cradled his head against his chest and the other firmly encircled him.

"I killed her!" Kaizer wailed, the sound of his screams akin to that of a dying animal "She died because of me!"

Einar rocked him back and forth, shushing him.

"It was not your fault." He consoled, his own voice on the verge of breaking.

"I miss her so much." Kaizer felt as if he was losing his mind from the ache of loss. The pain was squeezing his heart so tight that he wished it would burst, killing him. "Bring back my mother, Ei. Or bury me with her."

Einar held him, silent. He let the younger boy scream into his chest until his voice became horse and raw. He cradled him, until Einar's robes were soaked with tears. He held him, never once loosening his embrace. 

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Kaizer Schulz had been blankly staring at an empty spot on the throne room floor for a while now. He had not blinked for the past minute-his subordinates noticed with concern.

"Please reconsider, Your majesty!" The chief minister begged with his head bowed low. He too, subtly glanced at the floor quizzingly, yet could not see anything out of the ordinary.

Kaizer Schulz did not respond. 

He continued staring, eyes glossed over, like he could see something the rest of them could not- perhaps a ghost. The pleas of his ministers seemingly went into his ear, only to stumble out the other.

"We strongly advise against handing Salkow off to North" One of the ministers reasoned. "It is the warmest in the kingdom. Losing it will greatly hurt our economy ..."

He trailed off, realizing that the king was not paying attention to them at all.

The ministers of West had been relentlessly seeking an audience with the king for days, only to be consistently turned away. It was understandable; the king had suffered an injury during the battle in Salkow and was confined to his chambers, unable to entertain any visitors.

However, as the king's deal to hand off Salkow to Lucian Verlice came to light, the urgency for a meeting with him peaked. The governing body insisted they must see the king to address the growing unrest among the citizens and ministers alike.

There was already some tension within West when the news of the sacrificial ritual been disrupted spread like wildfire. On the same day, the sacred Vorine Shrine was set ablaze, as well.

The citizens were gripped by a collective sense of foreboding, fearing that the defacing of Vorine shrine was a foreshadowing of darker days to come. As the kingdom grappled with uncertainty and unrest, the urgent need to confront the king and address the unfolding crisis could not be ignored.

So, it's fair to say that the ministers readily jumped at the opportunity, when Kaizer Schulz finally agreed to grant them a few hours to discuss matters.

Kaizer Schulz was a meticulous governor—organized, methodical, and systematic. Unlike his late father, he was a flexible ruler who could be reasoned with. He always had the best interests of the citizens at heart during his reign, and the entire kingdom relied on him greatly.

The officials were certain that this meeting would be productive and that they could persuade him to reconsider trading Salkow for whatever reason.

But when they entered the courtroom that evening—where they usually conducted diplomatic discussions—expecting to see their typically well-dressed, majestic king, they felt that the rumors about the kingdom being cursed might be true.

The King had lost a concerning amount of weight over just seven days and seemed like he had not slept for just as long too. His usually neatly braided hair fell lose over his shoulders and face, reddened rims of his swollen eyes peeking through the silvery curtain.

The disturbing feeling that something was terribly wrong, only grew as the meeting progressed. 

Their king was usually attentive and quite interactive during these discussions. He would ask questions, check missives, and scrolls while issuing orders to relevant parties. He would even greet his subordinates occasionally, albeit flatly. He was not the person with the sunniest temperament, yet he had never looked so lifeless before. 

Today, he had not uttered a single word. He just sat crookedly on his throne like a statue made of marble, his crown missing from his head. He did not even care to nod at anything they said. He only briefly glanced at them when they walked in, acknowledging their greetings.

 A few minutes into the discussion, he had started staring with drooping eyes and had not quitted since. Kaizer's face was deeply etched with an unnerving expression, like he was on the verge of crying without being able to actually do so. 

They assumed the heavy doses of sedatives and painkillers he used were taking a toll on him and ignored it. It was not the first time in history a king had attended a meeting, high on something.

They were here to protect their kingdom's most resourceful region from being sold off to a rival kingdom, after all. There were so much to discuss.

But two hours later, they had a far more pressing issue than their king's odd behavior.

Their king had been hugging a peculiar bundle of sheets since they walked in.

Maybe he was holding it way longer, they did not know.

It seemed like he had crawled out of bed, dragging his pillow and sheets along with him. Some observed that he might be using a cushion as an assertive to immobilize his injured hip and was being bashful about it by covering the whole deal with a heap of sheets.

At first glance, no one paid it mind. Yes, it was odd and out of place, a little funny even, but they had far more important things to sort out. It was a cold day, and their king was ill. So, it was perfectly reasonable if he wanted to keep himself warm with a few extra layers of sheets.

It earned giggles from the board of ministers, one even made a lighthearted joke about getting Kaizer a fur coat from his room, to which he didn't answer with his usual tight-lipped smile.

It became not so funny, very soon.

At one point during the debate, Kaizer shifted in his throne and the sheets fell away a little in the struggle, revealing a head of thinning black hair.

The gathering fell eerily silent, all heated arguments dying on their lips.

The king occasionally stroked the head, peeking through the white sheets, gently and lovingly-at times nuzzling his own face against it. This person on their king's lap was covered in multiple layers of flowing sheets to the point where they could not even say their age or gender. 

It was unmistakably a head, though.

They then recalled that their crown prince was quite young.

Surely, he had fallen asleep in his father's embrace. The king was refusing to move him fearing that the child might wake up and start crying. They spent about an hour believing this to be true and continued with the discussion.

It escaped everyone's mind for a good while until one official with a keen eye pointed out that there was no way in hell a five-year-old could be that tall. That was when they noticed the shadow of a leg hanging lifelessly over the ornate armrest of the throne.

It seemed as if all meat and blood was siphoned out of the leg, leaving only the bone and skin. 

What was even more terrifying? This person sprawling limply over the throne had not moved at all since they walked in.

As hard as it was to discern any movements through all those layers, after some thorough observation they realized this person was not even breathing.

One of the junior ministers tugged at his colleague's sleeve with urgency. His face had gone as pallid as a sheet of parchment, eyes blown wide in palpable terror. His colleague wore a similar face, his jaw hanging open in a silent scream -apparently having swallowed the same bitter pill of realization as the rest of them.

"I think.." he gulped down a think lump of saliva, tremors raking through him. He soften his tone, afraid of the words he was about to speak out loud. 

"He is dead.."

Author has somethings to say.

Let this author make this superrrrrrr clear.

Einar Ashford did not groom Kaizer Schulz.

Don't come at me with those kind of comments.  If it was that kind of situation, trust me , you would know.

Don't ruin my favorite ship for me.

Author- Finally! Raven is out of the way for a short while. Let's get into the plot babyy!!

Author's inner voice- What should we write? We got a little bit of River's back story, and Lucian's back story.

Author- We had enough back stories, now that Lucian is after River, let's get to the actual conflict, we have lot to cover.

Inner voice- EEHHH? BUT I DONT FEEL LIKE WRITING THATTTT...

author- *sighs* What should we do then?

Inner voice- I love Kainer, Let's do a flash back!! 

author- That's basically another backstory?

Inner voice- But we have a lot of backstories to do, too!! Let's get some out of the way!!

Author- But we are at chapter 60 something we can't drag this for too long. We can't put too much filler!!

Inner voice- Ok but we need to get to Einar at one point, right? Ok, let's incorporate some cental plot points into the flash back, like why Kai is so attached to Einar, his parents and how everything snowballed into what it is today.

Author - ok, fine..

*write 2000 words of emotional backstory about how Einar never abandoned Kai in his darkest times*

Author- I think I did a good job!

inner voice- Mmmhh you did ..you did..

Author- I feel like I'm recycling the same "My parents were abusive af " backstory.

Inner voice- No no it's fine. It kinda emphasis how Kai and Riv went through kind of similar experiences, but Kai had Einar and Riv had Val ..It's ok ..We will figure it out as we go.

Author- I will publish this now.

Inner voice- But it lacks something..

Author- Eh? But it's already at-

inner voice- Add a dotted line here.. now write what I say..

*another 8 hours later*

Author- *pulls on hair* YOU KILLED EINARRRR????????!! WE WANT HIM FOR THE PLOT YOU LIL BITCH!!! 

Inner voice- *pouts* You didn't write how his body was rotting as Kai was hugging it. 

Author- *waves 400 pages of plot around* WERE YOU BOUNCED TOO HIGH AS A BABY THAT YOU HIT YOUR HEAD ON A CEILING FAN? WE NEED EINARRRRRR FOR THE PLOTTTTT!!! 

Inner voice- *Throws the plot to the wolves* Figure something out, bitch.