The Unmarked Orphan

Chapter Two

Marion

The map on the council table was stained with more than just ink. It was marked by fifteen years of failed campaigns and the ghosts of men who had died for a river they could not reach. I leaned against the stone pillar at the back of the room, my arms crossed over my chest, watching my younger brother sit on the throne that should have been mine.

"The fortifications at Valoria are grand, but they are brittle," Zaka began, pointing a ringed finger at the capital of our enemies. "They are weak. I say we send a strike team through the northern pass and kill King George in his own kingdom. We kill their king just as they killed my father. When the head falls, the body follows. They will bow because they will be too afraid to stand."

A heavy silence followed, I felt the faces of the elders shifting toward me. They knew I had spent more time on the front lines than Zaka had spent in the throne room.

"It won't work," I objected, kicking off the pillar.

Zaka’s expression shifted as he looked at me. "I didn't ask for the opinion of a prince who spends his nights in bars and brothels."

"Watch it, Zaka, I'm still your older brother," I countered, stepping forward. "We killed their previous commander ten years ago. Did they bow? No. Instead, they burned our border towns to the ground. When we killed their High Priest, they fought with the fury of the damned. Killing King George won't make Valoria weak, Zaka. It will make them angry. A desperate enemy is a dangerous one, and we are already losing enough men."

One of the eldest councilors, a man named Harlon who had served my father, nodded slowly. "Marion speaks the truth, your majesty. Killing their king in cold blood would only unify them. It made us even angrier when our own king fell. We need the magic of the river, not a pile of corpses that will only invite a harder retaliation."

Zaka slammed his fist onto the table. "Then what is your 'wise' suggestion, Marion? Or are you only here to tell me why my ideas are failures?"

"We don't need his head," I stated calmly. "We need their source. They keep performing defensive rituals. If we sabotage the flow of their magic or cease their sorcerer, it will drain Valoria instead of protecting it. They won't be dead, but they will be powerless. A powerless king is much easier to negotiate with than a martyred one."

Harlon looked at the other elders, then back at me. "The prince’s way is true. It is a more feasible plan, rooted in strategy rather than vengeance. Zaka, you would do well to emulate your brother’s wisdom in these matters. He has the mind for the crown."

The air in the room turned cold instantly; I saw the vein in Zaka’s neck throb.

"Wisdom?" Zaka screamed. "You speak of his wisdom? If you prefer my cursed brother so much, why didn't you make him king? Why did you wait until the crown was on my head to rub his superiority in my face?"

"Zaka, calm down," I whispered.

"Don't tell me to be calm!" he spat, rounding the table to face me. "Why can't you just let me rule in peace? You stand there in the shadows like a reminder of everything I'm not, yet you are the one the gods cursed!"

"Your majesty, please," Harlon urged, "Marion is your older brother; he only seeks the survival of Drakomor."

"Older brother, my foot!" Zaka roared. He turned his vitriol back to me. "Do you think that, because you have ninety-nine blessings, you are better than I am? You have the strength of ten men, the sight of a hawk, the endurance of the mountains. But you threw it away with your wayward life, your arrogance, and your filth. The gods gave you one curse to balance your pride, and that curse cost you everything. It cost you this chair."

I looked him dead in the eyes; I knew Zaka didn't like me, but I never expected he'd speak to me like that. I never expected him to rub my past in my face.

"I know what it cost me, Zaka. The throne was my birthright. Do you think it was easy for me to forfeit it? Do you think I enjoy watching you stumble through a war I have bled for?"

Harlon cleared his throat, trying to bridge the divide before the room exploded. "The curse is a heavy burden, Marion. But the law is the law. A king of Drakomor must be whole, body and spirit. However," he looked at the other elders, seeking support, "the law also says the curse can be broken through the bloodline. Marion, you have become responsible in these later years. You are fit for the command of our armies. If you find a wife, a woman of status who can bear you a son, an heir who carries your blessings without your curse, then you could take your birthright back. The crown would return to the elder line."

Zaka let out a harsh laugh. "A wife? An heir? Are you old men senile?" He stepped closer to me, his breath smelling of sour wine. "No eligible maiden in this kingdom or any other would want to marry a cursed prince like you, Marion. They see the mark on you. They know that your touch is tainted by your past. You were born with every gift and ended up with nothing. You are going to die alone, and you are going to die cursed."

His words pierced like a sword in my chest. I closed my eyes, the ninety-nine blessings within me vibrating with a power that I wasn't allowed to use for the throne. I thought of the years I had spent fixing Zaka's mistakes, the years I had spent proving I was no longer the reckless boy who had earned the gods' ire.

I stepped into Zaka’s personal space, forcing him to look up at me. I was taller, broader, and despite the curse, I carried the weight of a man who had earned his place in the world.

"You think I am destined to fail because it makes you feel safer in that chair," I said. "But you forget one thing, little brother. I have always been better at getting what I want than you are."

I turned to the elders. "By the end of this year, I make this promise to you and to the gods who watch us," I declared. "I will be married, I will have a child, and when that child is born, I will come for what belongs to me."

"You're dreaming!" Zaka shouted after me. "No one will have you!"

I didn't answer, I didn’t need to. I turned my back on the king and the council, stepping out into the cold night air of Drakomor. The war was far from over, but a new conflict had just begun.

I didn’t know where I would find a woman willing to tie her fate to a cursed man, but I knew one thing: I would burn Valoria to the ground before I let Zaka waste our father’s legacy for another year. I reached for the hilt of my sword. The blessings in my blood screamed for action, and for the first time in fifteen years, I knew exactly what I had to do.