THE CROWN'S SHADOW

Episode 9

Episode 9: The King's Bedchamber

Julian moved through the High Keep’s upper corridors like a spectre, his boots whisper-quiet against the plush crimson carpets. The palace was unnaturally quiet, save for the distant howl of the sea storm beating against the stained-glass lancets.

He reached the heavy double archway leading to the Royal Bedchamber—a grand hall guarded usually by four elite knights. Today, two guards in Cassian's silver crest stood post, their iron halberds held loosely as they traded bored whispers.

Julian didn't give them time to raise an alarm.

He burst from the shadow of a marble pillar, the stolen broadsword whistling through the air. The first guard’s head hit the floor before his body even registered the blow. Julian hooked his elbow around the second guard’s neck, dragging him into the alcove and driving his dagger through the man's throat plate with cold, mechanical efficiency.

Silence reclaimed the hall.

Julian unlatched the heavy oak doors and slipped into his father's chamber. The room reeked of bitter herbs, stagnant rot, and cheap wine.

On the massive velvet canopy bed lay King Alistair. The monarch was barely recognizable—his once-formidable frame reduced to a frail skeleton, his skin pale as parchment, with dark, ink-black veins spider-webbing across his cheeks and throat.

Julian stepped up to the bedside, his dark eyes narrowing. "Father," he rasped low.

The King’s eyelids fluttered open, milky and unfocused. "J-Julian...?" Alistair’s voice was a dry rattle, like dead leaves dragging across stone. "You... you came back..."

"Cassian poisoned you," Julian said, his jaw tightening as he examined the dark veins. "Shadow-root rot. He used the same alchemical batch that executed Clara Vance's father."

Alistair let out a ragged, trembling breath. "It wasn't... Cassian alone... Julian. The entire High Council... signed the order. They feared your blade... and my crown. Cassian... he has the master key to the vault... locked in his chambers..."

"Where is Cassian now?" Julian demanded, leaning over the bed, his voice laced with venomous intent.

"The throne hall..." Alistair wheezed, his thin hand feebly catching Julian's leather sleeve. "He prepares... the coronation for dawn. Julian... save the girl... save the realm... burn them all..."

Before Julian could answer, the faint scrape of metal boots echoed from the private corridor connecting the bedchamber to the lower vault levels.

Julian snapped his head toward the dark doorway, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. It was time to retrieve the key and the cure.