Tarquinne had learned all he could from Toad. Toad sat snuffling upon a step leading down from the Queen's tower. His lip was split and swollen, and he gingerly rubbed a bald patch where a bit of his oily hair was torn out.
Tarquinne stalked up and down on a landing above him. He wiped his hands upon his pants legs again and again. He felt a new spike of anger rise and then subside as he tried to wipe away the grease from Toad' s hair. His mind replayed all that Toad had told him, piecing the story together from the snips and snatches he'd pried from Toad.
Some time during the Revel, whilst He himself had been enjoying the company of the lovely Violet, the Queen had summoned that wench who belonged to the Royal Judge. He grit his teeth as he thought of the Inquisitor. He had trusted him! He had confided in that infernal masked man! Tarquinne cursed himself for being such a fool.
The wretch had gone in unto his mother. That much was sure. Though he could not be certain of all that had transpired, he guessed she had summoned some sort of dark and evil curse upon his mother. His teeth made a crunching sound as he surmised to origin of the dark plot. Of course it had been his trusted advisor and lover to the Queen, The Inquisitor.
He silently renewed his vow of revenge upon the Inquisitor. "We shall see how he likes his own devices." thought the Prince.
He tried to string together the sketchy reports of Toad. After the evil deed was done, the Inquisitor had come and together the villains had fled. He could not devise their plans, as Toad had relayed how they hurried away into the night, as if on some new desperate errand.
"And then," thought Tarquine. "Then, this latest desecration." Just after dawn had come the outlander chief, Tymrill. He had dared enter the Queens chambers, had stolen her body and torn the rooms apart. Tarquinne could again only guess at what Tymrill was seeking. He hoped whatever it was had eluded him. Tarquinne's hand rested upon the object he had found within the wreckage of his mother's room. It hummed beneath his fingertips with vital energy.
The energy resonated through his hand, filling them with warmth. As it began working its way up his arms he heard a long call from a herald somewhere outside. He secreted the object into a fold in his clothes, and pricked up his ears, listening intently. A mighty voice bellowed from without; the call again, drifting though a nearby arrowlet.
"Prince... Tarquinne! Prince Taaarrrrrrquinnnnne!"
He growled in frustration. Everyone in this castle should know better than to call him out so rudely. "That is what servants are for," he thought. "Shout my name from the rooftops, will they?"
He turned on his heel and prepared to go bounding down the stairs to discipline whoever had the audacity to call him so improperly. It was then that he heard it again.
Prinnnnce Taaarrrrrrrquinnnnne.... You are summoned to the Throne Room!" called the voice from the battlements. Tarquinne strained his face to the arrowlet, trying to make out the source of the call. Frustrated, he drew back. His mind struck upon a question.
"The Throne Room?" he said aloud. "No one has used those chambers in years!"
His eyes narrowed. "So, the Royal Judge thinks he can steal MY throne. The kingdom is mine, now that the Queen is gone!" Toad jumped at the sound of his shouts.
"The dastard believes he can assume my crown by murder, does he?" his hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword. He felt comforted by its weight, and a dark smile crossed his face. "I shall teach him about murder."
He bounded past Toad still sniveling upon his step, taking the stairs two and three at a time. He headed downward toward the Throne Room, his sword and scabbard clattering against his leg.
-- -
The princess had never been in this part of the castle before. As they made their way through, the princess was sure no one else had been here in a very long time either. The princess and the King, flanked by four very large and able men, moved cautiously through the great hall. Long dusty cobwebs hung heavy from chandeliers above, their candles long ago melted into stalagtites of wax.. The drapes and tapestries were thick with dust. Racks of armour and weapons were dull and tarnished. Where they walked, they left distinct footprints along the dusty floor.
As they passed by an ancient tapestry, the princess allowed her fingertips to pass along it's dusty fabric. Into her mind slipped fragments of music, lutes playing, ladies and gentlemen laughing, shouts of war. These last were distant and vague, and slipped away from her as she broke the touch.
The King seemed most distressed by the state of the chambers. He looked here and there, a deep scowl on his face. He passed his fingers along a pair of blades crossed and mounted over a dragon's crest. He brought them away, rubbing his fingers together, shaking his head sadly.
They reached the end of a long hall, suits of armour lining it's walls. At it's end was a large stone archway. The facings of its frame were intricately carved. The princess could make out the story of the imprisonment of a dragon done in carved relief. The scene ran from the floor on one side, up and over the archway and down to the floor on the opposite side. The detail was remarkable, and the princess marveled at its craftsmanship.
The opening itself was covered over with heavy drapes. They were the deepest shade of purple, and the fabrics were thick and dense. The princess could tell no one had touched these in a very long time, their deep violet tones muted by a layer of dust and web.
Taking a deep, sad breath, the King swept the drapes to the side, and they entered the Throne Room.
The princess was immediately struck by the chamber. The authority and power this one room conveyed felt like a physical blow. They stood on the periphery of a great circular chamber. All along its walls, woven and twisting were the golden threads she had seen on the castle walls without. Only here the walls were thick with them. Everywhere the eye traveled were whorls, knots, runes and vines of golden thread.
Set high in the walls were tall, narrow windows, glittering with coloured glass. The bright sun streamed through them and bathed the entire chamber in golden light. The windows depicted scenes of glory, images of dragons, wielders of magic, proud renderings of kings.
The high windows were placed within the ways in such a way, that the sun shone through them in long, high rays. Each window projected its ray directly into the center of the room. Where each of these rays combined sat two massive thrones. They were rich wood, deep and red. The thrones were joined together by great carved dragons, their wings outstretched over the thrones, shading the seats below. They were carved in such a way that they gave an illusion of movement.
The princess stared at the thrones in wonder. Even in a castle filled with beautiful carvings and sculptures, she had never seen it's equal. The total effect of the light from above, and the menacing carved dragons was one of unquestionable power.
Even still, the years of disuse was evident even in this chamber.
The King strode to the thrones, lightly running his fingers along the carved scales of the dragons. Slowly, in a greatly measured fluid motion, he sat upon the seat of power. To the princess, he seemed to swell and grow. His hair drank in the golden light, and his face shone. The princess was struck dumb by him. She had grown to love the Inquisitor, but the man before her made her loins ache for him. She blushed and turned away, pretending to be looking at different things throughout the room.
At last he spoke to her.
"My dear..." he said softly. She turned and met his warm and intense gaze. The men who accompanied them stationed themselves at strategic points throughout the chamber, and began a successful imitation of someone deaf and mute, all while looking fearsome.
