Chapter 80: Execution

King William staggered back, clutching his chest, his eyes wide with absolute horror as he stared at the pool of blood spreading across the floor.

What had just happened?

"My God... Darius... what have you done?"

"Something you should have done a long time ago," Darius murmured, his voice frighteningly casual as he looked down at the body.

He lowered the smoking barrel, resting his forearm heavily against his lap as if the recoil had exhausted what little strength he had left. A small, cold smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Honestly... that felt remarkably refreshing. That bastard had that coming. You have no idea how annoying he was." He turned his face toward the King, who looked physically ill, his expression pale and stricken, his eyes fixed on the corpse sprawled across the floor.

"I have been longing to shut him up for good. Now I can finally enjoy some peace and quiet."

The silence in the High Council Chamber was deafening, broken only by the ragged breathing of terrified councilors pressed against the far walls after discovering there was nowhere to escape. The scent of burnt gunpowder mixed sickeningly with the metallic tang of blood, filling the air. King William’s face drained of what little color remained, making him look as though he had aged ten years in a single second.

His hand remained clutched tightly over his heart, fingers digging into his regal jacket as he stared at Darius with visceral horror, as though he no longer recognized the person sitting in the wheelchair before him. In a way, that was true.

Only now was he realizing how little he truly knew about the son he had so recently found.

The only side of Darius they had known was the one he had shown them during the few weeks they spent with him in the hospital after their reunion, and during the twenty-four hours he had spent in the palace before the accident. During that time, he had been nothing but respectful and cooperative, even surprisingly easy to get along with despite his occasional sarcasm. Apart from a few moments of stubbornness, he had never given William any reason to believe he was capable of something like this. Though the Queen had noticed certain disturbing tendencies in him, glimpses of a darkness beneath the surface that had revealed itself only once when Basil threatened to leave the palace, William had dismissed her concerns at the time. He had always believed his second son was simply a deeply wounded young man trying to find his place within a family that had abandoned him.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

What kind of life had Darius lived to kill a man in cold blood and then sit there as calmly as if he had merely ended a meeting?

What kind of horrors had shaped him into someone who could pull a trigger without the slightest trace of hesitation or remorse?

Darius sighed heavily and rubbed at his temple with the hand that wasn’t holding the firearm.

"Father, please stop looking at me like that. You’re making this far more dramatic than it needs to be."

"Y-you’ve just murdered a Field Marshal, Darius, before the entire High Council!" William choked out, his voice barely more than a tremor. "You’ve ruined everything. You’ve created a disaster beyond repair. The military... the Parliament... there will be a civil war!"

"Geez, Father, relax." Darius rolled his eyes. "Murdered is such an ugly word. Executed sounds much better."

Several councilors looked ready to faint.

Darius continued speaking as if discussing something completely ordinary. "And no, I haven’t ruined anything. Quite the opposite, actually. I’ve solved a problem that should have been dealt with years ago. Everything is under control." With that, he handed the black pistol back to Tractor, who holstered it smoothly without the slightest flicker of emotion.

The sight of the pistol disappearing back into its owner’s holster brought a visible wave of relief through the council members.

Darius leaned back in his wheelchair with visible effort, suppressing a grimace as pain shot through his still-recovering body. "Thompson was a rat, Father." His voice lost much of its casual amusement, becoming noticeably colder. "He was the one pulling strings behind the scenes, whispering treason into people’s ears, manipulating officials, and turning them against Prince Basil. More importantly, he’s also the one who orchestrated the attempts on my life."

A collective gasp swept through the chamber.

William’s eyes widened as he glanced at Basil, who was still frozen in place, staring at Darius with a complicated mixture of shock, confusion, and disbelief. The King could only imagine what was going through his son’s mind after what he had just witnessed, especially now that he was hearing that the man Darius had just executed had apparently been behind the attempts on his life and the schemes against Basil.

"If he wanted me dead," Darius said with a humorless smile, "he should have made sure I stayed dead." The smile widened slightly. "I’m the last person he should have messed with."

The Prime Minister looked as though he might faint as he took a small step forward, his face pale as he stared at Thompson’s body. "Your Highness..." he began cautiously, his voice unsteady. "How did you know all of this? If what you’re saying is true, then you should—"

Darius slowly turned his head toward him.

The look in his eyes made the Prime Minister flinch and instinctively take a step back. "And who the hell are you to question me?" Darius asked coldly. "Who are you to lecture me about what I should or shouldn’t do? Do I look like my father, who just sits back and lets everyone else dictate how his kingdom is run?"

The words struck William like a slap. His jaw tightened, but he couldn’t defend himself because, deep down, he knew Darius was right. All he had done was sit back and allow others to make decisions for him, always choosing caution over confrontation, always worrying about whose toes he might step on instead of asserting his authority as King. If he had been a more active ruler, if he had actually taken control instead of constantly trying to keep everyone satisfied, perhaps Thompson would never have gained so much influence in the first place.

Basil slowly stepped forward, carefully placing each foot to avoid the blood spreading across the floor. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird as he approached Darius.

The calculated, lethal coldness in Darius was something he had never imagined seeing from him. Who could have believed that the seemingly sarcastic, occasionally irritating man he had spent the past few weeks getting to know was capable of executing someone without hesitation? And Basil had been treating him like an unwanted nuisance whenever Darius tried to be nice to him, keeping him at a cold distance and barely giving him a chance to get close.

What if Darius had decided to gun him down during all those moments when Basil had given him the cold shoulder?

​The thought made Basil swallow hard. Yet, for some strange reason, he wasn’t afraid of Darius.

After everything he had just witnessed, after watching Darius calmly shoot a man in the head and then casually discuss the execution, Basil should have been terrified. Instead, he found himself wondering how someone who had only recently awakened from a coma could already be stressing himself, worrying about protecting everyone else in the room when he should be resting and focusing on his own recovery.

It was almost absurd.

"Darius," Basil called, keeping his voice carefully level as he stood before the wheelchair.

"You need to rest now. You are still weak from a month-long coma. Just look at you." His gaze moved over Darius’s pale face and trembling hands. "You’re not fully recovered yet, and you’re certainly not strong enough to be stressing yourself out like this. You’ve already done enough for today. Now go back and rest, and leave the rest to Father and me. We’ll clean this mess up and deal with the council."

The terrifying menace in Darius’s eyes softened the moment he looked up at Basil. The hard edge that had made even the council members uneasy melted away, replaced by something warmer and almost boyish. A faint, tired smile graced his face as he studied his brother, and a quiet amusement flickered in his eyes.

"Oh, isn’t it my cold-blooded brother who has been nothing but indifferent to me?" Darius rasped, leaning back against the wheelchair cushion, his voice carrying a teasing warmth that hadn’t been there moments ago. "Look at you, actually showing concern. I’m so touched. If only I had known all it took was lying in a coma for a month to see this side of you, I would have put myself in one a long time ago."

Basil stared at him, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. "I’m being serious here, Darius. You need to get some rest, so stop being stubborn."