PART 2 — THE RECORD BOOK THE KING TRIED TO BURN

For one terrible moment, no one moved.

The boy did not understand what “true heir” meant. He only knew that every person who had mocked him a minute ago was now staring as if he had become a ghost.

King Varric descended the throne steps with his jaw clenched.

“Cedric,” he said softly, “stand up before I decide your old age has made you insane.”

Captain Cedric did not stand.

His head remained bowed before the child.

“I swore my life to King Edmund,” he said. “I swore to protect his bloodline. I failed once. I will not fail again.”

The boy’s name was Lucien, though for most of his life he had been called “Luca” by the woman who raised him. Mira, a palace laundry woman, had found him wrapped in a bloodstained royal blanket ten years earlier, hidden beneath the floorboards of the old bell tower. She had never told him why soldiers searched the

Never show anyone the mark on your wrist.

Lucien had believed the mark was ugly.

Now the most feared guard in the kingdom was kneeling because of it.

Priest Marcell moved faster than his age should have allowed. He turned toward the brazier beside the throne, shoving the leather-bound record book into the flames.

Queen Elara cried out, “No!”

Cedric rose at once. Two guards seized the priest before the fire caught more than the corner of the cover. The smell of burning leather filled the hall.

King Varric’s face twisted.

“Arrest him,” he ordered. “Arrest Cedric Vale for treason.”

No one moved.

The king looked from one guard to another.

“I gave an order.”

A young guard swallowed hard. “Captain Vale commands the Royal Guard, Your Grace.”

“I am your king!”

Cedric

The words struck the hall like a blade.

Lucien wanted to run. His breath came too fast. Nobles whispered. Some crossed themselves. Others looked at the crescent mark on his wrist and began to step back, as if truth itself had entered the room.

Queen Elara descended the throne steps.

She was not Lucien’s mother. Everyone knew King Varric had married her two years after King Edmund and Queen Alina were declared dead. But she looked at Lucien with such grief that he could not look away.

“I saw him once,” she whispered.

King Varric turned on her. “Silence.”

“No,” she said, trembling. “No more silence.”

The hall froze again.

Elara faced the nobles. “On the Night of Black Bells, I was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Alina. The queen gave birth before dawn. A boy. He had a crescent mark on

“That is a lie,” Varric said.

“Then why did you order every midwife killed?” Cedric asked.

A gasp moved through the hall.

Lucien flinched.

Killed?

He looked at the priest. The old man’s knees buckled beneath him.

“I signed the death record,” Priest Marcell whispered. “I wrote that the infant prince died before his first breath.”

King Varric lunged toward him, but Cedric stepped between them.

“Speak,” Cedric commanded.

Marcell sobbed. “The king forced me. He said if I refused, he would hang my sons outside the cathedral.”

“The king?” one noble said. “King Edmund?”

The priest shook his head and pointed one shaking finger at Varric.

“Him.”

The throne hall erupted.

Varric roared for silence, but his voice no longer filled the room the way it had before. Power was leaving him in pieces.

Lucien backed away until his heel touched the base of a marble pillar. He could barely breathe. He had stolen bread because Mira had been sick. He had come to the palace afraid of losing his hand for theft.

Now people were saying his parents had been murdered.

His real parents.

Queen Elara came toward him carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal.

“Lucien,” she said softly. “Do you still have anything from the woman who raised you? Anything she kept hidden?”

Lucien’s fingers closed around the leather cord at his neck. Beneath his cloak hung a small blackened silver ring. Mira had told him never to sell it, not even if they were starving.

He lifted it.

Queen Elara broke.

She covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “That was King Edmund’s signet ring.”

Cedric bowed his head. “Then there are two proofs. The mark and the ring.”

“Three,” Elara whispered.

Everyone turned to her.

She looked toward the burned record book. “The royal birth ledger has a duplicate. Queen Alina knew Varric wanted the throne. She made me hide the second copy beneath the chapel floor.”

King Varric’s face went completely still.

It was not fear anymore.

It was calculation.

He raised one hand.

From the upper balcony, ten black-armored soldiers stepped into view. Not Royal Guards. Private men. Varric’s men.

Their crossbows aimed down at the hall.

“Enough,” Varric said coldly. “A birthmark, a ring, and the tears of a frightened woman do not make a king.”

Cedric moved in front of Lucien.

Every Royal Guard turned their shields upward.

Lucien saw the truth then.

This was not over.

It had only begun.

Varric smiled at the child.

“You may have survived as a baby,” he said. “But you will not survive as a king.”

To be continued, Part 3 now