Malik rode fast, returning from the forbidden temple of Haden. He was saluted by the guards as he galloped through the gates. He dropped from the black royal horse and was immediately met by a young stablehand. The chestnut-haired boy greeted the kingdom's second-in-command and told him the horse would need another ride tomorrow. Malik handed the horse over to be tended, fed, and rested.
He climbed the palace steps and pushed open the vast door framed with shimmering patterns. The main hall stretched out before him, endless, with ceilings so high the air felt cool and heavy. Smooth stone pillars rose, each carved with old symbols no one read anymore. Guards in shining armor stood at the corners, motionless and proud. Malik nodded to them as he passed.
The plan thudded in his chest. The thought of killing his brother filled him with a sharp, steady purpose. He knew the risk, exile, torture, disgrace, but he had waited too long. The right time was now.
Malik went to his room to change out of armor. The chamber was vast, walls smooth with carved niches, and a hush hung in the air. He bathed, dressed in simple royal clothes, and tucked a small bottle of powdered poison into his pocket. He left quickly, restless, and walked toward the throne room where his brother sat on the black stone throne set upon a raised platform. Mosaics of war and triumph covered the floor around it.
He swallowed his hate as he entered the central room. There, as he expected, the ruler sat with a gold crown on his head and a scepter in his right hand. A guard bowed and left when his orders were given. When the guard's eyes met Malik's, he saluted before stepping out.
Malik knelt at the foot of the throne and bowed his head. "Our king, may you live long," he said.
The king rose and reached down. "Malik, get up," he said softly, helping his brother to his feet. Malik forced a smile. He could hardly wait to begin.
"I've heard the people's requests," The king said. "I need your advice."
They walked together down the hall, the king's hand on Malik's back. Servants bowed and kept their eyes down. Malik watched his brother closely.
"My advice is to not take this one seriously," Malik said. "If you give them attention, they will only ask for more. They can work, hands were made for that. We have bigger problems. Petra must be seen as the greatest kingdom. Rebuild the palace. Erect a statue of you that towers above the ground. New armor for the guards, sharper knives, better horses. We have the money for it."
The king listened, unconvinced. "Making a gold statue costs more than what they ask," he said. "The royal horses are fine. We will consider new weapons and chariots if war comes, which I pray it does not."
Malik bit back a shout but nodded as if satisfied. "Sure," he said. Then, forcing cheer, he added, "Let's make a toast, to Petra, to long prosperity."
"Most definitely," the king agreed, and they walked to the banquet room. Long stone benches lined the open space, and a long table ran down the center.
They clinked their glasses. Malik watched his brother lift the wine and sip. He drank boldly and set his empty glass in the king's view, mocking, "Mine's gone. You still have a long way to go with that."
The king laughed and took another forced swallow. Malik looked around the empty banquet hall and smiled. He refilled his own glass and, when no one watched closely, reached into his pocket. The bottle was small. He tilted it and let a pinch of powder fall into the king's cup. He shoved the bottle back into his pocket and handed the glass back.
"A little more wouldn't hurt anyone," Malik said. The king hesitated, rubbing his temples.
"You know drinking too much makes me sluggish. It's not good for Petra to have an inactive king for a day," the king said, trying to set the glass down.
"Just this once," Malik urged, his voice suddenly distant. "Then you can go back to ruling."
"Just this time," the king sighed and took the cup. He poured for himself, drank, and Malik watched his brother blink more than once. The poison went to work.
Malik moved to the doors and shut them tight. Soon the king's hand trembled. He clutched the long pillar rising to the ceiling, his breaths shallow. Sweat slicked his forehead and neck; his eyes blurred. He coughed up thick, red blood. Malik snatched the cup from his hand before it fell.
The king slid down into a chair. He looked at Malik, voice thick. "Malik… I'm not feeling well."
His words were slow, painful. Tears filled his eyes, salt and heat mixing with the blood at his lips. "What did you do to me?" he asked, seeing Malik's wicked grin.
"You ruled while the rightful king watched," Malik said quietly. "I should have been the one on that throne. Father made a mistake. He loved you more than me." He smiled without mercy. "Yes. I poisoned your drink. I will take the crown."
He tore the heavy crown from the king's head and placed it on his own. The king's chest tightened with pain that wasn't only poison. "Malik… how could you?" he croaked, blood spitting from his mouth.
"How could I?" Malik spat back. "How dare you ask that? Petra belongs to me by right. I was born before you. I am the true ruler." His hands trembled with a joy that was almost hunger. "I have wanted this for a long time."
The king's voice failed him. "I can't believe you did this… Your own brother." Then his eyes closed. He stopped fighting.
Malik's hands shook as he watched the body go still. He drew the king's sword from its scabbard and remembered the whispers from the forbidden temple. With both palms gripping the blade, he brought it down across the king's throat. The heavy blow severed the life left in him. Blood sprayed across Malik's face and robes. The knife clattered to the stone floor.
He used a wine glass to scoop up some of the blood and wiped at the wound until the flow slowed. He wrapped the cup in a napkin and hid it in his cloak. Then he opened the doors and left the dead king behind, the throne room silent except for his own footsteps.
Back in his room, Malik locked the door and placed the cup of blood in a small wooden cupboard. He tied his bloodied clothes and hid them beneath the bed, then dressed in red royal robes. A scream cut through the palace. Malik paused, listening. He felt no regret, only the close, electric taste of success.
Soon, he thought, Petra would be his.
Present day.
Morgan watched Landon step out of the bathroom, clean and wearing a fresh set of clothes. He smiled when their eyes met. Morgan had sat on the floor for a long time, knees pulled to her chest, thinking of the journey ahead and how to use the little money left to them. She stood slowly and saw him go back to his pet. "I'll get some food," she said. "Start packing your things slowly for the trip, okay?"
"Alright," Landon called back.
Morgan went to the pot and took a clean plate. As she moved to dish out food, an idea hit her. The only way to get more money was to steal. Her hand trembled and she set the plate down. She rushed to the single cupboard in the room, bent down, and pulled out a folded cloth. Under it lay something heavy and cold: a strong steel key, the kind that opened the late king's room.
Morgan gripped the key and imagined walking into the palace under cover of night: passing the gates, slipping through halls, taking the stairs to the largest bedroom, opening the door, grabbing what she needed, and running. She knew the guards would be a problem, and escape would be risky, but the money would change everything.
She remembered when Gwen had shown her the key years ago. Gwen had said the king had given it to her after a secret meeting in his room.
Ten years ago.
Gwen sighed and looked at Morgan, who sat beside her. Morgan had asked quietly, "Where did you get that?"
Gwen smiled and held the key up. "The king gave it to me," she said. "I can go into his room whenever I want."
Morgan frowned. "Don't you think his wife would be upset if she found out?"
Gwen's face showed she'd thought of that. "He told me he loved me," she whispered. "He gave me the key months ago and kissed my neck. That's all the promise I needed."
Morgan shrugged and put a hand on Gwen's. "As long as you love him," she said, "do what you must."
"Do you think I should stop? Leave him for his wife?" Gwen asked, hopeful for another voice.
"No," Morgan answered, watching Gwen's emerald eyes. "No."
Present day again.
Morgan held the key to her chest and mapped the route through the palace in her head. She would have to be quick and quiet. She knew the risks, capture could mean death. The thought of leaving Landon alone made her stomach twist, but their need was worse than fear. She took a deep breath and readied herself. Tonight, she would take what she needed.