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The grand hall buzzed with shocked whispers, the air thick with tension as the onlookers processed the shocking turn of events. All eyes were fixed on the front of the hall where a confrontation of monumental proportions was unfolding.
Tristan’s fingers tingled with the crawling sensation of the gold’s advance, a force that threatened to consume him entirely. King Midas’ wide grin conveyed that he had planned this betrayal all along.
“People of the Shores!” King Midas’ voice boomed through the hall, resonating like a tolling bell. His arms spread wide, embracing the rapt attention of his audience. “Behold your new king!”
Gasps erupted like a sudden gust of wind, and Tristan’s senses picked up the shivers that ran through the air. The crowd’s collective inhale was fraught with astonishment, their eyes locked onto Midas, who seemed to bask in his own machinations.
Killian charged forward, fists clenched in righteous fury, but Tristan’s commanding gesture halted him in his tracks. He stopped midway down the aisle, nostrils flaring.
“Do not be rash in your proclamation, Midas,” Tristan uttered through gritted teeth, his willpower steeling him against the metallic invasion.
Midas leaned in close, his grin twisting into a sinister mask. “I had anticipated this moment,” he hissed with chilling satisfaction, his breath an icy stab against Tristan’s ear. “To witness your downfall and taste the sweetest revenge.”
A mirthless chuckle escaped Tristan’s lips, even as the relentless march of gold crossed his shoulder. “You’ve always reveled in your cruelty,” he retorted. “But you underestimate the forces that stand against you.”
“Normally, I would wait until you’re completely gone,” Midas whispered. “But I wanted my words to be the last thing you heard. Goodbye, Prince of the Shor—” Midas’ voice faltered, his eyes widening in disbelief. A sudden cough erupted from his throat.
Tristan stood resolute, his gaze locked onto Midas. His eyes showed no surprise, no trace of fear, as he watched Midas struggle against an invisible force that clawed at his throat.
“What is happening…?” Midas choked, his expression shifting from arrogance to sheer bewilderment. Panic clawed at the edges of his eyes as his attempts to regain control of his breath faltered.
Tristan’s gaze remained steady, his expression unfazed. The crowd watched in shock as the gold on Tristan’s arm began to recede. Midas’ triumphant expression twisted in confusion, his eyes darting between his own hands and the retreating gold. The once-defeated prince now stood defiant, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
“What...?” Midas’ voice cracked, his incredulous whisper slicing through the charged silence like a shard of shattered glass.
A ghost of a smile tugged at Tristan’s lips. “Did I forget to mention?” he said, his tone laced with an almost casual nonchalance. “I was once stung by a scorpion. That means my blood has scorpion venom in it.”
Midas’ eyes widened, pupils dilating in dawning horror as the truth unraveled before him. The realization that their blood was now irrevocably intertwined seized his features, a realization that struck with the force of a fatal blow. His face contorted in pain as the venom coursed through him.
Midas’ once-confident posture crumbled, his knees buckling beneath him as his body contorted in agony. His fingers clawed at his throat, as if seeking release from the vise that tightened with every heartbeat. His gasps for air were the desperate pleas of a king now dethroned by his own ambitions.
The grand hall that had witnessed his rise now bore witness to his fall.
Once the gold vanished from Tristan’s skin, he wiped the blood from his hand, then with a swift gesture, he signaled the guards forward. “Take him away,” his voice rang out, clear and authoritative. The words bore the weight of justice long overdue. “He not only assaulted the king but also shattered the terms of our alliance.”
Killian stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with a vindictive satisfaction. Without hesitation, he seized Midas by the arm, his grip firm as he hauled the weakened king away.
“Thankyoufor the alliance,” Tristan added, wiping the blood from his hand. “Now, our kingdoms are one.”
* * *
The moonlight bathed the castle in a soft, silvery glow, casting elongated shadows on the cobblestone pathways. Tristan stood by the window of his study, watching as the ship carrying Ryke and Lexa disappeared into the horizon. The gentle lapping of the waves against the ship’s hull was a distant whisper, but the weight of the day’s events was a loud, echoing drumbeat in his heart.
The room behind him was filled with the low murmurs of his advisors, their voices blending into a cacophony of opinions and judgments. The scent of old parchment and the musty aroma of the wooden furniture filled the air, a stark contrast to the fresh sea breeze that occasionally wafted in.
One advisor’s voice rose above the rest, a stern pronouncement. “King Midas’ actions are in clear violation. Your father would have executed him swiftly.”
Tristan turned, his gaze steady. “I am not my father,” he declared, his voice firm. “Midas will not face execution. He shall return to his kingdom and rule without his powers.”
“But, sir…” Another advisor hesitated. “Why extend mercy, sir?”
No one could fathom the depths of his motives. As vile as Midas was, he was Aurora’s father. His fate should lie solely in her hands.
“My decision is final,” Tristan replied. “Let him be. Stripped of his powers, he poses no threat to us.”
The room’s heavy wooden door creaked open, and Wendy stepped inside. “King Midas is asking for you, Your Highness,” she signed.
Tristan inhaled. “Thank you, Wendy.”
