Princess Of The Skulls - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

The great hall felt different with torches burning at midnight, shadows dancing across ancient tapestries like ghosts of forgotten battles. I'd chosen this setting deliberately—somewhere formal enough to maintain proper protocol, but private enough for the kind of conversation that might end in bloodshed.
The Mourning Blade rested across my knees as I sat in the throne usually reserved for my father, its dark metal reflecting the flickering flames. I'd dismissed the usual retinue of courtiers and servants, leaving only Captain Aldwin and four of his most trusted guards positioned at strategic points around the chamber.
When the great doors opened to admit Prince Aldric, my first thought was that the portraits hadn't done him justice. The second was that someone who looked that exhausted and genuinely concerned was either an exceptional actor or telling the truth about recent hardships.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of classical features that would make court ladies swoon.
Dark hair disheveled from travel, clothes that had seen hard use despite their fine quality, and eyes that held an intelligence I hadn't expected. But it was the way he moved that caught my attention—the careful balance of someone who expected attack at any moment.
"Your Highness," he said, offering a bow that was respectful without being subservient. "Thank you for receiving me at such an unusual hour."
"Prince Aldric." I didn't rise, letting the weapon across my lap speak its message about the nature of this meeting. "I understand you've had an eventful journey."
"That's one way to describe it." His gaze took in the armed guards, the formal setting, and the ceremonial nature of our encounter. "Though I suspect you already know more about my difficulties than my message revealed."
Interesting. He was acknowledging the existence of additional information while fishing for how much I knew. A careful opening that suggested political sophistication beyond his years.
"I know that your escort has been reduced by more than half, that you've made increasingly urgent requests to accelerate your arrival, and that someone has been asking questions about castle defenses in the local villages." I let each point land before continuing. "What I don't know is whether these events are connected, and if so, who's orchestrating them."
"Direct questions deserve direct answers." He stepped forward, ignoring the subtle shift in the guards' positions. "The attacks on my party weren't random banditry. They were coordinated, professional, and designed to isolate me from my protective detail without actually killing me."
"Someone wanted you to arrive vulnerable."
"Someone wanted me to arrive desperate enough to accept help from unexpected sources." His eyes met mine directly. "The question is whether someone has already approached you with offers of alliance."
My blood chilled. He knew about Kael, or at least suspected that I'd been contacted by parties interested in the Thornfield situation. But how much did he know, and was he fishing for information or offering it?
"I receive many offers of alliance, Prince. Royal marriages tend to attract interested parties." I kept my voice neutral, noncommittal. "Are you suggesting I should be particularly cautious about any specific approaches?"
"I'm suggesting that my father's enemies are skilled at presenting themselves as friends to those they wish to manipulate." He paused, clearly weighing his next words carefully. "Just as his allies are skilled at presenting themselves as enemies to those they wish to protect."
The statement hung in the air between us like a blade waiting to fall. He was either confirming that Lord
Cassius was indeed behind the conspiracy, or he was suggesting that the conspiracy was more complex than I understood. Either way, he was implying that my assumptions about allies and enemies might be dangerously incorrect.
"Your father has enemies?" I asked mildly.
"My father has made difficult choices in service to a greater cause. Those choices have earned him both gratitude and hatred, often from the same people." His voice carried a weight that suggested personal knowledge of those difficult choices. "The question is whether you're willing to hear the truth about those choices, even if it contradicts what you believe you already know."
"I'm always interested in truth, Prince Aldric. Though I've found it's often harder to recognize than people expect."
"Then perhaps I should start with a truth that will be difficult for both of us." He reached slowly into his travel pack, moving carefully to avoid alarming the guards. "My father didn't kill your mother. But he did help arrange her death."
The distinction hit me like a physical blow. I'd been so focused on identifying the murderer that I hadn't considered the possibility of a more complex arrangement. But his words suggested conspiracy rather than simple assassination—multiple parties working together for reasons I didn't yet understand.
"Explain," I said, my voice deadly quiet.
"Your mother discovered something that threatened not just our kingdoms, but the fundamental balance between life and death itself." He withdrew a leather folder from his pack, holding it where I could see but not taking any threatening actions. "She found evidence of a cult that had been using royal bloodlines to anchor increasingly powerful necromantic workings."
"What kind of cult?"
"The kind that sees death as a transition to be exploited rather than a boundary to be respected. They'd been infiltrating noble families for generations, arranging marriages and assassinations to concentrate specific magical bloodlines." His expression was grim. "Your mother realized that your betrothal to me wasn't just political—it was designed to create the perfect conduit for their final working."
The pieces clicked together with horrible clarity. Not just the Thornfields working alone, but a larger conspiracy using both our families as tools. My mother hadn't been killed for her power—she'd been killed to prevent her from exposing the truth about what my marriage was intended to accomplish.
"So your father helped murder her to protect the secret?"
"My father helped arrange her death to buy time for a different solution." He opened the folder, revealing documents covered in familiar handwriting. "These are her real plans, Princess. Not just evidence of the conspiracy, but a strategy to destroy it from within."
I recognized my mother's writing immediately, but the contents made my head spin. Detailed magical theory, genealogical charts tracking bloodline combinations, and most shocking of all, a ritual designed to reverse the cult's workings by using their binding against them.
"She knew," I whispered. "She knew about the marriage, about their plans, about everything."
"She knew, and she chose to sacrifice herself to ensure you'd be in position to complete her work when the time came." His voice carried genuine respect for her choice. "Your communion with the dead isn't just natural talent, Princess. It's the key to unraveling every binding the cult has created over the past century."
"And you?" I looked up from the documents, studying his face for signs of deception. "What's your role in this elaborate plan?"
"I'm the backup." His smile was rueful, self-deprecating. "If you choose to trust me, I will provide magical support and political cover for your mother's ritual. If you choose not to trust me, I die quietly and you proceed alone."
"Very convenient. And I should believe this because?"
"Because the alternative is believing that I'm clever enough to fabricate documents in your mother's handwriting, knowledgeable enough about necromantic theory to create a convincing magical framework, and suicidal enough to put myself completely at your mercy while making these claims."
He had a point. The documents were either genuine or represented an impossible level of preparation and expertise. But more than that, his entire approach suggested someone who was genuinely committed to a cause larger than personal ambition.
"Show me proof," I demanded. "Something that demonstrates your commitment to this cause."
Without hesitation, he pushed up his left sleeve, revealing a series of scars that formed a complex pattern across his forearm. The marks were old but deliberately maintained, kept fresh through regular ritual cutting.
"Blood binding," he said simply. "Every decision I make that serves the cult's interests causes me physical pain. Every action I take against their plans provides relief." He met my eyes steadily. "I've been fighting them from within for three years, Princess. The scars are my proof of commitment."
I stood, still holding the Mourning Blade, and approached close enough to examine the scars properly.
The pattern was magical in nature, and the varying degrees of healing suggested recent activity.
More importantly, the binding he described would be impossible to fake—blood magic of this type required genuine commitment, or it would kill the caster.
"Why should I trust you?" I asked, though I was already beginning to believe him.
"Because you don't have to. Your mother's ritual can be performed alone if necessary. But with my help, you can save not just our kingdoms, but every royal bloodline the cult has compromised over the past century." He paused, then added quietly, "And because I think you're tired of fighting this war alone."
The last words hit deeper than I expected. I had been fighting alone, carrying the weight of my mother's death and my fears without anyone to share the burden. The possibility of a genuine ally was almost too tempting to resist.
"What exactly are you proposing?"
"Complete the marriage ceremony as planned, but modify the ritual to serve your mother's purposes instead of the cult's. Use the moment of maximum vulnerability—when they expect to bind your power— to instead shatter every connection they've forged." His voice carried growing excitement as he described the plan. "Turn their wedding into the weapon that destroys them."
"And if it goes wrong?"
"Then we die together, and hopefully someone else will find a way to stop them eventually." He shrugged. "But if it goes right, we free dozens of trapped souls and cripple an organization that's been manipulating royal politics for generations."
I weighed the options carefully. Trust him and risk everything on a plan that might be elaborate deception. Refuse and continue fighting alone against enemies whose true scope I was only beginning to understand.
"I need time to study these documents," I said finally. "And to verify certain details through my own sources."
"Of course. But Princess, we don't have much time. The wedding is in six days, and if we're going to modify the ritual, we'll need to begin preparations immediately."
"Then you'd better hope your story holds up under investigation." I stepped back, the Mourning Blade still ready despite my growing inclination to trust him. "Captain Aldwin will show you to the appropriate quarters. You'll be under guard, but as a guest rather than a prisoner unless I discover you've been lying."
"I understand. And Princess?" He paused at the door. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your mother.
She was a remarkable woman, and she deserved better than the choice she was forced to make."
After he left, I remained in the great hall, studying the documents he'd provided while my mind raced through possibilities and complications. If Prince Aldric was telling the truth, then everything I thought I knew about my situation was wrong. Not just wrong—inverted.
The real enemy wasn't the Thornfields working alone, but a cult using both our families as pawns. My mother hadn't been a random victim, but a willing sacrifice who'd arranged her death to position me for revenge. And my betrothed wasn't my enemy, but potentially my strongest ally in the fight ahead.
But if he was lying, then I was walking into a trap more sophisticated than anything I'd previously imagined.
The only way to know for certain was to verify his claims through independent sources. And I knew exactly where to start.
The skulls in my private chambers had been silent for too long. It was time to commune with the dead and demand some answers.