Chapter 73: 72

"The king?" Arthur muttered in response to the woman's words to his son, Prince Lincoln, downing a shot of vodka like water.

"I am the king!"

He stormed into the restroom, ripping off his clothes and scattering them on the floor. After testing the water with a grunt, he hoisted himself into the tub. As he positioned his other leg, he wobbled precariously.

He tried to regain his balance, but his right foot slipped. The vodka bottle flew from his grasp, shattering against the tiles. The impact propelled him out of the tub, and his head slammed into the unbroken base of the bottle. A shard of glass pierced his skull, blood spraying before stopping momentarily.

Another spray of blood erupted from his neck as a separate shard found its mark. He slumped back, crimson staining the floor like a burst water balloon.

Struggling to his feet, he stumbled out of the bathroom, vision blurring. "Help! Help!" he croaked.

Karis, one of his men, happened to be at the door, waiting to escort him. He had heard the first shout, stiffened he breathed out and looked up as his superior was heading toward him, meeting Pradesh's gaze he knew he also heard the king.

None of them reacted with surprise. They knew what was coming later for the man.  Whatever was happening behind that closed door, was a twist of fate, perhaps, but it brought them a shared sense of relief.

they looked away in silent agreement.

Pradesh withdrew a cigarette, offering one to the young man as they walked away. They knew the security cameras were disabled by the king's orders, ensuring their silence.

Reaching the control room, Pradesh settled into the farthest chair, making no move to activate the cameras. He was aware of the night's mission: to eliminate the king if fate had deemed him unworthy.

But hearing the king's muffled cries for help on the radio, Pradesh hesitated. He closed the radio on their end, then locked the control room doors. He squeezed his eyes shut, the sound of Arthur's past violence against women echoing in his mind.

Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he exhaled slowly. "Let's see if you can survive this, King. If you do, you'll be a different man."

After a long silence, they turned on the cameras. The scene that greeted them was horrifying. The room was slick with blood, and Pradesh knew Arthur couldn't possibly be alive. He disabled the camera footage and leaned back in his chair, relief washing over him.

An unspoken tension, built from years of enduring King Arthur's cruelty, lifted from their shoulders. The weight of his tyranny, finally gone, felt surreal.

Pradesh transmitted a red code on a secure frequency to the Queen's guard, signaling an emergency within the king's quarters and the mission's abort. Three confirmation dots blinked back on his console.

Pradesh acknowledged Karis's gaze with a nod before crushing the burnt phone in his hand. He pocketed the pieces for later disposal. To avoid suspicion, they remained there for the next few hours, as usual, until the night shift guards arrived, they waited for them to take their places. Silence hung heavy in the air;the men said nothing, their superior had nothing to signal them which was, a familiar occurrence.

As soon as they arrived at the palace, a little past midnight, Lincoln stormed in, his anger barely contained. He yanked the wristband off his hand, his agitation evident.

"Mom how could he do such things ! I, I... it is not acceptable! His a li.."

Lydia, who'd had an exam the previous day as part of her ongoing PhD studies (determined not to be the least educated member of the Zurrow family), was thankfully asleep in the open space beyond. However, it wouldn't be long before her son's outburst woke her.

"Lincoln, keep it down!" Queen Katiandra hissed, shooting a worried glance towards the open doorway. "You don't want to wake your..."

Before she could finish, the light flicked on, illuminating the room through the slightly ajar door.

"Too late," Katiandra sighed, her disappointment momentarily overshadowed by the knowledge that Lincoln would need his wife's support.

Lydia, impeccably attired in elegant nightwear, gracefully approached her husband and sat beside him. "My Queen, Katiandra," she greeted, adding with a forced smile, "Happy to see you're all back."

The Queen, appreciating Lydia's constant effort to remain composed in her presence, offered her a genuine smile. She was truly grateful for the woman Lincoln had chosen as his wife – a godsend, indeed.

"Lydia, dear, how was your exam today? I'm sure you aced it," Katiandra inquired kindly.

Lydia, momentarily struck speechless by the Queen's sudden warmth (it wasn't an everyday occurrence for Katiandra to smile at her as if she were the center of the universe), simply nodded, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Lincoln, observing the exchange between his mother and wife, couldn't help but notice the growing strain beneath his mother's forced composure. She was feeling cornered, he knew because they were alike.

Lincoln, aware of Lydia's hero worship for his mother, placed a hand on her thigh, gently redirecting her attention. "Sure you aced it," he said.

"Absolutely! They said I did well, just like you predicted, Katiandra," Lydia responded with a bright smile, first towards her husband, then more fervently towards the Queen.

Katiandra chuckled, momentarily pulled from her thoughts. With a slight smile, she recalled the young woman's behavior mirroring that of Leigh Robertson, a former friend.

She had confided in her soulmate and trusted confidante, Lorelei one day, about Lydia's occasional fangirling. The answer was... not what she thought it would've been,  quite the opposite.

~~~

"You've been captivating lately, my dear," Lorelei had said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Not that you haven't always been, of course. But like a fine wine, you just seem to get better with age."

Her playfully wink after still had effect on katiandra who used her will power to not cross her thighs while her words kept replaying in her mind. "Naturally, that doesn't cast any doubt on Lydia love for Lincoln who we know, she dearly cherishes. It's all a matter of perspective, darling. And goodness knows, I love a good wine – a sip would be quite delightful right about now." Lorelei could be such a tease sometimes.

~~~

As always, the nostalgic thought of her comforting soulmate softened her demeanor towards Lydia.

"Yes, Lydia, you are a natural," Katiandra continued, rarely offering compliments.

"Don't believe those who say otherwise. You'll be the perfect complement, the kind of partner I could only have wished for when my time comes. You might even do better."

Lydia beamed at the Queen's heartfelt words, then glanced at her husband with a flicker of concern. Recalling his earlier outburst, she asked, "What's truly going on? Can you please tell me the truth? You were practically yelling a moment ago."

"No, no, love," Lincoln stammered, avoiding her gaze. "I wasn't yelling, just a bit upset. Nothing to worry about, really."

Lydia's skepticism grew. She knew Lincoln's tendency to self-harm when overwhelmed, a coping mechanism developed to shield her from the harsh realities of royal life.

With a worried look, she turned to her mother-in-law.

Katiandra, struck by the mirroring image of Lorelei's past despair, recognized the pleading look in Lydia's eyes. Back then with her partner, they'd agreed communication was the key to their enduring relationship. This realization hung heavy in the air, she knew it applied also to Lincoln who should learn from her.

Lydia silent plea for honesty as the weight of the situation settled on them all. Had her breathed out going for it.

"Lincoln discovered some troubling truths about his father's behavior," Katiandra revealed softly. "It's quite painful for him."

Lydia's understanding sigh escaped her lips as she stroked her husband''s back.

"Ohhh... this must be incredibly difficult love." she murmured.

Lydia as long as she has been living in the royal family knew only two good Zurrow men, Alfred and Lincoln were such good men compare to their father,  that is something she understood after mere minutes in the presence of her father in.

Also that her husband worshipped the ground his father walked in. Like a blind man though, blindsided by his father fake words. She had never said anything about it knowing it was not her place to do so.

"Did you know?" Lincoln asked at her reaction, his voice strained, then shaking his head afterwards he massaged his face looking away. "Don't answer that."

He seemed to understand by her unspoken behaviour and many things his mother had done to insure Lydia would be out of his father claws. The thought made him shivered at how far the man could have gone.

Lydia knew the answer, though not directly from the Queen. But thanks to her isolation tactics since their marriage, King Arthur never visited that part of the house. But whispers traveled, and Lydia had pieced together a troubling picture of the man actions around the palace.

She was sure ot was certainly what her husband had discovered, she had seen most of the event with the women and how good they were with them. It warm her heart to have to have a husband like this one.

"We need to talk to him," Lincoln said firmly lettinghis wife massage his back.

"This is something that can't be ignored." He finished at his wits end.

Katiandra exhaled deeply, a flicker of worry crossing her face. Though happy to have a valid reason to be in Arthur bedroom in the morning. Something had clearly transpired, even if she hadn't orchestrated it.

The informations provided by Raphaelli about the events in the King's bedroom had her on  her guard with a different kind of apprehension. At least he ensured it was over.

They discussed the situation for some time before the Queen excused herself.

"Try to get some sleep, my love," she said softly to Lincoln. "We'll address it all in the morning."

Lincoln rested his head on Lydia's lap after his mother had left, finally allowing her no only to see him bared of the manly shield he had always protect  her to see, but also he let his grief to flow freely. His mother may have help on that road ensuring him that no one else not even her could keep him stronger than his wife.

Alone after a long, contemplative shower, Katiandra found herself tossing and turning in bed. Sleep eluded her. A multitude of questions swirled in her mind, her breaths becoming shallow and rapid as the gravity of the situation settled in.

Everything had happened so quickly, the fear of losing her grip on reality gnawed at her. No comfort could be found beneath the silken sheets. She threw them aside, a tremor of fear running through her. What if his death had happened by her fault?

That possible reality slapped her with the force of a thunderbolt, making her swallowed painfully. The terrifying thought sent a jolt through her body. She would have been a murderer by now. She stumbled towards the window, flinging it open to gasp for fresh air.

Katiandra stood there for a long moment, finally allowing herself to indulge in a torrent of raw prayers propelled by desperation and loneliness, inspired by the memory of the last time she had done something similar, and the positives outcomes it had generated.

Ignoring the apprehension, she spoke aloud, letting every thought and fear flow freely. Gradually, her words transformed into a familiar melody, a language her heart recognized. It was the same chant she'd often heard Lorelei utter in the early mornings when she thought her partner was still sound asleep.

A prayer that arose from the depths of a soul laid bare. It was a path with no turning back, a surrender to the divine. She had explained to her one day.

Though a part of her feared relinquishing control, a deeper sense of conviction took hold. Breathing deeply, she embraced the faith soulmate always held dear – a faith in a God embodied by love, a truth she had learned from Lorelei and witnessed in her own life.

Eventhough people like Arthur perverted the meaning of the name, doing so many horrible things that kill all hope in a positive entity called God. Calling his name in all he does but not acting on it. Quite the contrary. Around him, the name of God made it seemed like it was a prank of the evil.

Shaking her head, to have those thoughts outside her head, she breathed out wondering.

If the events unfolding weren't the work of this Divine Love, Katiandra wondered who else could be orchestrating them. For sure it was not Arthur dark power that killed him.

"Thank you for your unwavering support," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Lorelei once told me not to let human interpretations define who you are. Thank you for your help..."

With a shaky breath, she held her hands up, transfixed in a state of fervent prayer. The vulnerability of the moment left her uncaring of who might see her. All that mattered was the desperate plea pouring from her heart.

Life, she realized with a shuddering breath, could warp even the most resilient spirit into a monster. She had always believed in her own courage, but the thought of living with the burden of someone else's death, even if she hadn't directly caused it, was unbearable.

She had wished it. Was it different? She believed but still felt struck about the way  all had taken.

A choked sob escaped her lips as she clasped her hands in prayer, eyes squeezed shut. Tears streamed down her face, each one carrying the weight of her fear.

'How could I ever face Lorelei again with blood staining my conscience?'

Horrified by the darkness of her own thoughts, she flung herself onto the floor, a desperate plea echoing in her mind: "Help! Help! Please, someone hear me!"

The silence, initially deafening, somehow became a comforting presence. It was a sign that she wasn't entirely alone.

As the frantic energy subsided, Katiandra sank onto the soft carpet, her head resting against the comforting plushness. A pang of self-doubt stabbed at her. Was she even worthy of being heard?

With her eyes still closed, her mind entered a state of blank serenity, as if cleansed of all its turmoil. Yet, a single, clear sentence reverberated within her, urging her to look around as if spoken by an unseen presence:

"Your heart is secured."

The words echoed in her ears, their meaning undeniable. She rose swiftly, scanning her bedroom and ensuite, searching for the source of the voice. There was no one.

"Your heart is secured," she murmured again, this time walking towards the window. The cool night air washed over her face, a refreshing counterpoint to the emotional turmoil she had endured.

Looking up at the moonlit sky, she recalled Lorelei's words, a mantra for times of overwhelming difficulty:

"Let love lead."

A small smile tugged at Katiandra's lips as she repeated the phrase. Then stood silent for a while.

"Today, I can say that you, too, are my God and my Lord," she whispered, her voice filled with newfound conviction.

"Thank you for your support. Thank you for having my back. In the name of Jesus, I prayed. Amen."

Lorelei's insistence on ending prayers with "the name of Jesus" as a key to unlocking God's heart came back to her. "It works," Lorelei had assured her. And today, because it had worked for her too, Katiandra believed in a personal level.

Despite her newfound faith, Katiandra grappled with the mechanics of her answered prayer. The quick prayer uttered before securing the American's help to eliminate Arthur echoed in her mind.

"God, if you exist as you said you do, help me through all of this to get rid of Arthur. In the name of Jesus, I prayed. Amen."

Short, but clear she could see now.

It had been a rash decision, fueled by desperation. The Oracle's chilling words resurfaced:

"...do it all without second thoughts. You have our support." They'd known her intentions all along.

A vivid image flashed through her mind – the Oracle attention, and the man that was I  her bedroom, as he was going away the day before, with an unsettling gaze took his time watching her from the window.

"They knew," she whispered, a tremor running through her voice.

"You knew." Looking up to the sky she affirmed with no doubt.

The revelation hung heavy in the air, leaving her speechless. What was life, truly? What had she gotten herself into? These questions swirled in her mind until thought itself ceased, grounding her in the present moment.

As the first light of dawn crept in, Katiandra found herself seated before the window, mimicking Lorelei's meditation posture.

Hours had slipped by, and a fresh wave of anxieties began to gnaw at her. Determined not to succumb to panic, she closed her eyes and focused on her breath, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

Years of practicing this technique had proven effective, even saving her from a potential cardiovascular episode once. Now, as she delved into her breathing exercises, a calming invade her body removed the numbness that had settled over a part of her face. Lorelei, her haven of peace, became the focus of her meditation.

Unfazed by the cameras that undoubtedly captured her turbulent night, Katiandra knew Raphaelli had discreetly disabled the recordings. He'd instructed her to remain calm and act natural until the morning.

It was clear he'd taken charge during the night shift, his unseen presence monitoring her every move through some form of night-vision technology she knew little about.

This was the compromise when she had to stay here – Lorelei's firmly had ensured it almost ordering all the bodyguards about it, she refusedto have it on whenever the Queen feel like it.

"Always on!" Her words after the incident with Glenn a while ago.

They could see her actions, shrouded in the veil of night vision, but the privacy of sound remained. This was another reason she preferred the sanctuary of the museum.

Now, she went through the motions, pushing thoughts aside as she dressed in the clothes laid out by the servants. It was as if it were any other day, a day to face her headstrong husband. 6:00 AM sharp found her exiting the bedroom, her pace deliberately slow.

How was she able to maintain this facade of normality with a dead body mere steps away? Steady breaths helped her regulate the tremor within.

Maintaining her composure, she knocked on the door, a formality in case anyone observed her actions. After a moment of unanswered silence, she pushed the door open, stepping into an empty room.

The second step into the room brought Katiandra to a standstill. Blood, a horrifyingly vivid crimson, stained the floor in a gruesome splatter, suggesting a desperate struggle. Fear prickled her skin as she ventured further, her eyes drawn to the far side of the bed.

A morbid fascination battled with repulsion as she dared to hope this was all some terrible joke, that Arthur would emerge from the bathroom at any moment. With wide, unblinking eyes, she took a shallow breath, the air thick with the metallic tang of death.

The confirmation came as her gaze landed on Arthur's lifeless form. Naked and sprawled across the white carpet, his left hand remained clenched into the carpet, a testament to his final agony. His other hand, outstretched and frozen in time, lay inches from a fallen agenda near the bed, clearly he was trying to reach the phone.

Overcome with a wave of nausea, Katiandra was about to turn away from the horrific tableau when a sudden clatter ripped through the oppressive silence.

The phone, precariously balanced on the edge of the bed, tumbled to the floor.

In that split second, unable to distinguish between the clatter and a movement from the body, a primal scream tore from her throat. The sound echoed within the room, propelling her forward in a desperate attempt to flee the horror before her.