The King's Vault - Chapter 3 - The Return

The third chapter of The King's Vault - A serialised novel published right here on Substack!

If you haven’t read the first two chapters, then please, do so here:

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

---

The day had come. My supplies and stock were empty. The order was shy of numerous items. The date was edging closer and I knew that there would be hell to pay from both Cyrus and the King.

The fire crackled and sighed the final breaths of life. My cup of tea sent gentle wafts of steam into the air, catching the mid-dawn light that crept in through the window. And I stared out with heavy eyes, watching the city wake up and come to life.

The questions I’d spent the night pondering had collected in my mind. They’d become a bog, a swamp. And I was a lone man, trudging through the sludge. Trying to make it through to the end, back onto dry, stable ground. But in reality, I was fighting the harder battle of simply keeping my head from sinking below. Desperate to not drown.

The thoughts bubbled in their tar like existence. Do I go and break Olan out? Do I plead before the King? Is the sword worth more to me than Olan’s freedom and my word? Is the sword a manifestation of my honour and my word? Where would it stop if I cave in here?

I sipped my tea. The warmth slipped down my throat. And I closed my eyes. My breathing was shallow. I tried to focus inward. To drain the swamp. To clear the thoughts. A light tapping echoed. Like a woodpecker tapping the trunk of a tree. It bounded through my mind. Echoing through the swamp. And I opened my eyes. The sunlight was harsh. My tea was cold. And the knocking at the door grew ever louder.

The King stood at the door. Alone.

“May I enter?”

“O-Of course, Your Highness. Please,” and I gestured for him to come inside. He took a few steps in and paused. It had been a few days since his visit with Cyrus. His eyes were less sharp than before. A duller shade of blue.

“Apologies if I am a bit behind with my words, Carter, I fear I have not slept much these past few days. That,” he said, gesturing towards the sword on the wall, “has been haunting me. Before you talk me out of it, I am not here to ask for it again. I am not here to push or prod or strongarm you into selling it to me” He paused. “I simply felt a yearning to see it again. To hold it once more. Purely from a position of admiration. It is art. Plain and simple. And I would like to appreciate it once more.”

“I, uh. Of course, Your Highness.”

I could feel his eyes on me, burning into the back of my head, as I slid the sword from its mantle and lowered it down. He thanked me with a curt nod of his head as I placed it in his hands.

“Just magnificent,” he said, eyeing it in the sunlight from the window. “The colour. The weight. It is just simply remarkable. I, like you, would not sell this for all the wealth in the Kingdom. Not that I was going to offer you that,” he smirked. “I don’t blame you, Carter. And, if it isn’t in my hands, I’d prefer it to be in the hands of the man who descends from the artist who crafted this. It is only right.”