Prologue For a New Story

The following is a prologue for a story that I have had in my head now for like a month. I had some free time last night, so I just decided to write it while I could. This is going to be my next main story to tackle after I finish the "Airilie" novel, forgoing the space opera novel I posted beforehand. I'll probably get back around to it, but I feel like I've developed this story more, and thus, I am more inclined to write it. Note: any named or places or sentences or words and practically anything written beyond this point is subject to change. Also, keep in mind that this is a rough draft. Like, I didn't even go through it to edit it for horrible grammar or spelling. Let me know what you think and if I should continue it! What do you like, dislike? I know it's only like a page, but any form of criticism helps. More importantly, enjoy!!!

Prologue

                Lord Avery brought the glass to his lips and tipped the wine into his mouth. He normally did not drink, but he couldn’t help but feel that something bad was going to happen, and alcohol was the only thing he could think of to calm himself. Perhaps it was intuition or a calling from the divine, but something tore at his heart in previously unknown ways. Whenever he got a good look at the king, he felt something rip inside, but he did not know what. The king would smile at him, and Lord Avery would force one back.

                He kept to the cloisters in the castle, praying at the altar as much as he could. His white robe, made of thick material that kept him well insulated to the cold, barren months of the current winter, also made use as a kneepad. For as much as he knelt, he was surprised that his knees were not more tore up. He was older now, not the young pupil of god that King Calwy found him as. His body could only take so much.

                There was a slam in the distance behind him and the cacophony of hurried steps up a staircase, which cause Lord Avery to groan. His concentration had been broken. “I thought I said to not bother me. . . .” he mumbled to himself. One of the other added perks of being older – and perhaps also being the highest adviser in the kingdom – was that he was able to speak his mind about absolutely anything. This caused his thoughts to become words more often than not.

                Another slam, and then this time the heavy click of boats on the pure marble floors.

                “Your Grace,” said the owner of the boots, a deep voice that seemed abnormally rushed. “Your Grace, there has been an accident.”

                Lord Avery’s heart skipped a beat. “I knew there was something,” he mumbled to himself. He pushed himself off the floor and turned to view the man, a guard that was much taller than he, which was not all that hard to be. A visor in his helmet blocked most of his physical features, but the guard was clearly on edge by the way he was standing. “What is it, my boy? Speak! Out with whatever devils there may be!”

                The guard pulled off his helmet, revealing his ruffled short blonde hair, dirtied by grime and sweat. He bowed, eyes closed: shame. “The King . . . he lies in his chamber, dead.”

                “No.” That was all the old Lord could muster.

                “I . . . I could not bear to lie to you.” The guard swallowed hard.

                “What was the cause?” inquired Lord Avery.

                “By his bedside was a man bearing the insignia of the Frenlin’s. In his hand was a dagger.”

                There was nothing more to be said. So it was murder.

                “Where is this man now? In custody, I presume?”

                The guard nodded. “Yes. He was brought down to the dungeons. He hasn’t said a word since being brought there. Will you join them shortly for the torture?”

                “You know I don’t approve of such methods,” said Lord Avery matter-of-factly. “He will come to terms with himself and explain all in due course. The people will want revenge for the loss of their king, however. And of course a quick succession of power. Is Prince Ephraim awake? He must be approved by the Holy One tonight.” That means through me, he added in thought.

                “Captain Merda was sent to him. He should be awake by now and they will be on their way.”

                “Then I must prepare for the ceremony. Go. Thank you for your information.” He shooed the man away and then, when all was quiet except the airy whispers of the wind, he knelt one more in front of the altar.

“Holy One, my god Azramite, give me strength,” he whispered.

A soft twist of air answered him back.