Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 135 – Floor 12: Part 4

“This is a farce! I will have no part in supporting such nonsense!”

The King and Queen were currently in the Palace, sitting on their thrones in the grand hall. Below them gathered many of the more prominent Lords and Ladies of the Realm for the announcement of Prince Aiden’s return.

The crowd erupted once the King had told those assembled that his oldest son was alive and well and had recently returned from his protective solitude in the Americas. They had expected an outburst, but this display exceeded their worst imagining.

The Nobility, even those that had once strongly supported the Royal House, had grown accustomed to new authorities that the failing Athurian Lineage had distributed to maintain the status quo and in the vain hope that such bribery would convince them to support Alfred.

The King let out a sigh as the shouting continued, and Queen Margrit placed a comforting hand on her husband’s arm.

The Queen had been aware of the ritual dedicated to the gods. It had not been the first time they had attempted such a communion. They had even wasted multiple drops of the priceless Dragon’s Blood beseeching the gods to return Aiden to life, only for the rituals to end in failure.

It had been her idea to have the gods provide a substitute, an imposter of adequate strength and bearing to cover for the ailing Alfred until such a time that their young son could assume the mantle of Crown Prince.

Neither the King nor Queen had expected it to work; they had assumed the ritual would fail as all the others had. Imagine her shock when she received a communication from her husband informing her that ‘Aiden’ had returned. Even in their private messages, the truth of the matter could never be revealed.

As the din of shouting rose and Albrecht tried to wrangle the unruly Nobility into some semblance of order, Margrit recalled her first meeting with ‘Aiden.’

She didn’t know his true name, and the young man had no interest in providing her with it. He responded to ‘Aiden’ readily only because the gods had ordered him to complete the task set out before him.

Margrit shivered as she fell into the memory of that morning.

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Margrit walked briskly through the halls of the palace toward the wing where the royal family’s private quarters were located. The King and his retinue had just returned from the north, their train arriving less than an hour ago.

She had met Albrecht as soon as she could, their privacy assured by thick walls and magical enchantments. He had whispered to her a quick summary of the day's events and what he knew of the young man who was now playing their son's role.

The gods had delivered to them a miracle, a being of immense strength and character that would be more than adequate to shield Alfred with his presence. The couple's short time was not nearly long enough to go over everything, but it would be suspicious if Margrit delayed meeting ‘Aiden’ for too long.

Albrecht left her then to inform their closest allies of their son's return and to prepare for a meeting with the Lords and Ladies of the Realm. Such a meeting was not rare, but the King correctly assumed that news of Aiden’s return was already sweeping through Londinium.

Even the thickest walls and most potent enchantments were weak against the power of Gossip.

Margrit unnecessarily smoothed her dress for the third time since she set out from her room to her eldest son's quarters. The young man, who Margrit must remember to always address as ‘Aiden,’ had left the train escorted by a cadre of Knights directly to his quarters.

No one had interacted with him since. After hearing what the young man was capable of, incapacitating the king's own bodyguard with a single spell, she thought it was best to limit the public’s interactions with him until she got a better sense of ‘Aiden’ proclivities.

Following the Queen was her personal maid and a single bodyguard. A trusted Knight, he was one of the men present during the ritual, already privy to the secret of Aiden’s origins.

The Knight knocked briskly on the door before pushing open the heavy wooden portal and entered Aiden’s room, and Margrit was greeted with the first sight of her new ‘son.’

He was sat on a chair at a small writing desk, a cup of tea in one hand and a thick book in the other. He seemed to have been engrossed in what was written there. A Modern History of Anglia, Margrit recognized the volume immediately and correctly assumed that Albrecht had provided the young man with a collection of books to understand the world he now inhabited.

Aiden, she made a firm effort to attach the name to the man in front of her, was younger than she expected. He was perhaps eighteen or nineteen, with flawless features. He had dark hair that was long enough that the ends brushed his shoulders and bright blue eyes that lifted and locked onto hers as soon as she entered.

He was handsome and healthy, and Margrit had no doubt that the Ladies of Londinium would swoon when they lay eyes on him.

If it wasn’t for the terrifying aura the young man exuded, matched by a set of eyes that seemed to peer into her soul, looking for secrets and threats.

Margrit had seen dangerous men and women before. Knights and mages that had fought the Demi-Beasts that were threatening to overwhelm their colonies in the Americas. They had a look about them that spoke of their experience, and they retained an aura of violence.

But whatever this young man had seen and done made them pale in comparison. The feeling he gave her was that of a wolf trapped in a small room. Its owners may think it is tame and safe, but the wolf knows that at any moment, it could kill everyone present and escape. It just chose to stay confined.

‘Aiden’ locked eyes with her for a moment, freezing her in place, before looking away and slowly closing his book. Placing both the historical volume and his cup of tea on the writing, he leaned back in his chair.

The things one notices when under stress are odd. ‘Aiden’ didn’t use a saucer for his tea, a faux pas in noble society. His coat, perfectly tailored and bearing the crest of their House, was unbuttoned causally. He appeared to not care about his status or those around him.

Aiden made no effort to stand, to rise from his seat as the monarch entered the room. Her Knight bodyguard flushed red in anger at the disrespect and was about to speak when Margrit interrupted him.

“You may leave us.” She said, and the Knight hesitated before giving a jerking bow. Her maid and the man left, leaving her alone with her ‘son.’ The young man assessed her for a moment, taking in her clothing, the rings on her fingers and the jewellery around her neck as she sat in a chair across from him.

“Queen Margrit. I recognize you from your picture. ” Aiden said, nodding in greeting as he tapped the book with a finger.

Margrit was surprised by his accent. It was different than any she had heard before. It was not Anglian or the familiar dialect of the Americas, where their colonies had dozens of different groups from all over Europe.

“Before we begin, I would let you know that we may not speak as freely as I wish in the palace. I trust your father has briefed you on the security concerns?” Margrit replied, implying that the walls had ears here and that everything they said would carry beyond the two of them.

Aiden nodded, letting out a sigh as he rubbed his forehead tiredly.

“I hate this sort of thing.” Aiden said, sounding like an old man forced to do things that he should have stopped having to be a part of decades before. Margrit was slightly amused, thinking that for someone so young, he was talented at mimicking his elders.

“What sort of thing would that be?” Margrit asked with curiosity.

“Intrigue. Politics. Backstabbing. If someone wants to kill me, just try it already. There’s no need to be tip-toeing around in the dark.” Aiden said before letting out a deep sigh. With a fake smile plastered on his face, he turned to her.

“Mother! How wonderful to see you after so many years! How are you? I’m well, thanks!” Aiden said loudly toward the door, ensuring that others would hear. The polite smile on Margrit’s face slipped, and she frowned at his actions.

“Good enough?” Aiden asked softly, clearly wanting to be rid of her so that he could return to his reading and solitude.

“Your father mentioned that your studies have been severely lacking. We will need to remedy that. Etiquette, dancing, music and art. We will need to round out your rough edges before releasing you into Noble Society.” Margrit responded crossly, and Aiden’s piercing blue eyes returned to hers.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be fine amongst ‘Noble Society.’ I’ll be the perfect Crown Prince.” Aiden replied with a grin that sent shivers down her spine.

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“If you expect us to believe that the boy is your Heir and of your blood, then you won’t have any problem with him taking up your sword?” Lord Rosen said calmly, his voice cutting through the din. Albrecht locked eyes with the Lord, pausing for a moment before nodding.

“No, I have no doubts. Let Excalibur decide if Aiden is worthy to be Crown Prince. We will assemble in the Grand Cathedral tomorrow, where you will all see that he is my son!” Albrecht said loudly, his voice carrying across the room.

Beside him, Margrit frowned at the statement. Excalibur was Anglia's most powerful magical item, one that only the Arthurian Bloodline could wield. By using this sword, Arthur united Anglia and drove the Demi-Beasts back across the sea.

It would kill anyone not worthy of it. Even with the Arthurian Blood, many had been burned away by its power when attempting to prove themselves.

Could the young man brought to them by the gods withstand such a fate?