104: Volatile soul of the guilty

Volatile soul of the guilty

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Maxwell strode into the chambers belonging to the kings of the Blackthorn palace, opening the door with such force that it banged against the wall. His eyes flamed red with anger, and his jaw clenched tightly before he shut the door closed to be alone. 

He walked to a small table, where bottles of alcohol sat, most of which were on the verge of being empty. He grabbed a bottle with a trembling hand, opened the lid and gulped down its contents before walking over to his cupboard. Opening a drawer, he dug down to the bottom of his clothes and pulled out a white handkerchief. 

Maxwell's fingers brushed over the fabric in his hand, and his hand stopped shaking while he stared at it and reminisced about the owner to whom it belonged. He remembered how Marianne had smiled that day at his confession. She answered him politely without looking at him before he caught her wrist to gain her attention. 

'You shouldn't evoke such feelings of hope, as I might misunderstand it,' Marianne had told him. 'You are meant to be with a lady… not a used woman.'

'It doesn't matter to me. I am used too,' Maxwell smiled and encouraged her. He said, 'I will make you my wife, would you believe me then?' 

Marianne's green eyes met his blue ones, and she said, 'You sound confident, My Prince. Also, a courtesan cannot be a legal wife. One can only be a concubine.'

'Once I am the king, there will be nothing stopping me from making you my wife. You will see. I will keep your handkerchief until then,' Maxwell said to her, but in the next two weeks, the situation had changed. Word had reached his mother that his father had been coaxed by Lady Sophia to send him, his sister, and his mother to the old palace. 

'Maxwell!' Marianne had greeted him, and she was about to put her arms around him when she noticed his serious expression. 'Did something happen?'

'I have found my soulmate, Marianne,' Maxwell said, and saw the look of shock and pain enter her eyes. 

'Oh… W—Who is she?' Marianne asked, and she looked hurt. 

'Her name is Evin. We will be getting engaged in a few days… I thought I should let you know, as I promised you—'

Marianne smiled, 'That is fine. It is an inevitable thing that cannot be changed. Thank you for letting me know,' She turned, ready to leave, when Maxwell said quickly,

'To keep my word, if you are fine with it, I would like to offer you the position of being my concubine. So that you don't have to sleep with anyone anymore.'

And though he had taken all the preventive measures, Maxwell had found Marianne lying in the pool of her blood. Right now, he felt like he was slowly losing his mind, pain and guilt weighing heavily upon him, to the point where he couldn't think straight anymore. He clutched onto the handkerchief before taking another swig from the bottle and drowning his anguish in it. He wanted to bring Marianne back, but he couldn't. 

Remembering the woman who'd drowned, Maxwell placed the bottle on the side and walked out of his room with unsteady footsteps before reaching the room where the woman had been placed earlier. He turned his head to look around the corridor, as the guards were missing, and when he reached the front of the room, he noticed it was empty. 

Maxwell clenched his hands as if the gates of anger and hatred for something he couldn't control coursed through him. Because his mother wasn't his father's legal wife, nor the favourite concubine, his family was always cast aside. His father already had a son who won battles for him, and he had an heir who would sit on the throne. In his father's eyes, he wasn't anyone who could give him anything, and his existence didn't matter much, while his mother was busy trying to form connections to secure their position in the palace. 

And now that he had power, he wanted to hurt everyone out of his own hurt. 

Far away from where Maxwell stood, Prince Raylen stood at the end of the corridor, which was hidden in the shadows. He watched the king finally walk away, while his blue eyes narrowed slightly. 

When he brought his hand forward, he heard light footsteps stop a few steps behind him. Prince Raylen smiled before he turned, and his eyes met the Mother Queen's shrewd eyes, and behind her stood a minister, who was almost as old as her. 

"I heard that you were here, but I didn't expect to see you this soon, Prince Raylen Storm," the Mother Queen spoke softly without raising her voice. 

"Queen Ginger Blackthorn, always a pleasure to see you again," Prince Raylen offered her a polite bow. "Were you taking a stroll in the night?" 

"I was. There have been a few thieves and murderers running loose in the palace, so I decided to take a look. Are you any of those, which is why you are walking in the middle of the night? Or did something else catch your attention?" The Mother Queen's eyes quickly scanned the young man, and her thoughts went to what the Vizier said. 

'The fall of the Blackthorns.'

"If I am being completely honest, it depends. But I assure you I am here to do neither," Prince Raylen's polite demeanour didn't change. He said, "Especially not when we have the truce of peace with many others."

"Well, I should hope so. We Blackthorns might appear quiet, but that doesn't mean there wouldn't be heavy retaliation if something were to occur," the Mother Queen stated, her chin upwards and her back straight as she used her staff to balance herself. This one was definitely suspicious, and she could feel it in her gut.

"I don't doubt it, Queen Ginger. Which is also why I am here, to strengthen the truce," Prince Raylen replied, agreeing with the old woman. He said, "I am sure that if I were up to no good, you would have caught me by now."

"Flattery is not going to get you out of answering the question I am about to ask," the Mother Queen said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you really doing here?" 

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