Chapter 217: Alistair’s end

Alistair stood outside the palace, staring at the sky.

A gentle breeze swept across the courtyard, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faint fragrance of flowers from the gardens.

Everything seemed peaceful and yet, Alistair could not shake the heaviness in his chest.

Today was his birthday.

His and Lucius’.

They had been born on the same day, drawn into the world within minutes of each other.

Lucius had always insisted that being born first made him superior.

They had argued about it for years and now, there would be no argument.

Alistair swallowed.

He had thought he would grow accustomed to the absence eventually. He had thought that, with enough time, the pain would soften and the memories would stop hurting.

But there were days when the grief came without warning, settling over him so heavily that he struggled to breathe.

Today was one of those days.

He lowered his gaze to his hands.

What if he had done things differently?

What if he had stopped making excuses for Lucius when they were younger? What if he had confronted him whenever he crossed a line?

What if he had refused to let Lucius get away with the things he had done?

Perhaps Lucius would have hated him for it but maybe he would still be alive.

Alistair shut his eyes.

He knew he was being unfair to himself. Lucius had been a grown man capable of making his own decisions. No amount of interference could have guaranteed that his brother would have chosen a different path.

Still, the questions remained.

Alistair opened his eyes and looked up at the sky again.

"Happy birthday, brother," he murmured. "I hope wherever you are, you have finally found some peace."

He pushed the thought aside and turned around.

It was time to return to his chambers.

Willow would probably still be asleep. She had barely slept the previous night, and he had spent the better part of the early morning watching her breathe beside him, wondering how he had become so fortunate.

He could still remember the first time he had looked at her and realized that he wanted her in his life.

Somewhere between their shared troubles, he had fallen in love with her completely and without reservation.

He would spend the rest of his life making sure she knew it.

The corridors were quieter than usual, with only a few servants moving between rooms. He greeted one of the guards with a nod and continued down the hallway.

He was almost at the staircase when he passed Lucius’ chambers.

His steps slowed and stared at it.

He had not entered the room since Lucius died.

He had barely been able to look at the door, much less bring himself to turn the handle but today, for reasons he could not explain, he found himself wanting to go inside.

He stood there for several seconds, staring at the handle then he reached for it.

The door opened with a quiet click.

If he had been thinking then maybe he would have wondered why the door was unlocked but he was not thinking.

He was filled with emotion and grief to make sense of that small detail.

The room was dark when he stepped inside.

His gaze travelled over the bed, the chairs and...Alistair frowned.

There was a candle on the table near the bed, a thin ribbon of smoke still rising from the wick, like it had been blown out moments ago.

Someone had been here, Alistair thought, his hand immediately going to the knife at his waist.

"Who is there?" His voice echoed faintly through the room.

There was no answer.

His eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, allowing him to make out the shapes of the furniture. His eyes moved around the room, stopping when he saw a shadow at the corner of the bed.

It was almost impossible to distinguish, but Alistair could make out the outline of a man, watching him.

Alistair’s pulse quickened.

"Who are you?" he barked.

There was a sigh before the figure stepped out of the shadows.

Alistair froze, the knife nearly slipped from his hand.

He stared at the face before him.

"What the...Lucius?" he gasped.

Alistair’s eyes moved over him again, searching for some explanation that would make sense of what he was seeing.

It was his brother’s face, quite right but there was something in this man’s eyes that did not register recognition for him. There was just the flat, patient watchfulness of a predator staring at a prey.

"Who the fuck are you?" Alistair barked, and the knife came up between them.

The lips curved in a smile.

"Lucius?" the man teased.

"You are not my brother."

"You are right." The smile widened. "I am not."

The man moved.

Alistair barely had time to react before he was hurtling toward him with a speed that seemed impossible for a man of his size.

The impact sent them both crashing to the floor.

His back struck the wooden boards hard enough to force the air from his lungs.

The knife thankfully remained in his hand and he drove it forward on instinct, plunging the blade into the man’s chest.

The man only grunted then looked down at the knife.

His expression barely changed.

Alistair stared at him in disbelief as the man wrapped his fingers around the hilt and pulled the blade free from his chest.

Blood spread across the front of his shirt but he did not seem to care.

"What..."

The word barely left Alistair’s mouth before the man seized him by the throat.

Alistair struggled, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs and trying to twist free but his grip only tightened, cutting off his breath.

The man leaned closer.

There was a chilling calmness that made Alistair understand, with sudden and absolute certainty, that the person who wore Lucius’ face was something else entirely.

The man’s gaze dropped to the bloodied knife he held then his eyes met Alistair’s.

"No," Alistair heard himself say. "No, wait..."

The man drove the knife down.

It went into his head... into the soft hollow above his eye.

A sharp, terrible pain erupted in his head and his entire body jerked.

He stared at the man, his eyes wide with disbelief, his mouth opening as though he wanted to speak but no sound came out.

The pain spread through him, drowning everything else. He could no longer feel the floor beneath his back.

All he could feel was the unbearable pressure in his head and the warmth spreading beneath him.

The man looked down at him, pity in his gaze.

Alistair’s lips trembled, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

Willow, he thought.

Caelan watched the man’s throat work but the sound that came out was nothing more than a faint, broken breath.

His fingers twitched against the floor and then they stilled.

"I am sorry," Caelan muttered under his breath. "This was not how it was supposed to happen."