ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

Amidst the clamorous sounds of metal swords clashing, dogs barking, horses neighing, stableboys shouting, and the constant chatters of castle attendants echoing relentlessly throughout the castle, the sweet chirp of a small, brown nightingale perched on the windowsill of the king’s bathing chamber offered solace to Zephyr while he soaked in the large wooden tub, recollecting the events of yesternight as the sweet, relaxing and floral scent of the lavender oil mixed in with the hot water incessantly wafted through the air, blessing his nose pleasantly.

… 

What do you mean dead? What happened?

That I do not know, my king. Their bodies were found, not at the tower of steel, but at the alleyway of a whorehouse. I have sent their bodies to the court physicians for examination, we should have a result by the morning of the ‘morrow. 

…

This is bad… Zephyr’s head slumped backwards, his eyes closing shut as he heaved out a sigh.

Flynn… Was he the one that killed them? I can’t seem to get a read on that guy. How do I find out if he’s the killer or not, and it doesn’t help that he’s the only one I can turn to…

I need someone else, someone I can actually trust… 

“M’king,” one of the guards manning the door called from beyond it, bringing Zephyr out of his muse. 

“What is it?”

“M’lord Flynn’s at your chamber, he requests an audience.” 

“I see. Tell him I shall be there soon.” With a groan, Zephyr heaved himself up and stepped out of the wooden tub, the scent of the lavender oil sticking to him as water trickled down his glistening skin. 

“Aye, m’king,” the clanging sound of the guard’s armour fading into the distance followed as soon as he replied.

Zephyr reached for the coarse hemp cloth neatly folded on the large wooden table standing beside him. He took hold and wrapped it around his wet hair, gently patting the damp strands dry, then he brought it down to his chest, repeating the gentle pats as he rubbed his body free of dampness. After a few moments, he set the cloth down and began to dress, putting on the black leather pants, brown boots and drooping black silk robe which, beforehand, laid on the table.

“Open,” he said, signaling the guard standing outside, who in reply, pushed the door open, then bowed immediately as Zephyr strode out of the bathing chamber.

…

The man clad in silver armour whom stood guard at the door of the king’s bedchmaber lowered his head as Zephyr arrived. “M’king.”

“Is he in?” Zephyr questioned. 

“Yes, m’king.”

“Alright.”

The guard instantly flung the door open and closed it shut as Zephyr walked into the chamber. Flynn, who had been standing, waiting patiently beside the wooden table, bowed courteously, placing his fist on his chest as he caught sight of Zephyr. “Greetings, my king,” he said.

“Is that it?” Zephyr inquired as his pale silver eyes fell on the parchment laying on the table while he sat down on the chair. 

“Yes, my king. The results of the examination,” Flynn said. “It details the effects of the poison that killed them.”

“Poison?” Zephyr glanced at Flynn as he picked up the parchment. 

“Yes. They were killed by poisoning.”

Is this what I think it is… Zephyr threw his eyes back onto the parchment, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he began to read its contents… slowly.

“Upon examining the bodies of the two dead royal guards: Jorah Crow and Elenor Lockwood…” Crow was the surname given to bastards in the kingdom of Ravenwing. “I noted thick white foams filling their bellies, and burns in their throats, indicating the use of Moon’s bane. There were no signs of struggle, and traces of The Red Mist were found on their tongues. Possible deduction: the poison was mixed in with their drinks, resulting in the deaths of both.”

White foam… It’s the same as what filled my mouth when I transmigrated…

“I believe they weren’t killed by a mere person,” Flynn said, startling Zephyr out of his deep thoughts. 

“What?” Zephyr gasped. 

“The red mist, it is the most expensive wine in all of Ravenwing, it’s not something mere guards could afford; and the poison, Moon’s bane—a poison without colour or smell, the rarest of all poisons—is not something just anyone could get their hands on.”

Is he saying… Zephyr’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced at Flynn.

“But of course,” Flynn began as he noticed the sting of Zephyr’s gaze, “I see no probable reason as to why anyone would waste such resources on murdering guards. It sends sense adrift.”

Well I know the reason, and this situation puts you at the top of my list, my supposed friend and advisor… The guards somehow died after I sent you to summon them, coincidence? I think not… Zephyr peeled his gaze from Flynn and fixed it on the parchment for a moment before he rolled it up. 

“Prepare a carriage,” Zephyr said. 

“What for, my king?”

Zephyr gave a light chuckle. “I’m paying a visit to the whore house.”

Flynn’s eyes widened as he bent forward hastily but slightly. “Pardon me, but it would not be advisable for you to be seen at a whore house. You are the king.”

“Then I shall go as a nobleman.”

“What?”

“I shall go, not as the king, but as a mere nobleman. Now, prepare the carriage.”

Flynn gave out a defeated sigh. “If you so wish, my king,” he replied as he turned around and advanced towards the chamber’s door. 

“But first,” Zephyr began, halting Flynn’s steps, “where’s my breakfast, I’m famished.”

… 

“My prince, Lord Varyn has arrived.”

“Send him in.” 

The door of the solar flashed open in response to Damon’s orders, sending Lord Varyn sauntering into it. Damon sat on the high seat behind the round table, watching Lord Varyn as he took sips of wine from the golden goblet he held in his hand. 

“Should you be sitting there? That’s the king’s seat,” Lord Varyn said as he slumped down on a chair. 

“Then I should be sitting here, right?” Damon slammed the goblet gently onto the table as he gave Lord Varyn a rather frightening glare. “Or are you beginning to think otherwise?”

Silence filled the chamber, stretching out for a short while, which had begun to feel like ages, until Damon broke out into a laughter. “You shouldn't believe me all the time, Lord Varyn,” he said, picking up his goblet of wine as he stood up and walked towards the window of the solar, behind the high seat. 

“So, what do you have for me?” He halted at the window, taking leisurely sips of wine as he watched the clouds. 

“Nothing for now, my prince.” Lord Varyn sighed, relaxing his back on the chair. “The tourney is taking a great deal of time, and—”

“Lord Varyn,” Damon cut in, his voice steady, but the tension it sent through the air was unmistakable. “Lest I remind you that my mother did not put you in the council to laze around. Fill your belly with drinks, fill your bed with whores, I do not care, but once the information stops reaching my ears then you become useless, do you understand?” 

Damon glanced over his shoulder at Lord Varyn, sending a spike of fear through him, bolting him up to his feet bowing as he pleaded, his voice quivering, “Forgive me, my prince. I promise this is the last of this.”

“Good.” A wry smile spread across Damon’s face. “Oh, and what about the Grand Savant? If there’s anyone that knows anything about my presumed half-brother being a bastard, it should be him.”

Lord Varyn raised his head as he looked over at Damon’s back. “The Grand Savant will be a tough nut to crack.”

“Not tougher than my nut.” Damon let out a boisterous laughter.

“You speak of cocks so much, my prince.”

“It’s what makes us men, or would you rather I speak of tits?”

“Any which pleases you.”

Damon drank the last of the wine from the goblet then turned over to face Lord Varyn. “Get the Grand Savant on our side at any cost. I’m sure there’s a way to make that possible.”

“No easy way I believe, but if I can get to Savant Arryn, then maybe getting to the Grand Savant won’t prove much difficult any longer.”

Damon smiled as he sat back down on the high seat. “You sometimes use that head of yours when it comes to it. Now, away with you.” He gestured, waving the back of his hand back and forth as if to chase away a wandering chicken that stumbled upon his yard. 

“Then, if you will excuse me, my prince.” Lord Varyn bowed before allowing himself to be rid of the stiffness of the solar.