Ethan bid him farewell, and Bradshaw left feeling odd. As he made his way through Monarch’s Hold with no destination in mind, he tried to narrow in on and pinpoint the feeling. He had never imagined what it might be like to meet, let alone spend time with Prince Ethan. The experience had gone better than he could have hoped considering that he had scaled a wall and invaded the prince’s private range. That seemed to be the answer. To his immense relief, all of Bradshaw’s fears and negative impressions of the prince had proven false.

Bradshaw rather liked Ethan and hoped to speak with him again at the feast later that night.  

Meandering led him toward the Duome of Mourning, which stood as the largest structure outside of Monarch’s Keep. The slate-gray, weather-worn building was hundreds of years old and kept by a single triarch. Despite his reservations, Bradshaw entered the duome, which was empty save for Triarch Ashton Cheddar.

Past lords stood as stone sentries along the walls, including a number of Bradshaw’s forefathers. The closest statue to Bradshaw was that of his grandfather, Curtis Webber. He looked upon his most recently deceased ancestor.

One day soon, his father would be buried here, and so would he. When that time came, Bradshaw wondered how his descendants would remember him. As Bradshaw the Failure? Bradshaw the Perverted?

Ashton Cheddar placed his hand gently on Bradshaw’s shoulder, “I was about to seek you out before you came. It’s your father.”

 ~

On his way back home, Bradshaw thought about the feast later that night. What had he been thinking? Invitation or no, he could never attend, not with his father barely hanging on. At any moment-

At any moment…

Standing above Lord Maxwell Webber’s sickbed, Bradshaw looked down upon his broken father, the only man on the planet he once believed to be immortal and infallible.

“Ashton,” Lord Webber began weakly. Cheddar had accompanied Bradshaw to the lord’s sick-chamber and was now standing respectfully in the corner next to a burning brazier. “Leave me with my son…”

“Of course, my lord.”

After Cheddar exited quietly, Bradshaw and his father were alone. For a while, the only sound was the churning flames of the brazier. The coal-glow betrayed the tears welling up in Bradshaw’s eyes.

“Bradshaw, my son, I am not long for this world. We must forgive the Lancasters.”

“Forgive them?

“Yes! Cormick cannot marry Arienne. We must unite with the Lancasters!”

“Our family, united with the Lancasters? But how could we forgive them after what they did to us?”

“No! I cannot lie anymore.”

His father was slipping away, desperate to make himself clear, but veering wildly between wish and confession. “

“You lied? About what? Lied about what?!”

“My honor, I broke my honor. Arienne… B- b-”

“Baseborn? Was Arienne a bastard?! Is Arienne not my true sister? Is that what you are telling me?!”

In his second or third last fit of strength, Maxwell bolted upright and grabbed his son by the collar, pulling him in close so they were less than an inch apart.

“The Watchers are coming. Monarch’s Hold must be prepared. To break the curse, Webber and Lancaster must unite… Bradshaw, my son, it is up to you to save our family!”

“Yes, father! But what of Arienne?!”

“Benja Wynter, he knows the truth, he is the only one. The curse must be broken… the Blackstar must be eradicated at all costs!”

Having uttered his last, Lord Webber let go of Bradshaw and passed on, leaving his son to ponder this final warning alone.

At least, Bradshaw believed himself to be alone.

A vent allowed the smell of death, along with the sound from within, to seep outside, a fact that Ashton Cheddar knew all too well.