***

That morning Archibald woke feeling miserable, and his spirits only fell as the day progressed. He did not bother going to the cathedral. He could not bear to see Ethelred taking her hand. Instead, he wandered the palace, listening to the sounds of the peasants shouting outside. There was the blast of an army trumpet coming from somewhere in the city. The Southern Army must be arriving.

A pity, he thought.

Even though he would fare poorly at the hands of the mob, should the rioters breech the gate or walls, he still reveled in the knowledge that the regents would suffer more.

He entered the Great Hall, which was empty except for the servants readying it for the wedding feast. They scurried about like ants, feverishly carrying plates, wiping chairs, and placing candles. A few of the ants bowed and offered the obligatory My Lord as he passed. Archibald ignored them.

Reaching another corridor, he found himself walking toward the main stair. Archibald was halfway up the first flight before he realized where he was headed. The empress would not be there, but he was drawn to her room just the same. Modina would be at the altar by now, her room empty. A vacant space never to be filled again now that she was…he refused to think about it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of figures. Turning, he spotted Merrick Marius standing at the end of the corridor, speaking to someone Archibald did not recognize—an old man wrapped in a cloak. When they spotted him, the pair abruptly slipped around a corner. Archibald wondered whom Merrick was speaking with, as he was always up to no good. Just then, a commotion overhead interrupted his thoughts. Hearing a man cry out, he ran for the stairs.

When he reached the fourth floor, he found a guard lying dead. Blood dripped down the marble steps in tiny rivers. Archibald drew his own sword and continued to climb. On the fifth floor, he discovered two more slain guards.

In the corridor ahead, Luis Guy was fighting another palace guard. Archibald had almost reached them when the sentinel delivered a quick thrust and the guard fell as dead as the others.

“Thank Maribor you’ve arrived!” Saldur’s voice echoed from Modina’s room as Guy entered the chamber. The regent sounded shaken. “We have to kill her. She’s been faking all this time and eavesdropping. She knows everything!”

“But the wedding?” Guy protested.

“FORGET THE WEDDING! Ethelred is dead. Kill her and we’ll tell everyone she is still sick. I will rule until we can find a replacement for Ethelred. We will announce the new emperor married her in a private ceremony.”

“No one will believe that.”

“We don’t have a choice. Now kill her!”

Archibald peered in. Guy stood, sword in hand, with Saldur. Beyond them, near the window, was Modina in her red-stained nightdress. Presumably the blood belonged to Ethelred, who lay dead on the floor. Sunlight glinted off a shard of glass gripped tightly in the empress’s hands.

“How do I know you’re not going to just saddle me with both their murders?”

“Do you see another way out of this? If we let her live, we are all dead men. Look around you. Look at the guards you just killed. Everyone believes she really is the empress. You have to kill her!”

Guy nodded and advanced on her.

Modina took a step back still holding the shard out.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the Earl of Chadwick announced as he entered. “I hope this isn’t a private party. You see I was growing bored. Waiting for this wedding is very dull.”

“Get out of here, Archie,” Saldur snapped. “We don’t have time for you. GET OUT!”

“Yes, I can see you’re very busy, aren’t you? You have to hurry up and kill the empress, but before you do—perhaps I can be of assistance. I would like to propose an alternative.”

“Such as?” Saldur asked.

“I’ve wanted to marry Modina for some time—and still do. Now that the old bugger’s dead,” he looked down at Ethelred’s body and offered a wry smile, “why not choose me? I’ll marry her and things can go on as planned, only with me on the throne instead of Ethelred. Nothing has to change. You could say I dueled him for the right of her hand. I won and she swooned for me.”

“We can’t let her leave the room. She’ll talk,” Saldur said.

Archibald considered this as he strolled around him. He eyed the empress, who stood defiantly even though Guy’s sword was only a few feet away.

“Consider this. I’ll hold the point of a dagger at her ribs hidden by my cloak during the ceremony. She either does as we want or dies on the altar. If I kill her in front of all the crowned heads, neither of you will be held responsible. You can claim innocence of the whole affair. Her death will fall on me—that crazy lunatic Archie Ballentyne.”

Saldur thought for a moment then shook his head. “No, we can’t risk letting her out of this room. If she gets to people, she can take control. Too many are devoted to her. It has to end here. We’ll pick up the pieces afterward. Kill her, Guy.”

“Wait!” Archibald said quickly. “If she’s going to die—let me do it. I know it sounds strange, but if I can’t have her, I will take some satisfaction from denying her to anyone else.”

“You are a twisted little git, aren’t you, Ballentyne?” Guy said with a disgusted look.

Archibald moved closer. For each step he took forward, Modina took another step back until she had no more room to retreat.

Archibald raised his sword and while keeping his eyes focused on Modina, he plunged the blade toward Luis Guy. The sentinel did not see the attack coming, but Archibald’s ruse prevented an accurate strike. His thrust landed poorly. Instead of piercing Guy’s heart, the blade glanced off a rib and merely sliced through his side. Archibald quickly withdrew his blade, turned, and tried to strike again. The sentinel was faster.

The earl felt Guy’s blade enter his chest. The last thing Archibald Ballentyne saw before he died was Modina Novronian running past Saldur, slicing his arm as he unsuccessfully tried to stop her.