Chapter 60 - Declarement
The Joker disappeared in a swirl of shadows and laughter, leaving only silence and devastation in his wake.
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Above us, cracks splintered across the ceiling where Rudbeckia had been thrown moments earlier. With an ominous groan, large pieces of debris began to rain down from above. The noise was deafening as chunks of stone and wood crashed onto the floor around Rudbeckia’s motionless body.
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But despite everything—the chaos and destruction—the roof itself remained intact. Light streamed through the fractures above like golden threads piercing through darkness.
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Rudbeckia lay unconscious beneath a pile of shattered debris at the far end of the hall, her celestial gown dulled by dust and rubble.
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As silence reclaimed its dominion over the room once more, footsteps echoed softly against stone—the measured steps of someone approaching me.
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A faint smile tugged at my lips despite myself—a weak but genuine reaction born from sheer relief and familiarity—as he crouched down before me.
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Cillian’s blurred face came into view: impassive yet intense, his sharp features illuminated by fractured light streaming through cracks in the ceiling above us. His eyes flickered briefly over my tear-streaked face before he reached out gently to brush away strands of my dark hair that clung stubbornly just centimeters above my eyes.
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A smirk tugged at Cillian’s lips, mirroring my own pained smile with one of his own laced with mischief and something deeper beneath it.
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"So," he chimed softly, his voice low and steady but carrying an edge of sardonic amusement. "Won’t you tell your sweet hubby how well my mother’s treated you?"
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His smirk lingered even as my vision blurred further and darkness began to creep into my periphery.
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My smile never wavered—not even as my body gave out entirely and I fell unconscious once again.
-Helia Palace; Declarement Chamber; 4 PM-
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The room was quite dark, only the sunsetting light from the window that stood above a raised platform with fences was the only place from where the light peeped in. The warm, golden rays cast long shadows across the ornate floor, creating an atmosphere of both grandeur and mystery.
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The room had high shelves on the sides, lined with countless leather-bound tomes and ancient scrolls. Their spines glinted faintly in the dim light, hinting at the wealth of knowledge and secrets they held within.
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*Chatter*
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*Chatter*
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*Chatter*
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A noble standing near the center of the room exclaimed, his voice low but sharp, "Why would His Majesty summon us to this chamber? It's hardly fitting for such a gathering." He gestured vaguely toward the shadowy corners of the room, his jeweled rings catching what little light there was.
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Another noble added from nearby, his tone tinged with unease, "Indeed. The Declarement Chamber is rarely used for anything but private declarations or...punishments." He glanced nervously toward the raised platform at the far end of the room.
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Two advisors stood near one of the towering bookshelves, their heads bowed close together as they whispered. "This is highly irregular," one muttered to the other, his eyes darting toward the door. "The King has never called a meeting here before. Not in all my years of service."
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The other advisor nodded grimly. "It’s unsettling. This chamber carries too much weight—too much history. Whatever this is about, it cannot be trivial."
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By the window, where faint rays of light spilled into the gloom, a group of nobles huddled together in hushed conversation. "Do you think this could be about the princess?" one noblewoman asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Perhaps an announcement about her engagement?"
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"Engagements are declared in the Grand Hall," another noblewoman replied curtly, her fan snapping shut with a sharp click. "Not here. This is...different."
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A younger nobleman leaned closer to them and whispered conspiratorially, "I’ve heard whispers about unrest at the borders. Could it be war? Or..." He hesitated before lowering his voice further. "...a coup?"
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At the back of the room, two maids whispered among themselves as they adjusted a set of chairs. "Why would they gather everyone here?" one asked nervously, her hands trembling as she worked. "This place gives me chills."
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"Shh," the other maid replied quickly, glancing around to ensure no one overheard them. "It’s not our place to question His Majesty’s decisions. But...I’ve never seen anything like this before."
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Near the entrance, an older nobleman with a cane leaned toward his companion and muttered under his breath, "Mark my words—this won’t end well for any of us. Sudden summons like this always mean trouble."
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His companion frowned deeply and replied in a hushed tone, "Perhaps it’s merely a matter of state security? A warning about something beyond our borders?"
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The older nobleman scoffed quietly. "If it were that simple, we wouldn’t be standing in this dimly lit tomb of a room."
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The tension in the chamber grew thicker with every passing moment as more nobles and advisors exchanged uneasy glances and murmured speculations among themselves.
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"Why is it so dark in here?" another noblewoman whispered sharply to her husband as she clutched his arm tightly. "Surely they could have lit more candles or brought in lanterns."
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"It’s deliberate," her husband replied grimly. "The King wants us unsettled—wants us to feel... vulnerable."
A younger advisor stepped forward hesitantly toward an older counselor and whispered urgently, "Do you think this could be about succession? The King’s health has been questioned lately..."
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The older counselor shook his head slowly but offered no reply, his expression unreadable as he stared at the raised platform bathed in fading light.
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As more murmurs rippled through the chamber—nobles speculating wildly, advisors whispering warnings to each other, and even servants exchanging nervous glances—the air grew heavier with anticipation. Every eye flickered toward the grand doors at the far end of the room, waiting for them to open and reveal whatever fate awaited them.
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Whatever had compelled His Majesty to summon nobles, advisors, and counselors alike to this unusual place at such an unusual hour was bound to change everything—and none among them could shake the feeling that they were standing on the precipice of something monumental...or catastrophic.
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The low hum of chatter continued to ripple through the dimly lit chamber, speculation and unease growing with every passing moment. The nobles and advisors shifted uncomfortably, their whispers filling the air like the rustling of leaves before a storm. All eyes were fixed on the grand double doors at the far end of the room, their towering frames looming ominously in the shadows.
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Then, with a deep creak that echoed through the chamber, the doors slowly swung open.
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The room fell silent.
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The King entered, his presence commanding and regal, as though he carried the weight of the entire kingdom on his broad shoulders. He was dressed in a magnificent kingly outfit—a deep crimson cloak trimmed with gold draped over his shoulders, its hem trailing behind him like flowing blood. His tunic was made of black velvet embroidered with intricate golden patterns, and a heavy jeweled chain rested upon his chest. A golden circlet adorned his pale blond hair, which shimmered faintly in the fading light from the window above.
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But it was his eyes that drew every gaze—ruby red and piercing, like molten gemstones burning with an intensity that could see through souls. The King’s expression was unreadable, his face a mask of cold authority as he strode into the room. Behind him marched two rows of knights clad in gleaming silver armor, their boots striking the floor in perfect unison.
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Yet it wasn’t just the King’s entrance that sent shockwaves through the gathered nobles.
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Behind him walked another man.
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The collective gasp that erupted from the nobles was almost deafening.
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The man who followed the King looked exactly like him—his pale blond hair disheveled and streaked with grime, his ruby red eyes dulled but unmistakably identical to the King’s. He wore a tattered prison uniform of white and black stripes, his body covered in scratches and bruises as though he had been dragged through hell itself. His hands were bound in heavy iron shackles that clinked softly with every step he took. His head hung low, but even in his disheveled state, there was no mistaking it—the resemblance was uncanny.
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A noble near the front gasped audibly. "By the gods! He looks just like His Majesty!"
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Another noble whispered urgently to her companion, "What is this madness? Is it some kind of trickery? A twin? An imposter?"
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"Impossible," an advisor muttered under his breath to another. "There has never been mention of a brother—or anyone who shares His Majesty’s likeness."
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A noblewoman clutched her fan tightly, her voice trembling as she whispered to those around her. "It’s as though he’s a shadow…a broken reflection of our King."
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"Look at him," another noble exclaimed softly but urgently. "The same face…but ruined! What could this mean?"
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At the far end of the chamber, a cluster of older nobles stood apart from the rest, their expressions grim and knowing. One of them leaned toward another and muttered under his breath, "So it’s true then…he exists."
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The other nodded slowly, his voice barely audible. "I had heard whispers…but I never thought we would see him here."
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"Why now?" another noble from their group added in a hushed tone. "What does His Majesty intend by bringing him before us?"
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Back near the platform, a younger advisor turned toward an elder counselor with wide eyes. "Could this be some kind of test? Or…is this man truly connected to His Majesty?"
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The elder counselor’s face darkened as he whispered back, "Connected? He is more than connected. That man...is blood."
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"Perhaps it’s an omen," one older counselor murmured grimly to himself. "Or worse...a curse."
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The whispers grew louder as more nobles leaned toward one another, their voices rising in pitch as panic began to ripple through the chamber like cracks spreading across glass.
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A noble near the window shook his head in disbelief and muttered to himself, "This is madness…absolute madness."
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"Silence!" barked one of the knights sharply, his voice cutting through the growing noise like a blade.
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The room fell quiet once more as the King ascended the raised platform at the far end of the chamber. His crimson cloak swept across the steps as he climbed them with deliberate grace, each movement exuding authority and control. The disheveled man followed closely behind him, dragged forward by two knights who flanked him on either side.
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Once at the top of the platform, the King turned to face his audience. The golden light from the window above bathed him in an almost divine glow, while casting long shadows across his identical counterpart, who stood slumped and bound behind him.
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The King raised a hand—a simple gesture that commanded absolute attention.
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"My lords and ladies," he began, his voice resonating through the chamber like thunder rolling over distant hills. It was deep and steady, carrying both power and finality. "You have been summoned here today not for ceremony or celebration but for truth—a truth long buried beneath lies and shadows."
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His ruby eyes scanned the room slowly, piercing through each noble and advisor as though daring them to speak out of turn. The tension in the air was palpable; even those who had been whispering moments ago now stood frozen in silence.
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"You see before you," he continued, gesturing toward the man who was kneeling on the floor beside him without turning to look at him, "a figure who bears my likeness—a man whose existence has been hidden from you all for reasons I shall now reveal."
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The nobles exchanged uneasy glances but dared not speak out loud.
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"This man," the King declared sharply, his voice cutting through their thoughts like a blade slicing through silk, "is no stranger to me—nor should he be to you." He paused for effect, letting his words hang heavy in the air before continuing. "For he is my blood...my brother."
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Gasps erupted once more from every corner of the room as shock rippled through those gathered like a tidal wave crashing against stone walls.
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"My brother," he repeated coldly, his gaze hardening as he turned briefly toward the disheveled man behind him. "A traitor to this crown...and to this kingdom."
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Lady Aeliana Emberheart, seated near the front with her usual poise, visibly stiffened. Her golden gown shimmered faintly in the dim light, but her regal composure faltered for the first time in years. Her ruby-red lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came. Her hand instinctively tightened around the armrest of her chair, her knuckles whitening as her gaze darted between the King and his disheveled counterpart. The resemblance was undeniable, and it shook even a woman of her unshakable stature. Her son, Prince Baelor, placed a steadying hand on her hand, though his own face betrayed his shock. His sisters—Princess Arabella, Princess Seraphina, and Princess Astrid—whispered furiously among themselves, their voices tinged with both fear and curiosity.
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Princess Lilith De Lyria Von Draken Mistglen De Zorathian, standing beside her eldest son, Prince Fenris, gasped audibly. Her bright blue eyes widened in shock as she clutched at the silver pendant around her neck—a family heirloom she often held when distressed. "This cannot be," she whispered hoarsely, her voice trembling with disbelief. Her three sons exchanged uneasy glances; even Fenris, known for his stoic demeanor, furrowed his brow deeply as if grappling with the weight of this revelation.
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Lady Lily Furia, standing near the center of the room, brought a gloved hand to her mouth in stunned silence. Her usually sharp tongue was rendered useless as she stared at the man in chains with wide eyes. "By the gods," she finally murmured under her breath, audible only to those closest to her. "How could such a secret have been kept from us?"
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Queen Daleyza’s reaction was far more visceral. She rose abruptly from her seat, nearly knocking over a goblet of wine on the table beside her. Her medium brown hair seemed to glow in the dim light as she glared at the King with a mixture of confusion and anger. "Your Majesty," she exclaimed, her voice trembling but firm, "how long have you hidden this from us? From your people?"
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Lady Zephyra Skywhisper stood at the far end of the chamber with her three sons—Prince Galen, Prince Alaric, and Prince Lucian—clustered around her. Her usually serene expression was shattered as she stared at the man in chains with wide-eyed disbelief. "He looks exactly like His Majesty," she whispered harshly to Galen, who nodded mutely. Alaric leaned closer to his mother and muttered under his breath, "This is no coincidence…but what does it mean?" Lucian remained silent, his jaw clenched tightly as he observed the scene unfolding before him.
The murmurs grew louder as nobles exchanged frantic whispers.
To be Continued...
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