Before Elron could retort, a dozen robed figures entered the room, their presence only now being noticed.

  The queen’s voice sharpened. “Who the fuck are you?”

  With a resounding boom that reverberated through the room, a voice bellowed, “Silence! Everyone, submit!”

  To the shock of all present, the command forced everyone to the ground. Many were flattened to their chests, unable to move, while a few of the stronger individuals managed to stay on all fours, trembling from the unseen pressure holding them down.

  The figure turned to the hundreds of soldiers behind him, slamming the butt of his staff onto the floor. “Return to your homes and forget everything you have heard and seen here!”

  At once, the soldiers’ expressions turned blank, and they began filing out of the room without a word. The mage watched as nearly everyone left, before turning back to gaze at the few who remained kneeling, struggling under the weight of his spell.

  Once the doors shut, the mage removed his purple hood, revealing a stern and weathered face. “What a mess this is. Where’s Alaric?!”

  “Who?” groaned one of the Sylphs, still crushed under the immense force.

  The elf frowned, his brow furrowing. “That goody-two-shoes you call a King. Where is he?”

  “He’s halfway across the world,” the queen spat, straining as she desperately tried to move, her cheek pressed hard against the cold floor.

  The elf stroked his long beard as his figures began to heal the wounded. Elron, who moments ago had been on the verge of death from dozens of deep stab wounds, suddenly felt rejuvenated. Despite the lingering poisons and toxins, his body felt almost as though it had never been touched by harm.

  The mage’s voice cut through the room like a knife. “Let me start by saying, I’m not happy about being forced to come here. I think you’re all a bunch of idiotic children who are better off killing one another. If it weren’t for the summons, I’d be up in my tree reading my favorite book. But no, I’m stuck here, cleaning up this nonsense.”

  The queen, still struggling to meet his gaze, gasped, “Who... who are you?”

  “Silence! You’re a vase now.” With a snap of his fingers and a puff of magic, the queen was transformed into a simple red planter.

  A hollow, faint scream emitted from the vase, barely audible. Sweat dripped from the brows of those still kneeling, their fear palpable.

  “I will be asking the questions here,” the mage declared, his voice sharp. “As for my name, you may all call me Zaro the Wizard.” He stopped for a moment, his attention pulled else where as he dug into his ear with his pinky finger. “Mhmm.”

  Zaro removed his finger from his ear and then stood over Elron, rolling the prince over with his foot. “Ah, you must be him. You Alaric’s son, Elron?”

  Elron gulped, suddenly terrified of his fate. “Yes... Sir Zaro the Wizard.”

  Zaro rolled his eyes and extended a hand, pulling Elron to his feet. “Don’t try anything, boy, or I’ll kill yeah. Now, take a seat,” and he gestured to the throne.

  Elron hesitated, one foot on the first step leading to the throne. “Is this a trick?”

  “Boy, if you don’t sit down right now, I’ll turn you into a pile of dung. Sit!” Zaro barked.

  Elron scrambled up the steps, quickly seating himself on the throne. His heart pounded in his chest, everything feeling surreal. His mind raced with confusion, but a burning question clawed its way to the surface. “May I ask a question?”

  Zaro smacked his lips, irritated. “You just did. But fine, one question.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Elron paused, gathering his thoughts. “Why do you look so much like my father?”

  Zaro sighed, rubbing his temples. “We share a resemblance because we’re the same race. That’s it.” He noticed Elron’s continued confusion and groaned. “We are Eldar. If it hasn’t dawned on you yet, our council decides who rules the elven lands.”

  Gasps rippled through the room, though no one could utter an actual word.

  Zaro waved dismissively. “Alright, everyone, switch to kneeling.”

  Groans echoed as the remaining individuals in the chamber shifted into kneeling positions, facing Elron. Even the vase that was once the queen somehow swiveled to face him. Elron looked at their faces, frowning deeply at them.

  Zaro pointed at his own purple-robed company. “You guys too. If I don’t make this official, they’ll drag me back here to do it again.”

  The mages glanced at one another before complying, kneeling along with the others. Zaro snagged the crown off the top of the vase and tossed it onto Elron’s head like a frisbee. Elron caught it and adjusted it, his fingers tracing the arms of the throne in disbelief. This was the moment he had pushed for since his brother’s death, but now, sitting on the throne, the weight of it felt almost unnatural.

  Zaro cleared his throat with an exaggerated hawking sound, spitting a glob of slime onto the floor. “Ah, much better. Now, by the power of yadda yadda yadda, I, Zaro of the Council of Old, proclaim you, Elron, first of your name, King of Algoria.”

  Elron blinked. “You mean Aethoria?”

  Zaro pointed lazily. “Yeah, that one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m out of here.” He turned on his heel to leave.

  Elron reached out, his hand trembling. “Is that it?!”

  Zaro huddled with his entourage, muttering, “Oh, and I was told to leave this one with you.” He shoved one of his companions toward Elron.

  The Eldar warrior growled in frustration but did nothing as Zaro slammed his staff into the ground, vanishing along with the rest of his group.

  With Zaro gone, the spell lifted, and everyone in the room slowly rose to their feet, disoriented. Slyra burst into tears. “I’m sorry... please...”

  Elron, his earlier elation fading, snapped, “I do not want to hear it! You there!” He pointed at a group of Sylphs he didn’t recognize. “Where does your loyalty lie? With me, your king, or with that thing?” He then pointed to the still-screaming vase.

  The Sylphs stiffened, saluting with fists to their chests. “My King!” they declared in unison.

  Holly swiveled on her heels, sauntering up the steps toward Elron. “Now, my King, remember how—”

  “Seize her,” Elron commanded coldly.

  Half a dozen Sylphs tackled Holly to the floor, binding her hands as she tried to cast a spell. Elron flicked his fingers, countering her magic effortlessly. Holly began chanting, but Elron once again nullified her spell with a wave of his hand.

  “Give it up, Holly. Your time of reckoning has come,” Elron said with finality.

  Holly batted her eyelashes, pleading. “Oh, my prince, who will keep you company if you throw me away?”

  “I am no longer a prince. You and your daughter will rot in the dungeon together,” Elron snarled. “Take them both.”

  As the guards dragged Holly and Slyra away, Holly screamed, “She’s your daughter! Spare her!”

  “Lies,” Elron growled.

  “Look at her!” Holly cried.

  Slyra sniffled, “What?”

  The room turned to look at her, then back at Elron. Their faces contorted in shock.

  Elron stood tall, addressing them all. “This woman raised her hand against your king and continues to spout lies. Do not believe her!”

  The guards hesitated. Holly spoke again. “I deserve the worst for what I’ve done. But please... spare our daughter.”

  The room fell silent, all eyes on Elron. His rage boiled over as he stood atop the throne, shaking with anger. Holly whispered something, and Slyra broke free from the guards, running from the room in tears.

  “Let her go!” Elron shouted.

  The door slammed behind her, leaving an eerie silence. Elron ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated. “Ugh, what in the world is going on around here?”

  The guards looked at him expectantly, while Holly continued to struggle. Elron roared, “Why are you still here?! Muzzle her and throw her in the deepest cell. Now!”

  As the guards hauled Holly away, the remaining soldiers brought Chron to the foot of the throne. Elron stood over him, his stare cold and unforgiving.

  Drawing his sword, Elron planted it in front of Chron’s face. “I want to kill you,” Elron hissed.

  Chron bowed his head. “Then please, do it.”

  Elron raised his sword high but hesitated. With a snarl, he slammed it into the floor beside Chron’s head. “Killing you would be a waste. For your crimes, I banish you. Go to the Republic of Gnomes and conquer it in my name. Do not return until you have succeeded.”

  Chron looked up, his eyes glossy. “A death sentence in it’s own right, my king… thank you…”

  Elron turned and sat on the throne, exhaling deeply as the room emptied. He whispered to himself, “Just one last thing to do.”