That fool Rowland had no one to blame but himself. If he had shown a little more respect, he might still be alive. He made too many enemies and not all battles could be won by swinging that oversized sword of his. He was a formidable rebel, but he had no place in the new Notos.

Some Notians loyal to Zephyr remained in Notos and eluded capture by the Alliance. They joined with those who played both sides and even people of more unambiguous loyalty who did not want the ones who fought the rebellion guiding the fate of the nation. Carpos was no great student of history, but it seemed to follow a common pattern of politicians putting away the rebels once the rebellion achieved their aims.

This faction believed that Notos needed a king, but the old bloodline had long since gone extinct. Though it was a thin connection, the royal families of Zephyr and Notos were linked. It was enough to grant Carpos a measure of legitimacy and his efforts to free Notos from the yoke of the Protectorate was believed to be enough to cover any lack. Also, his claim to the throne in Zephyr was stronger than that of his sister and the more ambitious members of this faction foresaw a place in a new empire that brought Zephyr and Notos together under a single banner, his banner.

For his part of the bargain, Carpos arranged for the sicarii who removed Rowland from the scene. Without him to hold them together, his confederates would scatter to the four winds and the Alliance would pose no obstacle to the rise of the new order. The time had come to claim what was his.

Carpos and his men were to enter the capital at daybreak. They camped just outside of the outskirts of the city the night before so they would not have far to ride for their triumphal entry. Carpos was woken up about an hour before dawn so that he could be prepared for what would literally be his crowning moment.

He was bathed and dressed and outfitted with the ceremonial armor he had worn on precious few occasions since he first came to Notos. He wished to boast of his moment of triumph, but Patrocles was nowhere to be found. He was rarely far from the Prince's side, so where was he now?

He asked one of his Bodyguards, "Where is Patrocles?"

In little time at all, Carpos' men had broken camp and assembled, ready to march. With his signiferi riding before him and Bodyguards at his sides, he led the formation to the road, where they marched on the Golden Gate. Though the outer wall was constructed during the days of the Protectorate, entry through the Golden Gate was said to be the King's way, leading directly to the Lion Gate of the inner wall.

The buccinae sounded to herald his entry and it was answered by the sounding of horns from within the walls. The roar of the crowd filled the air before Carpos even got first sight of them. The citizens of Maximilion seemed indifferent at best to the fighting between the Protectorate and the Alliance, but here they come out in force, crammed along the sides of the road to cheer Carpos. It truly was a triumphal entry, more than Carpos would ever have imagined.

The cries of "Long live Carpos!" and "Long live the King!" echoed sweetly in the Prince's ear. A part of him knew he was little loved, but the enthusiasm of the crown said otherwise. Yes, the common people were naught but sheep wanting a shepherd and he might as well have arrived with crook in hand and sheepdogs at his heels.

The sound of cheers, horns, bells, and timbrels continued all the way to the Lion Gate. Within the palace walls, the private troops of Carpos' benefactors lined the way to the forecourt. A small delegation of senators was there to meet him. They were led by Eustratos, the senator who has been Carpos' host during his stay in Hebertos.

He saluted and said, "Hail Carpos. Long have we awaited the coming of this day. We humbly ask His Highness to dismount and follow us to the throne room so that we may begin the ceremony."

Carpos had to contain his elation lest he lose composure. To assert his dominance, he replied, "We shall ride on to the forecourt and there dismount."

Eustratos bowed obligingly and said, "As Your Highness wills."

Carpos' formation followed the delegation into the forecourt and once they were all gathered inside, the Prince dismounted. When he took part in the taking of the capital, he insisted on twenty men to accompany him. As he was now to become the new King of Notos, he would have a hundred. In two files to his left and two files to his right, they proceeded to the throne room.

The throne room was filled with assorted dignitaries, a number of them senators Carpos recognized, all there to bear witness to this momentous occasion. Standing on the dais just one level before the throne was an old man Carpos did not know and a young attendant holding something covered in a sheet of white linen, Carpos' crown, no doubt.

The old man raised his arms to silence the mutterings of the assembly. Horns sounded and when they went quiet, the old man spoke in a surprisingly loud voice.

It was not how Carpos expected a coronation to begin, but the Notians had not crowned a King in over three hundred years. He was willing to make some allowances so long as the end result was the same. He approached the throne. His retinue stopped several paces from the dais, leaving him to ascend alone.

In a low voice, the old man asked him, "Are you ready for this, to receive your due?"

He nodded to the young attendant, who pulled back the linen sheet, but it was not a crown that rested atop the cushion he held.

It was Patrocles' head.

Carpos recoiled in horror, but he did not make a sound. His voice choked in his throat. This could not be. It had to be a bad dream. He was still in his tent, still asleep. He had to be.

Then, a voice from Hades itself spoke to him.

Carpos turned to see none other than Rowland entering the throne room. It was impossible. He was dead. Carpos had been given assurances that he was dead. How could he still be alive?

Rowland could clearly read the disbelief on the Prince's face and grinned at the sight of the realization sinking in.

Carpos would have called to his men, but before he could even open his mouth, he felt a knife at his neck. The dark presence felt like worms burrowing under his skin. It was that damnable wench.

Seeing their Prince imperiled, Carpos' men drew their swords.

That same Bodyguard took a bolt to the neck. From the people assembled in the throne room, dozens of men revealed hidden weapons—swords, short spears and hand ballistae—and pushed aside the unarmed dignitaries mixed in with them to strike at Carpos' men.

Rowland's Black Xotika held him fast and forced him to watch his men fall to the ambush. Though taken unawares, they fought back valiantly and there was a great slaughter on both sides. Several Bodyguards attempted to rush at the dais in a desperate bid to free the Prince. A few did not even make it as far as the dais because of men armed with hand ballistae and the others faced Rowland himself. He cut down one on the first stroke and the next one fared little better, his blade cloven clean through by Rowland's sword. The wench killed the last one with her knife, then quickly drew another and brought it back to Carpos' neck. By then, it was all but over.

The throne room was filled with the dead and dying. The last few of Carpos' hundred-man retinue, hopelessly outnumbered, threw down their arms and tried to surrender, but they were not spared. And so ended the horrific scene.

Rowland turned to face Carpos, resting his sword on his shoulder, the blade red with the blood of the Prince's Bodyguards.

The wench pressed the blade of her knife closer, just enough to draw blood. Carpos was beaten, completely and for the last time. Rowland would not make his end easy or quick. Before it was over, he would wish that he was among the bodies scattered before him.