The King stepped forward.
“I remember you.”
The commander froze.
“Third northern regiment.”
The man swallowed.
“Yes, my King.”
“You lost two fingers at the river battle.”
The commander looked at his damaged hand.
“Yes.”
“I told you to retire.”
“You also said your orders were occasionally foolish.”
The King smiled.
“That sounds like me.”
The commander lowered his sword.
His soldiers followed.
The crowd moved on.
At the second barricade, resistance was stronger.
Regent loyalists shoved civilians backward.
One struck an old merchant.
The Prince saw.
He ran forward.
The Captain caught him.
“Don’t.”
“They’re hurting people.”
“And you charging into spears helps?”
The Prince hated another sensible adult.
The Queen stepped forward instead.
She removed her crown.
The crowd went quiet.
She placed it on the ground.
“If you believe I have failed this kingdom, arrest me.”
The soldiers stared.
The Queen continued.
“But you will not beat hungry citizens while claiming to defend my throne.”
One soldier lowered his spear.
Then another.
Their commander slapped the nearest man.
“Raise it!”
The Captain’s expression hardened.
The commander shoved the soldier.
The Prince remembered the courtyard.
The shove.
The confusion.
The Captain stepped forward and punched the commander once.
The man collapsed.
The Prince stared.
The Captain flexed his hand.
“That one was not to protect you.”
The barricade opened.
By sunset, only the inner citadel remained under hostile control.
The Regent was brought ashore in chains.
When his commanders saw him alive, their confidence collapsed.
Most surrendered.
One did not.
The Regent’s chief military ally seized the throne hall and threatened to burn the royal archives.
The Prince looked toward the bronze sun above the throne.
Still broken from his arrow.
The King noticed.
“You did that?”
“Yes.”
The King stared.
“Your mother allowed this?”
“No.”
“Good.”
They entered through the old aqueduct.
The same passage the Regent had used.
The Captain led.
The Prince followed despite repeated orders not to.
Inside the throne hall, the hostile commander held a torch.
Oil covered the archive doors.
“Stop!”
The King stepped forward.
The commander looked shocked.
Then furious.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
The King smiled.
“I receive that often.”
The commander threw the torch.
The Prince fired.
His arrow struck the torch in midair.
It spun aside.
Flames hit stone instead of oil.
The Captain charged.
The commander drew his sword.
They fought across the throne steps.
The Prince ran toward the archive doors.
A second soldier grabbed him.