“You sent him to the Regent.”
The Captain lowered his head.
“I did not know.”
The Prince gripped the bow harder.
“What happened?”
“The Regent said the palace had spies everywhere. He told us he would take the King through the old tunnels to reach you safely.”
“And you let him?”
“He was the King’s minister.”
The Captain’s shame filled every word.
“I trusted him.”
The Queen whispered, “Then?”
“An hour later the Regent returned alone.”
The Prince’s voice cracked.
“What did he say?”
“That the King had died.”
The Queen closed her eyes.
The Captain continued.
“He showed me blood. He said assassins had found them in the tunnels. He ordered the body removed secretly so the kingdom would not collapse into war.”
“And you believed him for four years?”
“No.”
The Captain looked toward the broken bronze sun.
“Not completely.”
The Queen opened her eyes.
“Then why stay silent?”
“Because the next morning my wife disappeared.”
Silence.
The Captain’s voice became hollow.
“The Regent sent me a piece of her necklace.”
The Queen’s anger changed.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
The Prince stared at the man who had shoved him.
Suddenly the action looked different.
“Why did you push me?”
The Captain looked toward the upper gallery.
One narrow window stood open.
“Because there was an archer above you.”
The Prince turned.
Guards rushed toward the gallery.
They found a crossbow.
No shooter.
The Captain said, “I saw the sunlight on the bolt.”
The Prince swallowed.
“You kicked the bow away.”
“I was trying to get you down.”
The Queen looked between them.
The Prince felt shame replace anger.
Then a guard ran into the courtyard.
“My Queen!”
Everyone turned.
“The Regent escaped the citadel.”
“How?”
“Old aqueduct passage.”
“Seal the gates.”
“He had horses waiting beyond the eastern wall.”
The Queen’s jaw tightened.
“Of course he did.”
The Young Prince looked toward the broken sun.
His father had returned.
His father had hidden the seal.
His father might have survived again.
“Where do the tunnels lead?”
The Captain answered.
“To the sea.”
They searched until nightfall.
In the old passage beneath the throne hall, they found dried blood on stone.
A broken iron chain.
And words scratched into the wall.
Not with ink.
With metal.
THREE WAVES BENEATH THE BLACK STAR.
The Queen touched the carving.
“His hand.”
The Prince looked at her.
“You know?”
“He used to carve letters into campaign tables when angry.”
The Old Archer arrived carrying a torch.
He examined the wall.
“Three waves again.”
The Prince turned the bow.
Three waves.
Sun.
Broken crown.
Arrow.
“Black star?”
The Captain frowned.
“There is an island sailors call the Black Star.”
The Queen looked up.