Nicon

XXIII

XXIII

SILVER COATED HIS dead veins. His mangled, brown body was left to rot on the blood covered asphalt in the middle of the road. The thick scar across his forehead was more apparent now that the sun was rising, and as he lay there unmoving, the castle he had once called his home fell into a respectful silence to honor the dead as the large clock chimed six times.

Nicon sat in the conference room alone, silent, with a furious, vengeful scowl present on his face. He knew if Killian was alive he would advise against the sinister thoughts littering the King's mind, and the King would heavily consider listening to him. But, he was not alive, and he was not here, and the King could do as he pleased without the scar-faced man by his side.

Nicon's rage barely masked his grief, the foreign feeling that loomed in the middle of his chest. He felt slightly adrift, floating aimlessly within a sea of menacing thoughts that would ultimately result in the deaths of hundreds.

The dagger slick in his palm struck the wooden table with a sickening thud, and wood splintered off into the air surrounding the King. The hilt of the dagger was buried deep within the table from the force of the strike, but it did not at all phase the man.

Killian had been killed at the hands of a pathetic, mere mortal. A feeble abomination of nature had killed one of the King's best, most honest men, all for the gain of a few silver-tipped weapons.

Nicon would not let anyone stand in the way of his vengeance, for the way Killian had reached his demise was not only appaling, but disgusting. He had lost all source of dignity as the silver pierced his skin, as the human killed him in his stronger form. It was an insult to the entire Shifter community that one of their most respected men died the way he did. That the rest of the men in the castle let him die the way he did.

The King had been blinded by the way his mate spoke. His father had not left behind a strong kingdom only for his heir to throw away the success the Shifters had achieved. He had not left the crown only for his son follow in his footsteps.

It was about time the Shifters made themselves known. It was about time the world knew who the superior race was, and Nicon would be damned to let a human, mate or not, influence his decision.

His companion had died because the King had not acted soon enough, and Nicon was not going to make the same mistake twice. If he did not act, perhaps the next death would be Elysie's. His mate. In addition to all of the men in the castle, Elysie was under his guidance, his authority. She may not understand now, but this was the best course of action and Nicon knew the Council would agree. The fact that it was the King's fault for not acting out against the humans earlier only contributed to his anger. He could have prevented the death of Killian.

Alert the Council. Nicon spoke to Syd though his mind.

Yes, Your Highness.  Syd was surprised that Nicon had not ordered him to alert the council as soon as Alpha Troy called early in the morning to give his condolences about the findings in the outskirts of his territory.

Syd's face had hardened significantly in his time at the castle, the day his wolf awakened was the day he signed over his freedom. And, as the day marked Killian's death, Syd could feel himself further sinking into the cold depths of his own mind.

Ever since he was a small age, Syd yearned for the companionship his mate would bring him. He yearned for a female figure in his life ever since his mother died in childbirth nearly eighteen years ago. Nicon had not been the authoritative figure Syd had hoped to receive.

As the young warrior grew closer to the King's mate, he realized that the desire for a mate of his own only grew with time. Some nights, as the moon rose in the sky, Syd would kneel at the foot of his bed and pray to the Goddess that his mate would be found. He prayed that he still had one.

Killian had been one of the first men to approach Syd in the castle, and Syd had taken a liking to the man. Where Nicon was not the mentor Syd had sought, Killian quickly filled the vacated spot.

He heard stories about the scar-faced man, how he had been the first to stand up to Nicon, which earned him an ever-scaring strike that branded him for years to come. All the other Shifters had cowered in fear, while Killian had bravely protested Nicon's policy. He had been the first to speak up, and he had been the first to befriend the cold man. He had been one of the first to volunteer to fight, and he had been the first well-respected man to die such a lowly death.

Syd knew that the counterattack at the shipment raid had been unexpected, that had been obvious with the destructive news of Killian's passing. He also knew that although the King did not acknowledge it, he felt personally responsible for the death of the warrior.

In the day that followed the death, the castle was also abnormally quiet — usually there was some sort of argument or fight breaking out, even the occasional hearty, drunken singing competition that Killian had once participated in, but his death had affected the men more deeply than they had ever imagined a death could. After all, they had been trained to be familiar with the casualties of war, but to lose one of their finest to a mere human was something none had prepared for.

Later that day, when the sun had already retreated back to the horizon, Nicon left the conference room. The Council, he was told, would arrive within the hour, so he set off to address the rest of the men in his care.

"Today," he said strongly, "Marks a day we were not prepared to face." The blank faces of his men were staring at him as he stood in the center of the Great Room. They had noticed the change in their King in the past few days, and while it was a breath of fresh air, they knew it had come to an end. The man standing before them now was the same man to take the throne. The same Royal heir to the Shifter throne who would not let there be talk of peace with the humans. The same man who produced fear in those who stood before him, and who had mercilessly took from men who he believed deserved to be taken from.

"Today," he continued, "News of a death has reached our ears when we did not think we would hear of such a loss. Today, we have lost a friend! Today, we have lost a man who was nearly equal a King as I was! Today, we have lost Killian."

Syd was standing in the front of the crowd and could not stop the silent tear that escaped his eye at the realization that Killian was gone. Hastily wiping it away, he did not want to be frowned upon for looking weak. But, as he felt the feather-like path of another, he did not cover it up.

"No man would get away with such an act of treachery, and no weak human-" he spat the word with such disgust, "-will survive the revenge that will be enacted upon those who have wronged our fallen warrior. Killian deserved better than the meek death he suffered. He deserved better than to be defaced by the inferior species that walks among us."

Some of the men in the crowd were grinning, some sadistically smirking, itching for vengeance, as Nicon continued.

"Let it be known!" he yelled, his voice booming so loud Elysie heard from her chambers, the words jolting her from her sleep. "We are the Shifters!"  The men cheered, throwing their fists into the air.

Nicon picked up a mug from the table and caught the eyes of Syd as he raised it.  "And we will avenge you, Killian."