Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 336 - Three Hundred And Thirty Five

The King looked out at the silent crowd.

"In a month’s time," he announced, "during the first week of spring, the royal coronation will take place. We will crown a new King. It will mark a new order, a season of healing and rebirth for Eudora."

King Alistair placed the golden crown down on the velvet cushion of his empty throne. He looked at Derek one last time, offering a small, sad nod of respect.

Then, the old King turned and slowly walked toward the private back doors of the platform.

Immediately, every single person in the massive Great Hall—the wealthy lords, the proud generals, the nervous politicians—turned to face Derek.

In perfect, practiced unison, hundreds of people dropped to one knee. They bowed their heads low toward the new ruler of Eudora.

"As His Majesty wishes," the massive crowd chanted together, their voices echoing like thunder.

Derek stood alone at the front of the hall. He looked at the hundreds of bowed heads. He looked at the empty golden throne.

He thought to himself, feeling a heavy, hollow ache in his chest.

It is over, Derek thought. I have finally got justice for Theodore. I have saved the Thompson army’s honor. I have secured the kingdom.

He slowly closed his eyes. The physical pain in his back was nothing compared to the bleeding hole in his heart.

I won, he thought bitterly. But I lost my world. What good is a crown if I cannot place it on her head?

He pictured Marissa’s pale face in the snowy alleyway. He remembered her last, soft breath. A single tear escaped his closed eye and rolled down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away. A King could not cry in front of his court.

Derek opened his eyes. He prepared to turn and leave the hall to mourn in private.

Then, a sudden memory flashed in his mind.

He remembered the disgraced Governor of the West walking past him just an hour ago. He remembered the desperate look in the man’s eyes. He remembered the quiet, urgent whisper.

Meet me.

Derek frowned. Why would Lord Colton want to meet him? What could a magic-sympathizer possibly offer him now?

Derek did not know, but a strange, tiny pull in his gut told him he needed to find out.

He turned around. He did not walk toward the King’s private chambers. He walked down the center aisle, past the bowing nobles. He walked out of the Great Hall and headed straight for the lower levels of the palace.

He walked down the cold, damp stone stairs that led to the royal holding cells. It was dark and smelled of old iron and wet earth. Two royal guards stood at attention in front of a heavy iron door.

When they saw Derek approaching in his uniform, knowing he was now the King-to-be, they quickly stood straight and bowed deeply.

"Open it," Derek commanded. His voice was flat and tired.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the guard replied instantly. He pulled a large iron ring of keys from his belt, unlocked the heavy lock, and pulled the squeaking iron door open.

Derek stepped into the dim, cold cell. The guard pulled the door shut behind him, leaving them alone.

Lord Colton was sitting on a hard wooden bench in the corner. When Derek entered, Colton immediately stood up. He bowed his head respectfully, his iron chains clanking against the stone floor.

"Your Grace," Lord Colton said softly. "Or should I say, Your Majesty. Word travels fast even down here."

Derek stopped in the center of the cell. He crossed his arms over his chest. He looked at the older man with impatient, exhausted eyes.

"Speak quickly, Colton," Derek demanded. He did not want to play games. "You asked me to meet you. I am here. What do you want? If it is a plea for a lighter sentence, you are wasting my time."

Lord Colton shook his head. He looked at Derek’s face. He saw the dark bags under Derek’s eyes. He saw the terrible, raw grief radiating from the young man. He had heard the whispers from the guards. He knew the Grand Duke had lost his wife last night to Prince Liam’s poison.

"I do not want a lighter sentence, Your Majesty," Lord Colton said gently. He took a slow step forward, dragging his chains. He stopped a few feet away from Derek.

Lord Colton looked deep into Derek’s grieving eyes.

"I am a man of the West," Lord Colton spoke in a low, serious whisper. "I have lived among the magic wielders for twenty years." He paused to deliver a secret. " I am one myself."

Derek eyes widened in disbelief.

Colton continued. " I have seen things the capital claims are impossible. I have seen the ancient arts that your people fear and segregate."

Derek frowned, his patience running out. "What is your point?"

Lord Colton took a deep breath. He leaned slightly closer to Derek.

He said something that made the entire world stop spinning.

"Do you know," Lord Colton whispered, watching Derek’s face carefully, "your wife could be brought back to life?"

Derek froze.

His heart literally skipped a beat in his chest. His breathing stopped completely.

He stared at Lord Colton. He searched the older man’s face for any sign of a cruel joke, any sign of madness. But Colton looked completely serious, honest, and calm.

Derek’s dark eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing shock.

The solid, logical walls of Derek’s mind began to crack. The deep, heavy blanket of despair that covered his soul was suddenly pierced by a blinding, terrifying ray of hope.

"What did you say?" Derek breathed. His voice shook so violently he could barely form the words. He uncrossed his arms and took a sudden step forward, closing the distance between them.

"I said," Lord Colton repeated softly, "there is an ancient magic in the deep West. A magic of blood and time. It is called the forbidden arts. If her body is preserved... she could be brought back."