We rode back toward the castle, but the air felt heavier than the battlefield ever did. Smoke still lingered in the valleys, but it wasn't the war that pressed on my chest—it was the thought of the witches, their voices, their promises. The crown. The king.
Duncan was smiling, radiant as ever. Too radiant. The kind of smile that made the world feel safe… and made my blood thrum with unease.
He greeted me warmly, clapping me on the shoulder:"O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now was heavy on me. Thou art so far before, that swiftest wing of recompense is slow to overtake thee."
I nodded, tried to smile back, but inside I was already spinning. "Swiftest wing of recompense"? He's praising me… but for what? Fighting a war? Killing men? That crown… the crown…
Then he turned, bright and oblivious, and said something that stopped my heart for a second:"We will establish our estate upon our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honor must not unaccompanied invest him only, but signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine on all deservers."
Malcolm. The next heir. The next in line.
And suddenly, the crown didn't just whisper my name—it laughed in my face.
I swallowed hard. My pulse was deafening.
I thought of the witches. King hereafter. They never said how. They never said when. But Malcolm? He was a roadblock now. Clear, shining, untouchable.
I clenched my hands on the reins. My mind was a battlefield even without swords or blood. Ambition clawed at me. Greed whispered from the shadows. And yet… fear nagged in the back of my head.
"Why do I even think this?" I muttered, almost out loud.
The king turned to me again, smiling, and my stomach twisted. I wanted to tell him. Wanted to laugh, to deny the darkness rising inside me—but words stuck in my throat.
I nodded, keeping my mask on. Pretending to be loyal. Pretending to be noble.
But as the horses trudged toward the castle, I felt it: the first real taste of what I wanted. The crown, burning like fire in my chest, almost unbearable, almost holy.
Malcolm stood between me and it now, shining, untouchable…
And I realized something terrifying.If I wanted the crown… I'd have to move faster than honor, faster than loyalty, faster than fate itself.
And deep down, I knew… I was already planning.