Icarus was the only one at the Queen's funeral.
Everyone else was either sick, dead—
or too busy holding the kingdom together.
They had learned their lesson from the Minister's funeral.
The King wasn't there.
He couldn't be.
Icarus stood before the Queen's shroud.
It was different.
The Minister's had been plain white.
Dignified.
Honourable.
The Queen's—
was soft pink.
Adorned with daisies.
She liked daisies.
Icarus' hands trembled as he lifted the torch.
He lit the shroud.
And watched his mother burn.
Tears blurred his vision.
Rain began to fall.
Slowly—
then all at once.
Icarus collapsed to his knees.
"I thought I could save everyone…"
His voice broke.
"I couldn't save you."
A breath.
Shaking.
"I couldn't even save myself."
He wept.
Openly.
Violently.
The rain drowned his voice—
but part of him was glad.
He didn't want anyone to see him like this.
A distant voice echoed.
Amused.
I told you so.
And then—
the rain stopped.
Icarus blinked.
Looked up.
Altheis stood over him.
Holding an umbrella.
"Be careful, my Lord," he said softly."You'll fall ill."
There were still people who stayed.
No matter what.
Icarus reached forward—
and pulled him into a tight embrace.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The final blow came that very night.
War.
The neighbouring kingdom of Morvane had declared it.
They had always lingered on the edge of conflict.
Now—
they stepped over.
Solmara was broken.
The Corruption had taken half the population.
The rest were too weak to fight.
The outskirts had fallen.
The borders stood unguarded.
The court was in shambles.
The Queen was dead.
The King was dying.
And the Prince—
was ten years old.
What could he possibly do?
The King tried.
He truly did.
But there was nothing left to give.
That night—
Icarus could not sleep.
His thoughts churned.
Endlessly.
And then—
something clicked.
What if…
What if The Corruption was never natural?
He sat upright, breath ragged.
What if it was started by Morvane?
Silence.
Then—
laughter.
Distant.
Familiar.
You've finally figured it out.
Icarus froze.
Then he moved.
He threw aside the covers and ran—
still in his night clothes—
through the silent halls.
The King needs to know.
He reached the chamber doors.
Didn't knock.
He slammed them open.
"Father, I've—"
He stopped.
The King lay on the floor.
Still.
A dagger buried deep in his chest.