The Kingmaker's Crown

Regulus takes himself in as he stands before the floor length mirror in the base dorms. B twisted his hair into his trademark horns for him, teasing the rest of it into a curly mess. B dusted his face with glitter, drawing small golden stars across his face. 

‘Can’t not grace our star boy with his own constellations, can we?’ he had teased. There’s other light makeup too, a soft blush and some powder to smooth his pale complexion. As he takes in his porcelain skin, he remembers the rich tones of Prince James' skin, sunkissed, and Regulus thinks he would radiate heat when touched. Hot enough to burn. 

The corset had been a shock. When Regulus unzipped the garment bag he had found on his bed, he’d expected something similar to his usual clothes. Structured like a waistcoat but laced in the back, clinging to his every curve. The fabric itself is jet black, golden swirls hand painted along where his body curved, accentuating his humanity, and a shower of golden stars splattered across his chest.  Regulus had slipped into the dress britches and a black long sleeved shirt before having B lace him into the corset. Once it had been secured, B had asked if Regulus knew it was armoured. Sure enough, between the boning seemed to be thin plates of armour, leaving Regulus’ upper body plated and protected. 

“Who would give you an armoured corset?” B asks him, leaning against the wall, next to the mirror as Regulus keeps watching himself. He has a dagger inside his boot and the blade from the Wolf tucked into his corset. Regulus takes a deep breath. He looks powerful. 

“The Prince, I assume,” Regulus tells him with a shrug. B hums, but doesn't look convinced. 

“Are you coming?” Regulus asks and B smiles.

“Not with you, but I'll be around. Just in case.” He winks at Regulus, who smiles and bids him farewell, climbing up the tunnel and making his way through the castle. The party has already begun and so Regulus follows the noise, entering through one of the double doors and nodding at the guard on his way through, recognising one as Alphard’s men. He nods back, but the other guard sneers at Regulus as he passes. 

Every square inch of the room is packed with people. The lower courts have gathered for the occasion to swear loyalty to the new king or queen. The mer-folk from the undersea are gathered together, dancing in their dripping gowns. Regulus can see Marlene’s mother but not his classmate herself. She’s likely with Prince James on the big night. Regulus wonders if a part of the prince hopes to be crowned or if he knows how laughable that is. 

Lord Shacklebolt, leader of one of the unseelie courts, is talking to a human knight with shining red hair. Regulus can’t help but watch them. Lord Shacklebolt disturbed many of the seelie, he took his crowns by force by murdering his predecessor to take charge of the Court of Bones. The High King’s throne cannot be taken like that. When the first fairy queen, Mab, took the throne and called the isle of Elfhame from the sea, she had a great smith craft her the Blood Crown. Inside of it, a curse. The Blood Crown can only be passed down to one of Mab’s own line, only by another blood relation, an unbroken line of succession. Should the ruler be murdered, then the curse would kill the murderer, no need for trail or question. And when there is only one of Queen Mab’s descendants left, the crown will break. Pure magic at its finest.

These terms mean that royals have been procreating more than two children since Mab herself. Given that Mab is the current king Fleamont’s grandmother, that hasn’t been too hard to achieve. Although Regulus doesn't actually know how old the High King is. 

He gets pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his youngest brother shrieking. Regulus follows the noise to find Draco, he’s running in circles around Narcissa, giggling and laughing. Regulus makes his way towards them, scanning the crowd. Everyone has a mask, most hold it lazily in a hand or shoved in a pocket, but some are wearing them. For anonymity as they behave badly, drunk already. For confidence and strength as they hide their flaws. Or, Regulus thinks as a male catches his eye, for nefarious intent. 

The male is unrecognisable yet familiar, the mask covering his entire face, up to the brim of his hood. He isn’t engaging in conversation but lurking at the edge, unnoticed. Regulus tilts his head and the male echos his movement. Regulus abandons his path to his brother and moves closer, inching around the back of the group. The male joins him in looking up at a tapestry on the wall and turns his head to Regulus, lifting his mask. Horti. 

Regulus grins. “Hello.”

“Good evening, Reggie. You look well.” Horti smiles and Regulus preens, twisting his body slightly. It’s the first time he has found himself appealing. Found his humanity attractive. 

“All B’s hard work,” he tells Horti, whose face falters slightly. 

“He was okay,” he adds softly. Horti meets his eyes quickly and nods, refusing to bring up his concern. Regulus had been able to tell how pissed B had been, how angry and resentful at being sidelined. Regulus can understand that. 

“I heard you did extremely well on your mission,” Horti tells Regulus, who blushes.

“I don’t know about that but… I’m glad it wasn't bad.” 

Horti hums, studying Regulus. They have their backs to the room at large, sequestered as they are. “I think you have a natural proclivity for this, Reggie. You’re an asset to the team.” 

Regulus doesn't know what to say to that. He looks away, casting his gaze across the room. He spots his father, standing next to Prince Tom up on the dias, next to the throne. Alphard and Fleamont have been close for lifetimes now, Tom trusts Alphard explicitly. Regulus can see that from the way they laugh together now. As general to the High King, Alphard will be on the dais during the ceremony, watching over for any issues. 

“Are you expecting trouble?” Regulus asks and the Horticulturalist shrugs. 

“We don’t have any solid plans, but if Prince Lucius wants to poison him, it’ll have to be before the ceremony. Don’t worry about it, Reggie. You’re not on duty. After tonight, when he is king…” Horti reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flask. “Well. Enjoy your night off, Reggie. Dance, drink, relax.” 

He offers Regulus the flask, but he shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks.” 

“Oh,” Horti grins, reaching to lower his mask. “I know you are.” 

He slips back into the crowd and Regulus is still grinning from the praise when he sneaks up behind Draco and scoops his brother into a giant hug, tickling and spinning around as Draco squeals with joy. 

Narcissa directs him in the direction of Andy and Sirius after telling him off for riling Draco up and being so rough with him. The whole while Draco protests, he likes playing with Regulus. He apologised to his step mother and winked at his brother, before slinking away. 

“Oh my god!” Andy yells when she sees him. She draws the attention of the entire gaggle of people, including Princess Pandora, who was leaning against the wall chatting to Andy and smiles warmly at Regulus as he approaches. Prince James is also there, with his inner circle. To Regulus’ consternation, Sirius is standing between the prince and the Duke. The two males take Regulus in with vastly different expressions. The Duke seems to look at Regulus with anticipation, a manic type of hunger. Excited and eager. The Prince is watching Regulus like he’s prey, devouring every inch of him.

“You look incredible!” Andy tells him, as she rushes to him. She’s in the most beautiful gown, a lilac purple with embroidered flowers, exposed shoulders and poofy sleeves along her arms. Flowers grace the bodice too. Regulus bows deeply for her and she laughs, taking his hand they begin a clumsy but familiar dance. Andy tells him inane gossip she had heard from her friends and Regulus smiles at her. She seems so happy, radiant with joy. 

Regulus wants to be that happy. If only he believed he could possibly achieve that in the mortal realm, like she can. If only there was a normal boy waiting to bump into him in a coffee shop and make his dreams come true. Andy will leave this place, she will shack up with this human boy and his grumpy cat and they will have lazy sunlit mornings in bed where they drink coffee and talk about nothing and Regulus will bleed to death on his own, clawing his way into the power he craves. 

He can feel it now as tears prick his eyes and his sister spins in his arms, a whirl of laughter and lilac. There is a monster in his chest, it craves respect and it will kill them all to gain it. Something is awake inside of Regulus, fed by years of abuse and rage. He will not forgive them. He will not forget. Somehow, someway, someday, Regulus Black will make them all fear him, or die trying. 

“Mind if I cut in?” comes a voice from beside them and they turn to find the Duke. Andy hesitates for a second, her eyes flicking to the side before she nods. 

The Duke takes Regulus and suddenly, he’s being led. The Duke leads them far more extravagantly than Regulus had led Andy. Regulus finds himself out of breath quickly, urgently keeping up with the Duke, laughing for it feels like flying to be guided so swiftly. He catches Prince James watching him with pure hate on his face, but he ignores him. Regulus gasps as the Duke pulls him close, leaning to speak softly to him, 

“You look enticing.” 

“Thank you,” Regulus breathes back. His heart is racing but he can’t shake this nagging feeling in his mind that he’s missing something.  

“Do you love me, Regulus?” The Duke asks, pulling back slightly to take in Regulus’ face. “Would you cry over me?” 

Regulus frowns, discomfort creeping over him. 

“If you died?” he asks. No. The answer is no, the Duke is fun, and exciting. He makes Regulus’ heart race and his skin flush. It doesn't mean anything to Regulus though. It’s just a dalliance. The Duke shakes his head, looking at Regulus with such intensity that Regulus shivers. 

“No, would you cry if I hurt you?”

Regulus laughs, he can’t help it. This male doesn't have the power to hurt him. Regulus has trusted him with his body, yes. But Regulus is far from puritanical. He does have a crush on him, in another life perhaps it could go somewhere. But the Duke is not a person Regulus has let inside his mental walls. Not really. Not in any damaging way.

“You don't have the power to hurt me, my Duke. It’s just a game, remember?” Regulus doesn't understand the anger that shines in the Duke's eyes. 

“And if I did? Despite your belief I'm not powerful enough to hurt you?” That isn't what Regulus said. They aren't dancing now, Regulus is still in the Duke’s arms and that discomfort has become strong enough that he wants to pull free. He isn’t scared of the Duke, but he doesn't want to cause a scene. Regulus lets his eyes travel over the Duke one last time. Sure now, that this is done. Some men cannot handle being treated with nonchalance, it’s a pity, he really is pretty. 

“If you tried to hurt me, I would kill you,” Regulus tells him. He doesn’t mask it with a smile, he stares directly into the Duke’s wild eyes and lets him see the truth. Regulus doesn't get to see the Duke’s reaction, because there is a hand on his shoulder and he’s pulled off Regulus. 

“That’s enough,” Prince James tells him. “My turn.” 

And to everyone's surprise, the Prince sweeps Regulus up. Taking him away from the Duke and his angry eyes. As they waltz away, Regulus catches Sirius watching him. His brother looks… haunted. Not just sad, his eyes are brimmed with tears and regret and… longing? As Regulus watches, Sirius looks from Regulus to the Duke and moves forwards, reaching out for his arm and- James spins him and Regulus loses sight of his brother. 

“I don’t need your help,” Regulus tells him, still confused and dizzy as the prince dips him low and yanks him back, slamming into James’ chest. The rich scent fills Regulus and makes a small sigh escape him. 

James laughs, “I don’t think you need anyone’s help, love.” 

Regulus shivers.

“What are you doing then?” he demands and James smiles at him. 

“Whatever I want.” 

Regulus should be suspicious, but he’s grateful for the rescue, although he’d die before he admits it. James’ heat radiates into Regulus’ hands where they rest on the Prince's arms. James’ hands rest on Regulus’ waist but through the armour, he cannot feel their heat on him, and he longs for it. Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if his corset was permanently damaged from the heat of James' skin, perhaps the fabric will burn away leaving just the amour. Perhaps James will melt it all away and grace Regulus’ skin with his touch. He finds himself looking down to the spot where James burns into him, just to check, because he really loves this corset. 

“I’m glad you wore it.” The Prince says casually and Regulus’ eyes snap back to James, a confused frown on his face. “I knew it would look good on you. I had a servant deliver it to the General’s house for you.” 

“I - why?” Regulus whispers, he feels confused.

“I wanted to,” the Prince tells him. 

“Why is it armoured?” Regulus asks next. On edge again. James smiles lazily, his eyes are heavy and Regulus can smell the wine on him.

“Good question,” James hums, although he keeps watching Regulus’ throat. “Have you seen my dear friend Peter lately?” 

Regulus goes still and James laughs. “You’re the type of person to anger people enough to need armour, Love.”

“I don't-” Regulus starts but James cuts him off. 

“You think I don't see you, but I never take my eyes off you.”

“James,” Regulus whispers and the Prince tightens his grip on Regulus, making him sway closer. He swallows. The Prince takes his eyes off Regulus and looks across the room. The same hatred that Regulus is so used to seeing in those eyes returns, but it’s not aimed at Regulus though. He turns his head and finds the Duke watching them intently. ‘It’s all just a game,’ Regulus thinks, and he’s tired of it. 

“I will not be a pawn in your pissing contest with your friends, I am not some prize to be won.” Regulus hisses, trying to shove James. The Prince ignores him, guiding them away from the Duke’s gaze. 

“You have no idea, my love.” James spins him away and pulls him back. The feeling of being held by James is so intoxicating that Regulus wonders if he can get drunk off the fumes on James’ breath. Heady and rich. 

“You should burn away his touch,” James whispers, pressing his lips next to Regulus’ ear. “You deserve better than him. Trust me, when the truth comes out you will want to burn the feeling of him away. Come to me, it would be my pleasure to eradicate every echo of him on your skin.” 

Regulus feels faint, he’s being seduced. He should be repulsed but James... Regulus hates him so. He pushes and James allows him an inch to lean back, an inch of space between them.

“You’re trying to make a fool of me,” he accuses. He hopes. 

“Oh, no one can make a fool of you, Regulus Black.” There is something like reverence in the Prince's voice and he pushes again, finally freeing himself from the prince. Regulus backs away. James holds his gaze until someone passes between them and Regulus turns and bolts, heart hammering in his chest. 

Regulus watches the party goers from afar. They all laugh and dance and rejoice, ready to bring a new age into Elfhame. When the bells begin to toll, marking the start of the ceremony, Regulus sighs, whether of relief or disappointment he isn't sure. The time has come, the trouble has passed, Horti said if something was coming, it would be before the ceremony. He pushes off the wall and begins to make his way towards his family. He doesn’t really want to look at Sirius right now. That nagging feeling is still eating away at him, bringing a frustrating heat to his cheeks. 

He ends up picking a spot towards the back of the crowd, with his siblings in eyeline but not close enough to force him to join them. He has a clear view of the raised dais and joins the revelers in their low bow, as High King Fleamont rises to his feet. Behind him, his offspring stand alongside the King’s previous consort, Merope - Prince Tom’s mother. Next to the throne, the only one at the High King’s side is his advisor and consort, Xenophilius. The talented poet is human like Regulus, lured into fairy for his sonnets and took root close to the king. 

Regulus doesn’t think that Xeno is a power climber, he seems to really love the king, although it’s hard to say. Everytime Regulus has tried to speak to him, he has spoken nothing but babbled riddles. He’s still the only human with real power at the high court. Only, as Regulus takes in the scene, someone is missing. Prince James isn’t on the dais. 

Regulus whips his head around, easily locating the Prince lurking against a back wall, an entire skin of wine in his hand. Perhaps Regulus shouldn't have recognised him so easily, now wearing his mask, but he would know James in a crowded room blindfolded. He must feel Regulus’ eyes on him, because he turns his gaze from the stage and Regulus looks away. 

Back on the stage, the only person who seems to be looking for James is Pandora. Regulus sees her wave at Andy from across the room and furrow her brows in question. Andy shrugs and Pandora sighs. James is going to be in trouble for this, Regulus thinks with a zing of satisfaction. If the rest of his family notice, anyway. 

High King Fleamont steps forwards and a hush falls over the crowd, he raises his hands as he looks down at the crowd. 

“It has been my honour to serve as your king for so long. I can tell in the turn of the tide and the patterns of the roots that it is time for another to take my place. Elfhame is ready for a new day.” 

Regulus’ flesh breaks out in pimples and he swallows. His father is stood just behind the throne. The dias is lined with knights, all wearing the house coat of the king. Although, as he looks closer, Regulus recognises one of his father’s men. And another. Infact, Regulus suspects all of the men around the dias are not the King’s, but Alphard’s. Why in the king’s uniform? Perhaps they too suspect a scheme.

“You will be missed, great King,” Xenophilius says from his side, voice full of reverence and adoration that makes something inside Regulus ache. He glances to where James was, but finds the space empty. 

Fleamont smiles warmly at Xenophilius, before turning to his subjects. “Do you accept my abdication?”

“Yes,” the crowd calls out to him. People are openly weeping for the King. Regulus finds himself surprised by the genuine respect and adoration for the monarch. 

The High King lowers to a knee, one final time, and Xenophilius takes a deep breath before reaching out and removing the crown. Regulus feels the very ground beneath him shudder, as a wave of the magic is released from the King, the very roots around them seem to creek out a sigh. 

“Tell us, please,” Xenophilius calls out, voice cleaving through the silent stillness. “Who will take the throne?” 

Regulus’ heart is in his throat as Fleamont rises, reaching out and taking the crown from his advisor and heartmate, sparing him a fond smile as he turns back to address his audience. 

“My third born son!” Fleamont cries. Cheers erupt from the court and a noise, somewhere between an exhale and a scoff, escapes Regulus. Tom steps forward and removes his tunic and britches, making Regulus look away in discomfort. The Prince stands there, in front of the entire high court and the lower courts representatives, naked and vulnerable. Exposed. Regulus wonders how many people long to take the shot right now, pierce his boss through the chest. Rip him apart and rid this world of him forever. Regulus’ hand throbs. 

No one does. Prince Tom lowers himself to his knees at the edge of the dias as the guards step aside, allowing an unimpeded view of the prince on his knees. 

“Will you accept this duty, Prince Thomas?” Xenophilius calls out and silence falls again as the ceremony continues. The people wait for their new monarch. 

“Yes,” Prince Tom calls out, chin raised proudly. 

“Come forward and anoint your king!” Xeno calls out. 

In some, seemingly, pre-rehearsed manoeuvre, the leaders of the lower courts step forward. Each of them with a paint in hand, they draw their court symbols onto the Prince. Regulus recognises a few, but not all. Lord Shacklebolt is the last one to come forward. He doesn't hesitate to draw the symbols of his crowns onto the Prince’s skin, taking his time to etch each one and Regulus knows it’s a reminder of his own might, the crowns he won for himself. 

((A/N a suggestion and a TW. i suggestion you start listening to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture here, headphone high volume for best experience. And a warning for extreme graphic violence and death))

“Who will dress our new King?” Xeno asks. Tom's mother and his eldest sister, Bellatrix, step forward, each holding pure white garments for him. They help him into his new clothes and Tom stands. 

Regulus wishes he felt proud in this moment. Wishes he believed an iota of the reverence and mercy plastered over the new King’s face. He knows better now. Understands the true male behind that façade. 

You will live or die at my whim. I own you.

Resentment builds inside Regulus, he looks away from the dias and frowns when can't find his family. Regulus instantly begins moving closer to where he had last seen them. He stops short after just a second though, as he finds them with his eyes. Andy is having a hushed argument with one of Alphard’s men. Sirius and the Duke are standing with her, both frowning. Ahead of them, Narcissa is carrying Draco as she follows another of Alphard’s men out through a side door. 

Whatever the knight is saying seems to work because Andy throws her hands into the air and storms after Narcissa. Sirius and the Duke follow. Regulus’ stomach churns as he watches the Duke take Sirius’ hand. He doesn’t follow them. As Regulus watches, Alphard’s man shuts the side door after his siblings. Just as Regulus goes to look away, the knight places his hand on his sword, blocking the door and half drawing his weapon. Standing ready. 

Ice spiderwebs through Regulus, seeping out from his heart. He flicks his gaze back to the stage, searching out his Father. Alphard has inched forward, his hand on his weapon and his eyes on Prince Tom. Regulus jerks forward a step as the realisation crashes through him. It had been his father’s spy the night prior. It was his father’s men at the doors and around the dias. It had been his father visiting Prince Lucius at Potter’s Hall. Regulus had been stupid. 

“Do you accept Prince Tom as your High King?” Xenophilius demands of the gathered group.

 “Yes!” the crowd calls, excitement rising like a wave from all around. Fleamont raises the crown into the air. 

Tonight marks the end of an era for Elfhame, and for our family

That's what Alphard had said, and Regulus had thought he meant in Prince Tom’s reign. Had forgotten what his father had taught them. That he never stops yearning for power, for blood. Alphard won’t be happy with a peaceful reign. He won’t be able to sit by, for what is the use of a general without a war? Prince Lucius steps forwards and Regulus feels a scream in his throat. 

“I do not accept,” he calls. Silence crashes over the crowd, like a net, the excitement still there, shifting into a dangerous type of hunger. 

“Child,” Fleamont implores, pity on his tired features. “Do not do this. Nothing you say will change my mind.” 

Prince Lucius ignores him. He’s moving to a fighting stance in front of Tom who shakes his head, the picture of sympathy. Regulus can see the spiteful glee in his eyes though, how giddy it must be to best your enemy and then have them make a fool of themselves. But Tom cannot see what Regulus can. Cannot see how the knights around them are holding out for Alphard’s word, not Fleamont’s. Not Tom’s. 

“I won’t do you the dishonour of a duel, brother,” Prince Tom coos, voice condescending and soft. It’s the wrong thing to do and Regulus knows it in the way Lucius’ shoulders flex. 

“Very well. I shall convince you another way.” And with a quick movement, the tip of his sword slashes Princess Bellatrix’s throat. Regulus watches the shock on her face as her hands fly up. Watch as she crashes to the floor. He feels the way the crowd lean forwards, all eager to soak it up. Prince Tom’s face changes but not, Regulus thinks, in grief for his sister, but in rage at Lucius’ continued defiance. 

Fleamont’s hands fly upwards, acting on a reflex, but the magic in him has gone. He is no longer the king. Prince Tom must realise it in the same moment Regulus does.

There is no king. 

The curse on the crown no longer applies. Prince Lucius, likely with Alphard’s help, has found the only loophole, the only time you can kill the wearer of the crown, when there isn't one. 

“Guards!” Tom calls, but the knights don’t move. Fleamont turns to Alphard with a look of deep betrayal on his face. Alphard meets his gaze without hesitation and Regulus knows the truth, this isn't a betrayal to his father. The betrayal came when the King who promised the bloodsoaked general a war, settled into an era of peace. The crowd around him begins to jostle, the energy bubbling over as the severity of the situation sinks in. Regulus can feel the panic. He backs away, eyes still glued to the dias as he scrambles onto one of the tables. 

Out the rough space of the quickly forming mob, Regulus watches in horror as Princess Emmeline throws herself infront of her father, a small dagger clasped in her shaking hands. Fleamont pushes her behind him, with a firm hand on her shoulder. Regulus can see the tears streaming down her face even as she obeys her father. On the floor, Prince Tom’s mother is using her dress to try and stem the floor from Bellatrix’s throat. Regulus knows that it’s futile. 

“Will you crown me now father?” Lucius demands. Out of nowhere, a crossbow bolt sails through the air, colliding straight into Prince Lucius’ chest. For a second Regulus thinks that it’s over. But the bolts clang loudly, sending the prince staggering backwards but thanks to the armour under his clothes, Lucius remains unharmed.  

Regulus realises, as he looks up into the rafters from where the bolt emerged, that the Wolf is working, is protecting their prince. Regulus should do the same. He turns back, ready to jump into the fray and storm the stage. As he does so, he clocks his father. Alphard strides across the stage and in the blink of an eye, he swings his sword with both hands. The blade collides with A throat, in one smooth motion like an ore through a river, his father decapitates Prince Tom. 

Alphard stands over the fallen body of his once favourite Prince, like a dark angel, his redcap hood pulled low. Blood dripping from his blade. A deep, soul wrenching keening begins from where Merope lies on the floor. Regulus can hardly bear to watch as she begins to crawl through the mixture of blood soaking the dias towards her son’s body. Before she can reach it, two guards grab her, dragging her on her knees towards Prince Lucius. He extends his blade, the tip still stained with his sister's blood as he holds it against Merope’s abdomen. 

“Crown me, father, or I will kill her now.” Lucius looks like a toddler to Regulus, standing there, stamping his foot in a puddle of blood. Refusing to not get his way, despite the cost. Merope is still beside herself, wailing into the ether. Regulus can’t blame her. Fleamont watches with longing and regret for a moment before he shakes his head. Regulus already knows what he will say. Remembers how Narcissa warned that a king can only love his consort to an extent. The crown comes first. It’s part of why none of Mab's line have married, the earth born magic of the crown would extend to the spouse, who would also become a high monarch. A consort holds no true power, just a pawn. Even at their best, they remain detached. So there isn't hesitation when Fleamont looks back to his eldest son. 

“You will never be worthy of this crown.” 

Lucius screams in frustration and drives his blade straight through Merope’s chest. Fleamont watches, to his credit, and Regulus can see his genuine fondness for her on his face. Lucius  pulls his sword free and Merope collapses next to her son, twitching fingers reaching for him with the last of her strength. Regulus feels sick, his body is cold and he feels like he’s watching from somewhere else. He might be in shock. 

On the dias, Pandora has taken Emmeline into her arms, they huddle together but Regulus can see the rage in Pandora’s eyes. Xeno is hovering behind Fleamont, twitching nervously. The old King stands tall, staring down his son with a level of disappointment Regulus knows will haunt Lucius until his dying day. 

“Crown me,” he demands again, but Fleamont laughs pitilessly.

“Never.” It’s a statement, nothing will change his mind. Lucius must realise it too because he slashes out angrily. Plunging his sword into his father, he holds it there. Regulus cannot see his face but wonders if he realised the full magnitude of his actions. Lucius seems to hesitate before pulling the blade out slowly. 

The blood that falls from the old king’s wound doesn’t splatter down into the growing lake on the dias. It falls as rose blooms, petals landing soundlessly onto the blood. As Regulus watches, they turn to ash, curling up on themselves as the King falls backwards. Xeno rushes to his side, sobbing, pleading as his hands press onto the wound, rose petals covering him and spilling down. The room waits and as the last breath gurgles out of the Fleamont, the world seems to shiver. 

The last High King is dead. 

Lucius comes back to himself, already too deep to back out now, and whirls on the girls. Regulus can see how he wavers in his trembling hand. Can see his fathers face twist in disgust as he watched Lucius lose his nerve. He seems manic, out of control, desperate. It’s embarrassing. The entire coupe has lost its finance. The two girls and their brother, surrounded by their dead loved ones, so much blood that Regulus can hear it dripping off the edge of the dias onto the stone floor, every person in the room holding their breath, waiting to see him pull it together. 

“Sisters, will you crown me and live?” he demands, voice cracking. 

Emmeline moves forwards, and Regulus’ heart sinks. 

“I will, this is enough. No more bloodshed.” She seems to be pleading and Lucius grins, he bends down and picks up the now blood soaked crown from where Fleamont dropped it. He holds it out to his sister, she looks sick as she extends a small hand to take it from him. 

Regulus hears it first, the thwack of the bolt, he sees her body go flying backwards before he registers the iron protruding from her chest. The Wolf has killed her. Regulus can understand it. Logically. That even with Tom dead, they do not want Lucius on the throne. He can’t imagine a much worse king than Lucius. But still. 

“Guards!” Alphard demands, some of the knights break away from the dias, moving into the crowd towards where the bolt came from. Regulus knows the Wolf will already be gone now. 

Pandora covers her mouth with her hand for a moment as she watches the light leave her last sister’s eyes. Regulus is glad his sister isn't here. He knows Pandora well enough, she’s strong. Powerful and stubborn. She looks at her brother with hate in her eyes and crouches down. Her ivory gown soaks up the blood like a sponge, the fabric drinking it up as she crouches in the mess. She rises to her feet, her white eyes glowing with power and hatred. Emmeline’s small dagger drips blood as she clasps it in her hands. 

“Come now, sister,” Lucius chuckles nervously. But Pandora is not listening. She raises a hand, pointing one finger at her eldest brother, her voice reverberates with an ancient power and Regulus can feel the magic in it. 

“May your allies betray you and your enemies prosper. May our voices haunt you in the dark. May your opponents outwit you and your dreams burn. May you never be King.” 

Shock reverberates through the room. She has cursed him. Regulus didn't even know the fae could still do that. Before her last words have stopped echoing, she raises the dagger and cuts her own throat. 

Lucius looks lost, boots wet with his family's blood as they lay dead around him. Alphard doesn't wait, he scans the room, looking for someone and in that moment, his eyes meet Regulus’. He cannot even begin to imagine what his face looks like at that moment but his father goes very still, forgetting whatever it was he had been about to do. Alphard tries to take a jerking step in Regulus’ direction when the Prince unfreezes.

“Where is Prince James?” he demands. It takes everything in Regulus not to look at the spot he’d last seen James, not with his father watching him. Alphard makes a small gesture at him. Wait. 

“Guards, find the Prince,” Alphard demands, whirling towards his second in command. The Knight nods and begins instructing others.

“You!” Lucius yells, pointing into the crowd. “Swear fealty to me!” Regulus follows his gaze and find Lord Shacklebolt. He laughs at the Prince, and in a clear voice calls back to him. 

“You are not the king, and we choose to swear to the monarch, not the monarchy,” Lord Kingsley reminds him. 

“My court shall wait three days for you to find the lost Prince and gain the crown. If you do not,” the male shrugs helplessly. “We shall not swear to you. I doubt we shall be the only court who refuses.” 

War. 

If the lower courts do not swear allegiance to the crown then the peace will not continue. While Alphard might want to be fighting, Regulus can bet he wants to be taking new territory, not defending his current. Without the earth’s magic bound to the rightful monarch… Elfhame will be a bloodbath. Laughter erupts following from Lord Shacklebolt's words and Regulus sways.  

“Then we shall see you in three days!” Alphard cuts in as Prince Lucius splutters. “A banquet will be held at Potter’s Hall at sunset in three days. We will crown the king then.” 

Shacklebolt studies Alphard for a long moment before he nods. 

“As you wish, General.” Alphard nods and Shacklebolt turns to leave. 

“Let the merriment continue!” Alphard calls and just like that, the wild energy breaks loose. The folk begin to shriek and laugh, music begins again, people start to dance. The smell of blood is heavy and thick in the air. Regulus feels clammy and sick, dizzy and weak. Someone bumps into the table and he goes flying, his head colliding with the stone floor.