Chapter 6: The Scars of Inheritance

Eli’s mother was Lady Sheryl—a legend in the manor, her story whispered everywhere.

When she was on top, Lady Julia caught her in bed with a stable hand. The scandal exploded, shaking the estate to its core.

The old king ordered the stable boy killed, stripped Lady Sheryl of her title, locked her up in the family estate. The punishment was brutal, but people never stopped talking.

Whether it was true or not—who knows. Maybe the king knew, which is why he let her live. But seeing his wife with another man? That’s a wound that never heals.

Lady Sheryl gave birth to Eli in exile, swearing he was royal. Even in the manor, she drilled him, determined to make him worthy.

People always gossiped about who his real father was. As a kid, Eli would ask, and she’d whip him, then solemnly tell him he was destined to be king. The scars on his back were proof of her obsession.

On this, Lady Sheryl was relentless. She believed Eli was meant for greatness, no matter what anyone else said.

When Eli was thirteen, her prophecy came true. The old king’s death set everything in motion.

Before the old king died, his cousin Grant had the other princes framed or poisoned.

He knew Eli was his, but never saw him, letting others spread rumors. The regret must have eaten at him.

Grant brought the will, summoned Eli, and tossed Lady Sheryl a white silk scarf. The message was clear—her time was up.

The first step to breaking a child is killing his mother. Eli never talked about it, but I saw the pain in his eyes.

When we got back to the King’s Hall, all the bodies were gone. The room smelled like bleach and lilies—a weird mix of death and something almost sweet.

Under the Regent’s glare, he went to court. The councilmen watched him, eyes cold and sharp.

The King looked at the Regent with a twisted smile and read a public confession to the council. His voice was steady, but his hands shook.

After court, the Regent pinned him to the throne and whispered two councilmen’s names, telling him to kill them soon. The threat was clear as day.

Using the King to kill his enemies got rid of threats and gave the Regent ammo to force him out later. It was a sick game, and Eli was just another piece on the board.

Eli called it killing two birds with one stone. He sounded tired, beat down.

“What if you refuse?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

Eli slouched on the throne. “Then he’ll do what you saw before—come to the King’s Hall and break me.” He said it lightly, but it landed heavy.

He shrugged, but I could feel the weight behind it. I wanted to help, but I was helpless.

“So you’ve killed a lot of loyal men?” My voice was small, uncertain.

He stopped twirling his pen, thinking. “Honestly, I don’t know who’s loyal. Some serve Grant, some the dowager, some the queen’s father—but none serve me. Oh, there was one, but I chopped off his head yesterday.” His voice was flat, like he had nothing left.