[i][b]7:45PM[/b][/i]

Jacob watched solemnly as crowds of black-clad people filed into the rows of chairs that had been set up in the town square for Prince Caspian’s memorial service. The heir’s death had been confirmed the day before by Regis when he’d been under the influence of Aproveset, but seeing the mourners gathering now, along with the flowers and photos onstage, made his passing feel more real. He sighed quietly, rolling his shoulders which had become stiff from standing on his feet for so long. He was one of the guards overseeing the service from the perimeter, but his day had started long before that.

At King Atlas’s command, he’d organized Regis’s execution first thing in the morning. Under his orders, the firing squad had been assembled, and the prisoner had been taken to the yard behind the penitentiary. It was a place Jacob had always hated visiting. The walls and ground were layered with cement stained with the blood of past death row criminals, and large drains checkered the floor to prevent blood from pooling and congealing beneath the target when he was killed. It was a grisly sight, but it was his job to supervise the execution, so he’d gone there with the squad and stood behind them stoically while they lined Regis up against the wall, blindfolded him, and proceeded to ruthlessly rip his body apart under a hailstorm of bullets. By the time it was over, his corpse had been so mangled that there had been no need for the guard to approach him to confirm that he was dead.

Jacob had then called over the prison workers to clean up the mess and dispose of the body before he headed off to his next task of the day: communing with the commanders. The evening before, he’d met with them once to give them the go-ahead to fire back at the rebels. Leaving the specifics in their capable hands, he hadn’t known exactly what they had come up with, so when he returned, he found that they had prepared a set of bombers to strike one of the districts where they suspected the Scourge had a base of operations. The hope was that between the two powerful moves of executing their leader and demolishing an important location, the rebels would lose their morale and surrender. He had stayed to watch the dropping of the bombs via a drone camera before he’d spent the rest of the afternoon making security preparations for the memorial.

Now, with only fifteen minutes left before the king would take his place at the podium and give his speech, the guard had planted himself on the right side of the square near the front row, where the estranged members of the Maydestone family had seated themselves to watch with crocodile tears in their eyes. Jacob felt disgust stir inside of him as they hugged and wept. He had no doubt that the only reason they were attending in the first place was because they were hoping King Atlas would pass the now-vacant position of crown prince or princess off to one of them. It was within the constraints of the law that the reigning monarch could name another blood relative as his successor. However, he knew it would never happen. Atlas was too stubborn to change his mind after he’d banished them all years ago. Even though the guard personally believed it had been a rash decision for him to sever ties with his entire family, he had served Atlas long enough to know that his ruler would sooner die than take them back in. Whatever solution he would come up with for saving the crown, it wouldn’t be that.

 The Maydestone family wasn’t the only group that he suspected didn’t actually grieve the loss of their prince. Most of the high borns in attendance were probably sad—Caspian had been well-liked by everyone who had been fortunate enough to meet him—but they weren’t lamenting his death. Not genuinely. Like every other social event that happened in the capital, this was a networking opportunity for the rich and powerful. While the king’s relatives were here to vie for the crown, the others were here to forge relations between their families and businesses. He could already see it happening as they mingled. Men inclined their heads in respect for the late prince, and women dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs, but all the while, they weren’t looking at the decorated stage. They were fixated on each other, murmuring and discreetly shaking hands as they made lucrative deals before the service began.

It was the way of the capital, but Jacob still felt a twinge of pity for Caspian and for King Atlas. The prince would never be properly honored when his people cared more about themselves than they did about the fact that a young life had been snuffed out before its time. He was just glad that there were at least a few people in the audience who seemed to be here for or him. Among the sea of faces, he’d picked out two of Caspian’s closest friends, Jayden Arowood and Miles Kinder. Unlike the people around them, they were sitting near the front of the square with crestfallen expressions, not bothering to socialize as they waited for the king to give his speech. They didn’t have to endure the hum of quiet voices for long.

A flicker of movement caught Jacob’s eye, and he turned toward the stage, where Atlas was walking over to the podium with the assistance of his cane. Even though he was physically weak, he still had an air about him that commanded the room. Almost as soon as he was in place, the spectators fell silent and took their seats, giving their ruler their full attention as he gazed out over them.

The guard took a slow breath and turned back to the crowd, monitoring them quietly as Atlas began to speak.