Eden was, for once in the past month, feeling good. Really good, in fact. Like really, really good. He was no longer scared of his shadow or the color red. He could stand to watch the sunset, he could even host royal executions.

The nightmares had ceased somewhat, they were still around but they didn’t have the same potency. Eden could sleep, something he never truly realize he missed. Blood [Queen] Cresthill had done a number on him, but everything, and he did mean everything, was going well for the young [King].

Eden had to give all notions of recognition of his accomplishments to his royal class [Sanguine-altered King]. He didn’t know why, but after the first day-night cycle, the class had fully imbued into his personality. He was calmer, more retentive, and certainly more agile.

From before his true inauguration, Eden knew he was weak. Every time he looked into a mirror he saw his cabinets laughing, he saw his father disappointed. But now? Now that he achieved a Mythic rarity class, he found confidence and demanded respect.

Never would Eden have thought that his kingdom would be ruled with an iron fist. There wasn’t much that former King Tobyn taught his son, but militaristic power and displays of authority to embark fear were not something that was ever apart of Eden’s lesson plan.

Sure, throwing his sister into the dungeon and excommunicating another was rather harsh, but they deserved it. They, both of them, deserved nothing Salae could offer to them. A run away and a hypocritical contrarian. Bella and Alia were nothing as far as the King was concerned.

But that line of thought drew more questions and even more direct paths to something greater. They came to him like whispers. Someone was speaking in the back of Eden’s mind, correcting him to unique situations that commanded the spotlight.

At first the whispers were simple and easy. They suggested meals to eat to regain strength, always rare meat with a few pesky vegetables. They annoyed Eden at first, he barely recognized their grasp on his consciousness at the time. It was like something was simply nudging him to do certain things.

Then the whispers began to interfere in royal duties.

The first time the King actually heard words were in response to a husband and wife combination that stole hundreds of gold pieces from their government sponsored job. Instead of depositing the full amount, the couple would flaunt the full price and keep the remainder.

They were eventually found out and captured by a single [Inquisitor]. The usual punishment for such actions were banishment from the kingdom after a lengthy stay in the dungeon. It would be rare for the thieves to ever recover from such actions and they would usually die within the year.

Stealing from Salae was a capital offence as far as Eden was concerned, although rules and legislation condemned such formal declarations. The whispers, however, they thought like him.

As the man and woman sobbed on their knees before his throne, Eden heard words clear as a moonless night.

“Kill them…. Reward the [Inquisitor]…”

The voice, or voices, spoke with a rasp devoid of saliva. It was dry and chalky, almost cracking under the sudden strain of vocal cord vibration. It was no louder than a far off whisper, but they spoke with such authority that they could easily command an army.

Eden was inclined to agree. These citizens had stolen from him! From Salae! They would die regardless of if he executed them now or they spent years in the dungeons. Who was going to stop him from easing the torture of a slow death away from the greedy?

He could see it now, But they could have lived out their sentences! They could have lived prominent lives after!

Eden’s counter argument was a selfish and sadistic one. Selfish because he knew the pain of torturous lives, killing them now would be mercy. Sadistic because the whispers wanted to see blood… and he sort of did as well.

“Death by axe. Set tonight at sunset.” Eden finally said, causing a gasp from the [Attendants] that lined the throne room walls.

Zicu, the [Royal Surrogate], tried to say something, but Eden wasn’t listening. How could he? The whispers were celebrating and he was inclined to celebrate as well.

The whispers reveled in the condemned couple’s sobs, dancing around behind a veil just outside of Eden’s sight. In that moment the King knew the whispers were real. He saw the whispers for what they were. A legacy.

The legacy, the very same that hid within his class’s description. The whispers were past [Kings], all helping him achieve greatness. Eden didn’t need his father’s guidance to prosper as a monarch. He didn’t need [Advisors] or history books. All Eden needed to do was listen to the whispers, follow the people that came before him.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the bare fields. Soon the [Farmers] would be troweling for the impending harvest season as the cold was finally easing up. The kingdom would be in full shift soon. Import and export was always highest in the spring. The lowly peasants that could barely hold out for the winter were always eager to sell their wares as soon as possible.

But Eden didn’t care about that. He only had eyes for the execution. The whispers still danced, but they had slowed somewhat. They were eager to witness the slaughter as well.

The execution yard was a small courtyard reserved for such events. It was in the back of the castle, far from public eye. There was a public execution stables but this particular case already had enough back ended politics circulating around it. The public didn’t need to know.

His first execution as [King] was not something Eden wanted hate for. After all, the couple should be in the dungeons by now.

“You have been found to have stolen from Salae itself. Your crimes of greed do not go unpunished. The King has sentenced you to death. State your last words for those who wish to listen.” The [Sentencer] said almost robotically, like he had been through the motions a thousand times before.

The man didn’t speak. He couldn’t, at some point someone had gagged him for disobedience. The black eye echoed as much.

The woman, on the other hand said a lot. She begged and pleaded. That she was a good Lady, she only went along with her husband’s hair pinned plans to get rich before their child was due.

No one listened to her, after all, those unprepared to die would say anything to get out of it.

Silence eventually filled the courtyard and Eden nodded to the [Executioner]. The grizzly of a man raised his massive axe, letting the full extent of the pole reach into the Heavens. With one calculated swoop, the man pulled his hands down, letting the curved blade cast into the back of the man’s neck.

A sickening plop along with deathly screams sounded. The whispers exploded in joyous cries.

The [Executioner] did the same for the woman, but she shifted slightly in fear. The axe crashed into her too low, cutting deep into her spine but not ending her life.

The whispers elated in baffled euphoria. They loved the added pain, “Shows those who wish to harm Salae what they will be getting into. Death does not come easy to traitors.” One whisper said, this one noticeably female.

The axe raised and fell again, removing the woman’s head. Chatter sounded around the courtyard, enough to cause Eden to raise a hand.

“There is no room for traitors in my kingdom. This is my only warning to those who wish to contradict my words. I am [King] like my father before me. My word is law, do not go against me or my kingdom.”

With that, Eden returned to his chambers, each step almost a playful skip. The whispers had liked his short speech, even going so far as to give him pointers on how to convey the same message in future events.

There was something, however. It licked the back of Eden’s mind similar to as the whispers did. But it wasn’t behind a veil like the others. It was chained away, locked as far from the surface as possible. When he looked at it, or tried to look at it, it looked back.

Piercing red eyes, the kind that hunted at dusk and dawn. The kind that lived in the shadows and produced fear with a single look.

Eden couldn’t see who these eyes connected to, but he knew they were from a former [King]. He didn’t know why the other whispers didn’t part with this particular being. He didn’t know why the eyes only opened after the execution.

One thing he did know, however, was that the eyes were hungry and they wanted blood.

About two weeks after the execution, Eden was thinking. Or rather, the whispers in the back of his mind were thinking. There had been a reported sighting of Lost Lord Max Fowler in a small general town far from Salae. The enemy of the state bested one of Salae’s [Knights] to the point of humiliation.

From the preliminary reports, the [Knight] didn’t even land a hit. And, to top off such an embarrassing situation, the [Knight] destroyed most of the market the battle took place in. Suffice to say, that particular soldier was no longer allowed on outing, and Eden would make sure that the man always had the worst shifts possible.

This event, paired with more grave news about Eden’s abducted mother, had turned the young King sour. Rather, again, the whispers in his mind had turned sour.

They spoke to each other, some whispering others yelling, but all the sounds came out as mumbles of varying levels to Eden. He didn’t know what they were saying, only that the former [Kings] were arguing about him and Max Fowler.

Eden did notice that they didn’t bring up his mother once. She was already ‘lost’ as one whisper mumbled audibly.

He tried to argue that point of contention for a few minutes, but as he continued to think about it… maybe the whispers were right. [Queen] Evelynn was gone. Whether or not she was dead didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Eden was always a bumbling idiot to her. He would prove her wrong as [King], something that could be threatened if she ever returned.

She was still [Queen], that meant Eden could be resigned to a formality role in the Kingdoms affairs.

“Fool he is making us!” One whisper clearly said.

That’s true. Eden thought. Max Fowler was making a mockery of Salae. From killing the former King to besting the very [Knights] sent to apprehend him, the Lost Lord was toying with the kingdom.

“What should I do?” Eden asked the air, prompting the whispers.

“Kill.”

”Grow in power.”

“Break those beneath you.”

Then a deep snipping growl lurched a single word, “Feast.”

The other whispers went silent, as did Eden. The whispers moved around, clearing line of sight for the glowing red eyes. They looked at the King of Salae like a monster in the dead of night.

The sight scared Eden. He shook in remembrance of Cresthill, something that had not happened in what felt like forever. He trembled, his own body feeling the effects of a piercing stare beyond the veil. Adrenaline rebounded and reinforced, pumping blood through his entire body.

“Sire?” A hesitant voice came from behind.

Eden didn’t see who it was. He didn’t care who it was. In a dashed blur, the [Sanguine-altered King] moved. In moments his fingernails grew and sharpened and in another his teeth and fangs. The moment after that, the monarch felt the warm crisp taste of delectable iron.

He slurped it like soup, tasting the very essence of what made it thick. Eden drunk down until his belly quivered in satisfaction. The whispers gossiped, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was filling up to his heart’s content.

Distinctly, the red eyes faded along with the powerful presence they represented. In their place the feeling of pride and profound proudness filtered to Eden. The red eyes were happy for the young King, and even more so that he took the first necessary step.

It took a few lethargic hours for Eden to come to his senses enough to stand. He burped and suckled on the memory of such a delightful wine, turning in for the night happy and drunk.

He would have to get more soon.

Eden woke to a pounding on his door. The sun outside his window was high in the air and a faint smell of vile excrement touched his nose. The pounding continued so the King got up. Usually Zicu would wake him up in the morning, but it seemed the [Royal Surrogate] had over slept. Which made Eden over sleep. There was going to be reprimanding.

That was, until the man stepped into a thick viscus liquid. Eden looked around for the source, finding a nearly decapitated body hunched across the far dresser. The blood had soaked out in a large puddle, halfway absorbing into the lush, embroidered carpet King Tobyn had received as a gift from the far west.

A single set of foot prints followed a tipsy trail towards Eden’s bed, marking the spot where the bed’s owner generally slept. It was then he noticed his feet. A deep, partially wiped off crimson had been smeared around his bare feet and up his calves and thighs.

Then he noticed all of the blood that coated his body. Eden held in an internal scream as he stepped in front of a mirror. The King looked as if he had taken a bath in red ink! His dress, his naked skin, his matted hair! Everything, every part of him had been drenched.

He was grotesque and tainted, but a pressing thought reached his short sighted mind, Whose blood is this?

Eden slowly trudged over to the body, the carpeted footsteps were like kicking through a puddle. The body’s head was torn and ripped at the base of the neck, just above where the shoulder connected. Even with the horrid wounds, the King could easily recognize the victim.

It was Zicu.

Then the memories flooded back. The red eyes, the jolted muscles, the eternal hunger. The… the… feasting.

The whispers had been silent until that moment. They exploded in chatter, all congratulating young Eden for his first feast. They spoke in clearer voices, not mumbles but rather quiet mutters.

The red eyes were back, looking satisfactory at the dirty kill. Then they were gone, like a whisper in the wind. Like the master returning to seclusion. Like the hunter returning to his hut.

Only a faded few words filtered through the veil to Eden.

“More will come. The nectar will flow.”

Eden smiled and licked his fingers.

It took some effort, but Eden was able to explain away the dead body. The story was convoluted and obscene, but it quelled the few individuals it needed to.

Officially Zicu disappeared suddenly one dark night. In reality, or at least the lie the King told the castle guards, was that an [Assassin] had broken in to kill him. Zicu got in the way, protecting his Lord like the precious little yes-man he was. In the process, Zicu was able to mortally wound the assailant and forced their retreat.

Of course, the [Assassin] was able to receive emergency healing in time, which resulted in Zicu not receiving the crucial level-up that would have healed his dire wounds. Also in the process, Eden was knocked unconscious and thus only found the body in the morning.

Obviously this was an embarrassing moment for Salae… again. This is now the third time in recent memory that the castle’s defenses were not up to snuff. So, officially, Zicu had disappeared upon his own volition. That way the guards could retain some of their honor. Of course a few were to be fired, but that was none of Eden’s concern… After all they let another [Assassin] have easy access to the fitting royal.

The whispers had helped him come up with that one, which only made him put his faith in their metaphorical hand more.

There hadn’t been another feeding until the night of more harsh news. That morning the King was alerted to something unfortunate. As the initial reports were filing in, it seemed that Lost Lord Max Fowler had killed a prominent Vast Empire member.

Sure, the man had help in the form of a city’s guard and mages, but that didn’t discount the prominent message the reports were giving. The Lost Lord had killed Nix. Not, the Lost Lord with the reinforcements of an entire city killed Nix. They were different. Very different.

Eden sent away his [Attendants] and sat and pondered. Rather the whispers pondered with occasional input from the King.

They spoke in roundabout ways of what this meant for Salae, what this meant for their image, what this meant for Max’s image. The consensus was killing a Vast Empire member, while good for the world, was bad for Eden.

He had essentially set war against the Lost Lord, meaning that any of his good accomplishments rebounded back to Salae in a negative way.

The whispers came up with a plan and Eden executed it. More [Knights], a wider net, and instructions to kill on sight.

That was, until another set of reports came in just before dinner. As it turns out, one of his tracking parties had found the Lost Lord. One of the two [Assassins] in the team struck hard and without warning.

The [Assassin] was killed on the streets like a beat dog. And the Lost Lord escaped using his heretical magic.

That set of news was bad, to the point that Eden once again sent away the [Attendants] and conversed with the whispers. A stirring outside his chambers had removed him from the silent meeting, however.

“Sire!” A low-tiered [Advisor] rushed out, “Horrible news! The assassination attempt against the Lost Lord apparently had a natural victim in the crossfire! A Church of Healing [Head Priestess]! The Church is removing their enclave out of the city!”

Calmly, eerily so, Eden took a single step out of his chambers. He slowly looked down either side of the hallway and took a single step back. No one else was around… which was… ideal. The red eyes appeared as if understanding the King’s thoughts. They nudged him forward.

Eden snapped his fist out, grabbing the news bringer and yanking him into a more private setting. For the moment Eden couldn’t see anything but red. His throat and tongue begged for the nectar. He had always found that a good wine alleviated stress.

He could hear the whispers discuss the situation about the Healers, but frankly Eden didn’t care. All he cared about in this moment was tracing his meal’s heartbeat with his lips.