We continue deeper, past an insurmountable number of graves, until we reach a large back room.
“Why does he get his own room while the others only get plaques?” Nero asks curiously.
“It is customary for the last reigning king to be placed in the large chamber, so that monsters can pay their respects. When another king dies, Kulmak can be reinterred in the walls, but…”
“I don’t think that’s what will be done,” I hedge, my eyes going to the large sarcophagus in front of us—one of two. The large stone coffin on the left draws my gaze first. It takes up a huge part of the room, but I suppose it would need to be a large coffin to fit a minotaur. On top of the sarcophagus, the stone is carved into a perfectly detailed sculpture of the king from my visions. He’s strong and stoic, his face stern, but even in that sternness, I see grief. He holds a sword in one hand and sports a crown on his head, but his other hand is carved in a way to show him reaching for the other sarcophagus.
The one reserved for Emelyn.
The lid isn’t fastened onto the second, smaller coffin, as if alerting everyone who visits that she’s not resting there. The stone depicts her in a serene manner, just like from my visions, but it doesn’t depict her fierceness or her love. She was a great woman, a brave one, but the stone almost lacks—
“Her spirit,” Razcorr whispers. “Her spirit is not inside the stone the way Kulmak’s is.”
“Will it change when we bring her back?” I inquire, staring sadly at the way their hands are separated as they reach for each other in stone, but never close the distance.
“Perhaps.” Razcorr strolls forward. “It has been many centuries since Kulmak and Emelyn’s passing. If the magic still lives, then I believe we can reunite them.”
Grimus moves throughout the room, studying the twin coffins as if they are a puzzle he has to piece together. As he moves, the air charges, and for a moment, I’m not sure where it’s coming from.
On the king’s sarcophagus, a golden crown glimmers in the light of the lanterns, drawing my eyes in a way that makes me think there’s a bit of magic to it. There’s hardly enough light to sparkle in such a way, but when I take a step closer, the shine brightens and flashes, as if beckoning someone.
“Grim,” I whisper, watching the crown brighten the closer Grim moves to it. “Grim, stop.” The minotaur freezes immediately, and the shine stays steady. “Take a step forward.” He does as I ask, and the crown flashes, drawing everyone else’s eyes to the phenomenon. “Take a step back.” It fades as he moves away. “What…”
Razcorr reaches forward and lifts the crown in his claws. “The king’s crown is very special,” he begins, looking between it and Grim. “It’s enchanted so that those of royal blood will be declared upon receipt. Many a bastard has been claimed by this crown and declared royalty because of the blood flowing in their veins.”
I take a step forward, staring at Grim intently. “What does that mean?”
Razcorr looks between us, realization dawning in his eyes. “It means, Cora the Fearless,” he says, strolling closer to Grim, the glow brightening, “that your minotaur is a direct descendant of King Kulmak the Mighty.”
I blink in shock at Grim as he stands with his arms crossed over his chest, looking as unsurprised as ever.
“You’re shitting me,” Bracken mutters. “This whole time, we’ve been walking around with the rightful king, and he has the audacity to act offended at the declaration?”
“I’m no king,” Grim grumbles, his face twisted in a snarl.
Razcorr shakes his head. “The crown says otherwise.” He hands the crown to Grim, who barely takes it. Light explodes out of the gold and dances around the room before it settles into a more tolerable glow.
“The throne belongs to you.”
ChapterThirty-Six
“If you are going to march into the Gilded Lands and steal the queen’s body from those traitorous leeches, you must be trained properly,” Razcorr begins the moment we’re back in the main part of the castle.
“We’ve already trained her with her magic,” Zetros points out. “She can handle herself.”
Razcorr studies me. “While her magic is strong, there are secrets to such magic that not even a group of monsters such as yourselves can hope to train her in. Magic is not easy, and while you did the best with what you knew, there are things Cora still needs to learn.”
“Are you suggesting that we’re not capable of helping her?” Grim snarls, more on edge since the crown chose him. He refused to discuss it and placed the crown back on the stone coffin before storming upstairs.
Razcorr, without hesitation, looks the supposedly rightful king in the eye and says, “Yes.”
The very air freezes, as if Razcorr just spoke the worst possible thing he could have said. I see Grim begin to wind up, steam billowing from his nostrils.
“He’s been the royal protector for eons,” Bracken points out. “It would make sense that he knows things we do not.”
I blink in surprise. Of all my monsters, he’s not usually the voice of reason, but at his words, the air seems to shift and calmness descends again.
“He’s right,” Krug agrees. “Even if I don’t like it.”
