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The palace is burning, it has been for hours now. Must be all the hard wood and stone, Livio thinks ruefully, watching the fire reach sky high from his standpoint at the palace gates.
"Your Highness, for how much longer do we stay?" One of the soldiers ask.
The thrill of that title! Livio smirks a little, turning to the guard that asked him.
"Thank you for reminding me. I think we should go in, just to make sure."
"Yes, your majesty." The unspoken order floats in the air, making the others tense.
One of the guards hands Livio a flask of water and a cloth. Livio takes the items with a soft 'thank you', drinking a bit of the water (this coup business was making him very thirsty) and pouring the rest onto the cloth before tying it around his nose and mouth. The rest of his followers follow suit.
They clear a path, Livio strolling casually through the grounds, where but a day ago, he was kissing the ass of the old pretender, who stole his birthright from his ancestors. The nerve he still had to accept the orphaned Livio, when his parents died of mysterious circumstances, as the personal butler and bodyguard of his only son and heir, Gion.
Of course, Livio didn't know about his birthright until a few years ago, by then, he considered himself quite happy to be able to serve the heir to the throne. Livio still remembered the day when the old loyalists approached him in the middle of one of his market errands, telling him of his birthright, and looking to him to reclaim the throne.
Livio had gladly accepted, no wonder something felt wrong about the old man: Something of the way he carried himself, the uncertainty in his eyes whenever the usurper so much as looked at Livio. Indeed, the loyalists loved to claim that Livio had an uncanny resemblance to his grandfather, the real king.
As the years drwn by he organized and led the coup, storming the palace in the middle of the night just hours before, murdering the old king, and taking the insignia ring which Livio now wore on his middle finger. They then set fire to the throne room, retreating out.
The king's son and wife, the then heir to the throne, died years ago in an unfortunate accident, though Livio found out, from some old documents he found in the traditionalist's underground lair, that their accident was carefully planned out by the organization to get rid of as many of the imposter family as possible before their search for the rightful heir. Livio had burned the documents. He has good memories of the previous prince and princess, and much as the traditionalists might object, he doesn’t want to taint their memory, they were good people, who left the world too soon.
As well, in all earnest, he's grown quite fond of the current Prince, who may have seemed cold and aloof, but only Livio saw when he was just an insecure teenager, or a lonely kid.
Fond enough, that Livio had arranged for the coup to take place when Gion was conveniently away on a trip with his sister to the neighboring city. Far enough that he won't be within the crossfire, but still within reasonable distance for Livio to keep an eye on him. Many of the traditionalists objected, but Livio reasoned that the people, when they heard the truth, would cry out for the imposter's blood, and as Gion was the only heir left, he would serve as a good scapegoat for the people to vent their anguish on. The old King's dark deeds have not gone unnoticed in the past few years, so this coup was rather long overdue.
Livio walks past the throne room, where he knows the big, fat old corpse of the King lay burning, stabbed multiple times in Livio's own hand and some of his closest guards. The satisfaction in watching the light fade from his pale, cataract eyes was immeasurable. Livio had heard rumors and even witnessed all too many times the cruel ways he treated both his servants and even Prince Gion alike. And had anyone any doubt it's truth, in the past few years, the innocent light that Livio had adored so, all the expressiveness and emotion gradually killed off, Gion's sky-blue eyes faded and crystallised into an icy, glacier blue.
He continued walking down the hallways, not minding in the least the sooty smell of burning wood, collapsing plaster or the faintest scent of burning flesh.
The pathetic bodies of the pathetic loyalists of the Zecchino family.
Livio pauses by one of the ginormous doors, he could swear he heard something from the other side. He cranes his ear closer to the source.
Yes, it's music, from a piano.
Livio is taken aback for a moment, but then smiles knowingly, gesturing to the guards who had followed him in.
One, two, well positioned hacks later, an opening in the corner of the door.
Livio ventures in, a casual smile on his face, though his body language is tense.
The music drones on and on, a lone figure at the foot of the grand piano, his chocolate brown hair pitch black in the surroundings, his grand cloak draped over the seat, trailing onto the floor. The entire place is surprisingly intact, though the light of the fire from the window casts an unearthly, orange glow to the entire room.
"Prince Gion! A pleasure to see you still here," Livio places a hand onto the grand piano, addressing Gion at the keys. The music abruptly stops.
"I should say the same for you, Livio..."
"King, Livio,"
"To see you inside the ruins. Don't you wish to appreciate your destruction from a distance?"
Livio's smile grows wider, though he knows Gion can't see it.
"Then shouldn't you be safe in the countryside? Shouldn't there be more, ah, pressing matters than your dignity?"
Gion pushes himself away from the keys, sweeping his cape to the side as he squares up with Livio.
"I knew of your coup, and I know of the traditionalists. I'm not blind, unlike my imbecile grandfather," Livio dares to chuckle a little at the double meaning of the statement. "My sister has gone alone for the trip, she knows everything as well.”
"Then why don't you flee with her? I used to think better of you" Though Livio already knows the answer.
Gion shoots Livio a calculating look, releasing his cloak from his shoulders.
"You may have killed the King, but his heir still exists. So if we want to give the country a satisfying revolution, the throne should be won fairly, instead of this sorry and pathetic excuse of a coup."
"The old duel, then?" Livio shrugs, waving the guards to a further direction.
"Unfortunately, no,"
In a flash, Gion lunges at Livio, smashing their bodies together as he slips the hidden dagger from his sleeve onto his hands.
"Unfortunately, yes. I was not your bodyguard for nothing." Livio taunts, pinning both of Gion's hands behind his back single-handedly. The bodyguard training has surprisingly paid off, after all.
Gion struggles vainly against Livio's grip, trying to stomp his boot onto Livio's feet, but Livio swiftly takes care of Gion with a well-aimed hit at the side of his neck.
Gion's body immediately goes limp, slumping into Livio's embrace.
Livio's expression immediately relaxes into a gentle, fond look as he gazes into Gion's unconscious face, carefully plucking the dagger from Gion's grip, tossing it to the awaiting guard.
"That's taken care of. We can go back to headquarters now."
"Yes your majesty!" The guards salute in unison.
"Your majesty, let me..." The same guard starts forward to take Gion's limp body from Livio's hands.
"Thank you for offering, but I can take care of him for now." Livio slowly adjusts Gion's body, until he manages to hoist him up properly on his back.
"Let's go."
Out of the burning building, to their underground hideout, where decades of planning and revolution lay just right under the imposter's nose. They would lie in wait until the fire and commotion died over, then declare Livio as the new and rightful king of Italy over the ashes of the palace.
—----------------
In the carriage, Livio continues cradling Gion on his lap, his upper back propped up on the carriage walls, though his gaze is focused out the window, at the rolling countryside. The cloth is gone from his face, hanging out to dry on the opposite seat.
His expression is calm, elbow propped at the window and hand at the mouth, hiding a smirk.
Gion slowly stirs, arresting Livio’s attention from the midnight scene. But a false alarm, as Gion stills again.
Livio’s smile, if possible, grows wider. In a few weeks, he will reclaim his rightful birthright. What would Gion’s expression be when he is forced to bow in front of his servant, their positions reversed now, Livio thinks gleefully, before leaning forward to plant his lips, between that eternal frown that even in sleep, never relaxes.
He won’t just give away what is his so easily. Hidden, yes, the imposter of a prince will be hidden away, declared dead to the populace, and reborn maybe as a mere commoner. He won’t tell anyone, not even the traditionalists who had told him his birthright in the first place. The princess, he will deal with her later. From his experience, it is highly unlikely for her to be foolish or rash enough to even consider leaving the safety of wherever Gion sent her to hide out the coup. Especially when she learns there will be no one left to even fight for.
Oh, but maybe he can expand on that plan, a bit of brainwashing or hypnosis, either works, to get rid of all the cruelty the old king imprinted to craft the ‘perfect heir’.
“Someday, my precious, you will understand.” He murmurs, playing with a stray lock of the chocolate brown hair that had caught between his fingers, as the entourage of unmarked carriages slowly retreats from the burning building.