Chapter Three

"Will you please just listen to us!" Weissridge loudly cried, glaring defiantly at the man wearing regal clothes in front of him with a glare plastered onto his features.

"I have been for the past hours and all you are doing is sprouting nonsense!" Weissridge glared and stiffened his shoulders.

'Bastard.' He growled mentally, clenching his fists before sighing heavily and raising his head to the smug looking man. "Proof? You need proof, right?"

Sensing a foreboding feeling to this, he nodded despite the primal instinct telling him to just walk away. Too bad the man was an idiot and self pompous.

Snapping his fingers, Weissridge called to the guards, ordering them to, "Bring him in to the room with care." Tift's eyes widened, slowly narrowing back down into slits.

The throne doors were opened, Tift on the throne glaring at the new occupant gently being handled by some of the royal guards. The boy was almost the spitting image of his father, holding his mother's eyes. Tift scowled and angrily stood, "This is perposterous!"

"I think it's time that you leave the throne." Weissridge growled out as the guaards gently moved Heero to sit on the spot where Tift once resided on. "Either step down or fall without grace, or style." The guards readied their weapons, showing their threat.

Tift, snarling looked at the prince with an evil look in his eyes, 'I thought I got rid of him for sure…!' He snarled, "Fine, but this isn't the end of this."

"Don't be so sure." Weissridge commented with a bowed head at the retreaing figure who paused at hearing the words before continueing on.

"Call the council." Weissridge commanded, looking stern and regal in his uniform.

"Right away, Commander!" The Chief of the Guard saluted and walked off, soldier's following him and making sure the room was secure for the blood heir of the kingdom and for the all mighty council.

The Guard came back, saluting with pride and nodding towards the council of old men who shuffled in, grumbling some about 'Evil Tift's Rift' and 'that war-hungering brat'. Few knew how true they were about the war part, plans buried deep into the souls of those plotting the 'rebellion'.

"Stand at ease, soldier." Weissridge commented, taking a spot next to the real prince, who had yet to awake. He flinched when noticing the bound hands and ankles, knowing full well the fighting strength of a Gundam pilot, whether or not armed they were always dangerous.

Heero groaned, wondering what the hell ran over him to make him feel so…crappy. He either growled or groaned, a mixture of the two as he felt his head throb and knew them to be the after effects of morophine. He cracked an eye lid open, looking into a blinding light before snapping them closed.

Taking a deep breath and adjusting his eyes to the light, Heero once more opened his eyes…to find himself sitting on a throne with old men debating around him and a general looking man sitting by his side.

Surely this wasn't hell, right?

TBC