Hi everyone! As promised, this chapter is up within 5 days - thought about fine-tuning it, then decided not to - I think there's plenty going on in here and didn't want to overload you with information. Again, remember to check out vengeous-tuc. fandom. com. I will be working on uploading more information on Clement II next! Thank you to Hyphenman (welcome to this prequel - as a die-hard TUC fan, I hope this lives up to your expectations!) and Gyltig (good spot on Cato and Warwick!).

Vikus as a character isn't the man with a "twinkle" in his eye yet – he's not the seasoned sage we know him to be. But give me time with this character - I have a clear idea on how he has to evolve as a person through this story. Also, I know I've mentioned the Fount as a "duchy" - while it doesn't hold that status in the original TUC series, there's a reason for that, so don't worry - I reread the series to have a firm grip on what liberties can and cannot be taken.

Last of all, I know the game that was being played in the arena at the start of Book 1 was not named, but in the previous chapter I decided to name it Airball! I know for my readers who happen to be sports fans, it'll sound funny because of what it connotes in the NBA, but I did think based on Regalia naming conventions this was what it would be.

Please drop a review if you're a reader! I appreciate people joining in.

Chapter 3: Blood Brothers

The Titan's arrival was greeted with a stunned silence.

The black behemoth of a bat glowered at them all, before lowering himself for his bond to dismount. The man who sprang down seemed agile for his age - his long, flowing silver hair had lost its blonde sheen, and any indication of youthful exuberance was long gone. He had a scar underneath his right eye that looked akin to an engraved teardrop. He was tall and lean, and a sheathed sword dangled at his waist. His eyes were a deeper, more royal purple than Clement's, and he wore a black tunic made of the finest silk.

Emeric Haakon. Once a prince of Regalia, now a Duke of the Fount.

The former Heir to the throne.

A number of fliers landed behind him in quick succession. All of their riders dismounted quickly. Vikus quickly noted the presence of General Corbin Cain, perhaps the most recognisable human in the Underland. His black hair, emerald eyes, and cruel sneer were a dead giveaway.

He did not recognise the others, but his eyes fell on a strikingly pretty woman with flowing platinum hair. She stood to Corbin's right, and had a piercing gaze that rivalled Warwick's own unnerving stare.

Emeric stopped before his brother, and stared him straight in the eye.

Vikus noted that their features shared little in common. Emeric's nose bridge was higher and more prominent. Clement's eyes were set further apart.

The two of them regarded each other quietly and sternly.

And then Emeric bowed.

"Your Majesty," he greeted his brother, his voice a low baritone that commanded everyone's attention.

"You are late," Clement said curtly.

Emeric smiled. "I was surveying the city."

"Wherefore did such an urge seize you?"

Emeric shrugged. "I simply wanted to remember what I missed most about it."

And then, with a wry smile, the Black Duke added,

"There has been much I missed, clearly."

A cold wave washed over the Council. That was no trifling remark.

It was a dagger, driven right into Clement's heart with the force of truth.

Clement was clearly rattled by the comment. His nostrils flared, and his hands twitched violently.

But he recovered relatively quickly. "You have been away too long, brother."

"Indeed," Emeric said. "Please accept my apologies, your Majesty. I will not make myself so scarce, if it is your wish."

Clement eyed his brother from head to toe, electing to ignore the Black Duke's venomous sarcasm. "You carry a sword," Clement observed. "What use do you have of it?"

"Who knows what perils I might have encountered on the flight to Regalia?" Emeric replied. "Or indeed, even in Regalia itself?"

"Trust you not the security of this palace?"

Emeric stared deep into his brother's eyes. "With all my heart," he said softly. "But one can never take safety for granted."

Emeric's eyes darted across the High Hall. When his gaze met Vikus', Vikus felt a shiver run down his spine. This was a man who demanded respect – nay, commanded it. And fear was his instrument of choice.

He greeted the Councillors he knew. "Warwick, Millicent… Cato, you have seen better days."

"And you have seen worse, my Duke," was Cato's enigmatic response.

Emeric seemed to delight in Cato's reply, but his gaze soon fell on another.

"Constantine!" Emeric called out.

Prince Constantine, Clement's son and the presumed heir to the throne, stepped forward to greet Emeric. "Uncle," the young prince said, bowing his head.

Constantine was perhaps half a decade older than Vikus, and had been nominated to serve on the Council about a year ago. His father had immediately appointed him as the new Councillor of Law, a position which Constantine had thus far served with distinction. Like Vikus, he too was a graduate of the Academy, but Vikus was several years his junior and therefore their paths had never crossed. Following his graduation, the young prince served in the military and was made the head of the 2nd division, which he continued to lead to this day.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his elegant and angular visage seemed to mirror his uncle's complexion. His hair was slightly shorter than Emeric's, perhaps growing slightly past shoulder-length. As Constantine faced Emeric, it was evident that the young prince shared a greater likeness with his uncle than with his father. Even the way they held themselves was similar.

"I hear you serve on your father's Council," Emeric said to his nephew.

"I do, Uncle," Constantine replied. "It has been an… enlightening experience."

"As it should be," Emeric responded, now turning to face Clement again. "How fares Ferelith?"

Clement cleared his throat. "She has taken ill."

"That is unfortunate," Emeric said with a subtle shake of his head. "Please send your wife my regards."

The Duke's cold stare then latched on to Clement's brooch. "Mother's brooch," he said icily. "It suits you."

Clement glanced down at the brooch, which was shaped like a rose. "Ah yes, a symbol of the Overland's legendary slayer of gnawers," he said confidently. "'Tis the paw print of a cat."

Constantine grimaced ever so slightly.

Emeric raised an eyebrow. "You must be mistaken," he said. "It is surely a flower, and I believe the Overlanders call it a 'rose'."

"No, no," Clement said brazenly. "This brooch was made after Mother won the war. It is meant to symbolise our victory over the gnawers."

The whole Council collectively winced.

Emeric chose to end the argument. "Very well," he said, moving on swiftly. "Where is Father's body?"

"As I said earlier," Clement scowled. "You are late. Father was interred in the mausoleum yesterday."

Emeric sighed. "I will visit him nonetheless. He was not a good father… but he was our father."

Clement sighed too, and for the first time since Emeric's arrival, Vikus could see their likeness. "In that regard, I concur with you," the king said. "I assume you know your way to the mausoleum?"

Emeric nodded wordlessly. The tension began to dissipate as the barbed exchanges ground to a halt.

"Stay you till tomorrow?" Clement asked Emeric. "We will prepare a banquet to celebrate your visit."

"Not tonight," Emeric said. "The Fount has need of me. But I will return soon enough."

"What need is so urgent that you cannot afford to spend a late day dining with your brother?" Clement asked suspiciously.

Emeric smiled eerily in response. "Come to the Fount, brother. Perhaps then you will understand the magnitude of the task I face in governing it."

The Black Duke turned away to mount up on Hercules again, but it was clear that Clement was not finished with him.

"I hear rumours that your people now address you as the 'Black Prince'!" Clement called out.

Emeric paused, and turned around to face his brother again. "What of it?"

"You are their Duke," Clement said. "The title of Prince belongs only to my son, as you no longer reside here. And you are not my Heir."

"Ah, I shall take care to remind them lest they burst into flames for their error," Emeric said coldly.

"It is sedition, Emeric," Clement said softly, his voice trembling.

Emeric smirked. "Is it?"

Everyone in the High Hall held their breath. No one dared to move.

And then Constantine's voice broke the ice.

"My father means nothing with his line of questioning," Constantine said to his uncle. "He only wishes for people to follow the customs and courtesies of his court."

"Hmm," Emeric grunted.

Clement's gaze continued to be fixed on him.

Emeric, however, remained unfazed. "I will leave once I have paid respects to Father," he said, springing back onto Hercules' back as the rest of his delegation followed him. "You may take solace in knowing that those peddling the vile rumour that I am a 'Prince' will be suitably punished. Fly you high, your Majesty."

Vikus' eyes could not help but flit over to the woman he had seen earlier. She stood upright, and her arms seemed far more cut and muscled than his. He might have been imagining it, but the faintest hint of a smile seemed to flicker in the corners of her mouth. Despite her youth, she seemed comfortable around the guards and Councillors in what was a somewhat hostile space. Her eyes smouldered with the burning intensity of a volcano.

Then they met his.

Vikus found himself tearing his eyes away from her and pretending to stare into the distance. He briefly glanced back to see if she was still watching him.

She was.

He quickly looked away again.

Her gaze made him feel… exposed.

Thankfully, the Black Duke's rapid exit meant that the rest of the delegation had to quickly scramble back onto their bonds to catch up with him, as Hercules dovetailed towards the city.

As soon as they had left, Clement spoke. "I want a Council meeting in an hour. We need to speak about…"

"Your Majesty, some of their fliers may still hear your words," Warwick cautioned him.

"I could not care less!" Clement snapped. Sounding more like a petulant child than an authoritative king, he stalked away to change out of his robes.

Vikus turned to Cato. "You know the Duke well?"

"I fought with him twice," Cato replied. "Once at the Fire Points, and again at the Tankard. I also served on the Council with him during his mother's reign."

"Did he always possess this… disposition?" Vikus asked.

Cato looked at Vikus. "The man dismissed his own Commander. He has never lost a battle. And he was once his mother's right-hand man."

Vikus had his answer, but Cato continued. "Some men are chosen to lead…. others are called to it."

Cato leaned forward, and in a whisper as light as air, he simply said,
"And then there is Duke Emeric."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a newcomer. A short but muscled young man thrust himself into their midst. "I believe an introduction is in order, Cato," the man said, an impish smile plastered on his face.

Cato grinned. "Very well. Vikus, meet you Godfrey Mirth, our Councillor of Health."

"And sanitation," Godfrey added quickly. "Someone must clean up the shit, after all."

"Do you?" Cato fired back. "The city is not exactly a spectacle of salubrity."

"It is my two hands against all the arseholes of Regalia, including our dear Chief Diplomat," Godfrey gibed back playfully. "Begging your pardon, Vikus, but you are part of that equation too."

Vikus found himself stifling a giggle. "Well met," he said simply.

Godfrey turned to Cato. "I thought we were getting new blood, not another saggy old mop like you."

"Give him time," Cato replied. "Although I must confess that Vikus is something of an old soul."

"Is he now?" Godfrey eyed Vikus. "You must be four or five years younger than me."

"That depends," Vikus said. "Were you in the Academy with Prince Constantine?"

Godfrey burst into a loud guffaw. "ME?" he said incredulously. "In the Academy? No, Vikus, while Constantine was buried in his books, I was chasing every fair maiden from the rotten inns of Aldrich's Square to the hallowed rooms of the Royal Wing. Had far less success with the latter though, I must say."

Despite how crude and loud he was, Vikus quickly decided he liked Godfrey.

Godfrey turned his attention back to Cato. "Did you hear our dear king call his mother's beloved rose brooch a paw print?"

"It was a disaster," Cato sighed.

"And he doubled down on it," Godfrey said with a disapproving shake of the head. "Now that is unforgivable, especially in front of the Black Duke."

"Well said," Cato said, a grin broadening on his face again, "although I did not expect you to know the difference either."

Godfrey laughed again. "Aye, but chase enough maidens and you learn a lesson or two."

Vikus now allowed a soft laugh to escape his lips.

Godfrey smirked at him. "My dear Cato," he said triumphantly, "we may make a Councillor of your protégé yet."

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Again, leave a review if you can.

Question: What did you guys think of the exchange between Emeric and Clement?