A Wolf's Last Howl
10th Wzuvar and Byvca, ES 285
It looked like a ghost was laying in Lerald’s bed. His pale skin was amplified by the moonlight falling through the window and his characteristic mustache left unkempt. Every breath that was taken caused a wheezing sound to fill the room alternated by the odd weak cough. Multiple physicians had paid him a visit over the past few days, but none could do anything but give him something for the pain. The news of the death of his pregnant daughter had left him weakened and illness was able to take him.
His family told him to stay strong and that he would be fine. He knew better. He felt the grip of death growing ever stronger and this time there would be no escaping it. He thought about his past life and the people of Haense who he always tried to serve. Some loved him, some hated him, most feared him. Nobody ever dared to say it to his face, but he knew what people were saying behind his back. “Plotter, murderer, traitor.” He never cared. The people feared him and that had been useful, but deep down he felt resentment. Had he not stepped up when the realm was in danger of being decimated? Had he not worked tirelessly to bring Haense back to its former glory? Had he not sacrificed his family life for the people of Haense? No. It was the Vyronov Conspiracy that the people talked about.
As the fever took over his mind forming coherent thoughts became increasingly difficult. Images spun through his mind, he saw Koeng Marius II shouting in anger before his vision turned and he walked out the doors of the Prikaz. He saw the body of Georg Alimar. The body of his brother Ulric, who lay at the bottom of the stairs. “I... I didn't... I didn’t... do it...” His breath sped up and the wheezing intensified before stopping completely.
Lerald Vyronov, Lord Palatine of Haense and Duke of Carnatia, was dead.