“It’s worse than that,” Varian adds, his deep voice measured but grim. “Some return...changed.”
Silence falls over the table.
Merrik tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “Changed how?”
Varian exchanges a glance with Daelen before answering. “They speak of things inside The Decay. Shadows with too many limbs. Whispers that tell them tostay.” His voice drops lower. “One man... he clawed his own eyes out the night he returned. Said he could stillseethem, watching him.”
My stomach twists.
Kael exhales sharply. “So, the southern passage is completely closed?”
Daelen nods. “For now. But we’re watching it. There are patterns—weak spots, but they never stay in one place for long.”
Kael considers what he’s saying for a long moment, the room stays silent, waiting for their Prince. “Monitor it, we’ll need to move soon.”
“Yes, very lovely,” Zakarius says mockingly. “Now, are we going to talk about the plan changes, Kael? Or will you keep the fact that we’re no longer prioritizing Nalya from the council?”
All eyes shoot to Kael, shock and confusion marring their faces.
Kael narrows his eyes, boring a hole into Zakarius with pure hate, “We will not be pursuing the original plan, and I will take no questions about it in this meeting.”
What original plan? I have so many fucking questions.
“She’s your sister, Kael! She’s rotting in Maldrak’s dungeons, and you’re—” Zakarius’s voice breaks, just for a second, before he reins it back in, jaw clenching so tightly I hear his teeth grind. “You promised her. You fuckingpromised.”
His hands slam against the table, rattling goblets, sending a few scrolls tumbling to the floor. No one speaks.
“What do you think he’s doing to her right now?” Zak spits. “Torturing her? Raping her? Starving her?”
Kael doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. The air shifts. Shadows ripple from his chair, crawling up the legs of the table, licking at the wood like hungry fire.
“Nalya doesn’t want you, Zak.” Kael’s voice is calm. Deceptively soft.Lethal.
Zakarius flinches. But the anger doesn’t fade—it sharpens. For a split second, I swear there’s somethingdevastatedin his eyes, buried beneath the rage.
“You don’t get to say that,” Zakarius seethes, voice lower now, almost trembling. “You weren’t there the night she begged me not to leave.”
Oh.
“You’re an insult to your father’s legacy,” he spits the words with venom.
The room holds its breath.
Kael drops his voice even lower, even calmer, “Stop trying to play the knight in shining armor for a princess who doesn’t fucking want you, Zak.” Kael’s face twists into something dark and sinister, “Stop pretending that your role here is anything but a debt I owed your father, and accept that you are nothing but a placeholder until someone around here has finally had enough of your shit.” The words come out like a promise, as if Kael himself might be thatsomeone.
Zak looks as if he’s going to combust in fury, his knuckles turning white as he clenches them at his sides.
He stands then, a tempest within that he is barely keeping in check. And just as I think he’s about to draw his sword, he turns and leaves the room.
Kael doesn’t watch him go. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move.
He simply leans back, smug, satisfied.
As Zakarius’ footsteps recede, the room exhales as if it had been holding its breath. But something sticks with me.
He wasn’t just angry. He wasdevastated.
Who was Nalya to him?
