How ironic this is now the place I am being held like an ornament on display.
Aldric sits upright on his throne.
He looks almost radiant.
His sun-kissed glow is now a stark contrast to his vivid blue eyes.
“Don’t look at me with such hatred, my little gardener,” he drawls, his voice vibrating with power. “You should be proud of yourself. Giving your king a second chance at life. You have much to learn, Elodie.”
“You will never be my king,” I seethe. He clicks his fingers once, firmly, and I feel that white-hot pain soar through me once more.
It’s not just shock.
It’s a violation.
It feels like molten lead being poured into my veins.
I collapse in on myself in the cage, my breath hitching in a silent scream.
“I would be careful now,” Aldric says, his voice devoid of any humanity. He leans forward on his throne. “I’ve had Thora cast a rune on the cage. At the click of my fingers, I can turn that cage of yours into the centre of a lightning storm.” I whimper in pain, unable to conjure any words. Fear is now causing me to bite my tongue. He turns away from me now, his golden cloak cascading down the side of his chair. “Your friends are likely ash by now. My guards warned me of a breach — a petty attempt, really — my Aethelings are likely turning them to dust as we speak. There is no one left to—”
The massive iron doors of the throne room don’t just open.
They explode open wide.
The King whirls around, his golden smile flicking to a sudden, sharp agitation. The guards level their pikes as three figures emerge. They don’t exactly look like the knights in shining armour that they are, more like demons that the forest has spat out — covered in mud, drenched in blood, and radiating a silent lethality.
“Well,” Kael’s mocking drawl echoes through the room, “this is awkward timing. Did we interrupt something?” He asks with dangerous arrogance. He steps forward, blade loose at his side, grin sharp. Sam steps forward next, his eyes dark and swirling with shadows. Or should I call him Masen? He definitely doesn’t look like the Sam I know back home. He adjusts the leather straps of his gauntlet, pulling them tight with precision.
“Surprised to see me, my king?” Masen smiles, calm and lethal.
The King recoils, colour draining from his freshly rejuvenated face.
“You,” he breathes. “That’s impossible.”
But it’s the third figure that makes my heart stop.
Rowan lunges into the centre of the room. He doesn’t say a word.
He doesn’t have to.
The air around him is vibrating so intensely that I’m surprised the windows haven’t shattered. He looks at the king, then his eyes shift to me. I see the moment he notices the way I’m hunched on the floor, trapped behind iron bars, the way my hands are still shaking from the pain of the King’s cruelty. And then I smile.
The Reaper has arrived. And God help anyone that stands between him and this silver cage
“Stay back!” The king shouts, raising his fingers into the air. “The cage is runed. I can turn her to dust with the snap of my fingers.”
“You do that, and I will make your death so agonisingly slow you will beg for the ground to rot your bones,” Rowan growls, his eyes absolutely feral.
“Guards, kill them,” the king says, sitting back down on his throne. He doesn’t show the signs of fear I expect him to.
And then I remember… they’re oath-bound.
They can’t hurt him.
The guards hesitate, knowing they will meet their death either way. At the hands of the king. Or fighting the men who trained them. I can see the faint tremor in their hands.
They are caught in a nightmare.
