“Oh, we’ll let them all go,” Val-Oros said lightly, waving vaguely at the kneeling hostages. “Refugees, citizens, children. We’re merciful like that.”
Around them, Korvathian soldiers laughed softly, the sound harsh and metallic beneath the crackle of nearby fires. One man nudged another with his elbow, nodding toward the bound figures as though they were livestock at auction rather than lives held in the balance.
He pulled Jesenia to her feet by her hair and forced her forward, closer to where Val-Theris, Rohannes, and theHastatiformed a line. He then jerked her head slightly so her face tilted toward Val-Theris. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out at the sharp pain at her skull.
Her braid came loose in his fist, strands tearing free as her knees stumbled against the uneven stone. Dust clung to her palms where she caught herself, her breath coming short and shallow. The distance between her and Val-Theris felt suddenly unbearable—only a few strides apart, yet bridged by blades, fire, and a brother’s cruelty.
He stopped abruptly, turning his gaze back to Val-Theris, his voice dropping sharp. “All you have to do is kneel before your king.”
No one dared move. Not until Val-Oros drew a sharp dagger from his belt and flashed it tauntingly at his brother. Val-Theris took a step forward.
The blade pressed against Jesenia’s neck threateningly. “Ah-ah!” Val-Oros mocked. “One step closer and your heir dies before it draws breath.”
The cold edge bit into her skin, and she gasped despite herself, tears blurring her vision as fear surged hot and wild through her veins. The threat hung there, obscene and absolute, spoken loud enough for every soul in the plaza to hear. A bead of bright blood was pressed out of her skin, and her panicked breath came ragged, her pulse hammering in her throat. “Please,” she begged her captor, but Val-Oros wasn’t listening. He had his eyes locked on Val-Theris, who was frozen in fear for Jesenia and their child.
Jesenia’s arms wrapped around her middle, clutching instinctively against her stomach. The silence of the plaza was suffocating.
Val-Theris repeated her pleas. “Please,” he begged his brother, hoping something inside him still yearned to give mercy. “I’ll give you what you want. Just don’t hurt her.”
His voice broke on the final word, stripped of command and divinity alike.
Val-Oros chuckled low, sharp and cruel. “I told you what I want. I want you tokneelbefore yourking. I want your city here as witness as you trade your divinity for a woman.”
He spread his free hand toward the plaza, toward the shattered streets and watching crowds, savoring the weight of every eye upon them. This was not merely conquest; it was spectacle.
And for the first time in history, Val-Theris kneeled before another in submission. He did not hesitate this time. His wings folded low against the ground, and his eyes never left Jesenia’s. “Please, King Val-Oros, have mercy on my wife and child.”
Murmurs echoed through the plaza. Now everyone knew how far Val-Theris’s devotion to the Lunarethian girl went, asecret only Rohannes knew before. The three kingdoms of the realm watched the eternal, untouchable Angel-King of Seravethbeg.
Val-Oros grumbled in satisfaction. His smile was slow and indulgent, the smile of a man who had waited lifetimes for this moment. “Good. Now the world sees what a god hides beneath his feathers.”
With a sharp gesture, Val-Oros pushed Jesenia to the ground in front of Val-Theris, who barely caught her before her stomach touched the stones. His hands instantly cradled her with desperate care as though his body knew before his mind that she must be shielded at all costs.
With Jesenia out of the hands of Korvath’s soldiers and its king, Val-Theris’s eyes sharpened into something deadly.
“Burn them all,” he commanded hisHastati.“I want every soldier of Korvath reduced to ashes.”
The words rang out across the plaza, sharp and absolute, the same words that had once sent armies scattering and cities falling silent beneath his shadow. Smoke curled around his wings as he spoke, the air still thick with the scent of blood and scorched stone.
TheHastatihad once knelt at the sound of his wings. Now they stood in silence, ranks unbroken, shields grounded, spears upright but unmoving.
Val-Theris faced them. He gave the order calmly, as he always had.
“Advance. Give no quarter for Korvath’s men.”
The command echoed and died. The plaza answered him with nothing but the crackle of burning debris and the distant sob of a wounded child. No one moved. One of the centurions stepped forward at last. He did not kneel.
“We cannot. You knelt to the Bloodletter before all of Solmiris. To save a foreign woman you courted behind the backsof your loyal citizens. We swore to follow an angel. A god. Not a man who bows to monsters.”
Val-Theris said nothing. He did not rage. He did not defend himself.
He only knelt there, holding Jesenia within the cradle of his trembling wings. He understood—with a clarity sharper than any vision—that this was the moment his kingdom began to die.
“I wondered how long it would take,” Val-Oros said pleasantly. “For them to see you for the weakened coward you really are.” Val-Theris did not turn. “They always do,” he continued, circling him. “The moment a god bleeds, the moment he kneels…loyalty rots.” He stopped directly in front of him, forcing Val-Theris’s gaze upward. Val-Oros laughed softly. He leaned in, close enough that his breath was warm. “I told you she would be your undoing.”
He smiled when he said it—softly, almost fondly—as if he were recalling a childhood truth long proven.
Val-Theris turned. The world seemed to narrow to the space between them: bloodied stone beneath their feet, smoke thinning into a bruised sky, the distant cries of the wounded fading until there was only the sound of their breathing. His brother stood before him with blood on his hands and fire in his eyes.
