Page 29 of A Reign of Chromes & Shadows

“And you obey it,” Rain said, leaning forward in his seat his stare trained on the general. The man was softening to the hold that gripped him, far quicker than he had anticipated. Taking the initiative Rain prodded further, softening his tone to one of understanding. “I don’t blame you. Control is his power. He makes loyalty feel like virtue. He twists your instincts until you can’t tell which thoughts are your own.”

Toyne sank onto the edge of the table beside him.

“When I received the order last night, part of me thought I misread it. I assumed you were still recovering from the attack. I thought I could reason with him, but his fear runs deep. He dismissed everything I said. And by the end of it, I left feeling like his will was the only path forward.” He swallowed. “I can feel the difference in my mind. I know his power has a hold on me, Royale.”

Sympathy flickered across Rain’s features. It was one thing to be manipulated by the King’s magic—another to be aware of it.

“You’re strong-willed, Sir. I’ve never felt a mortal push back against my father’s influence. That alone makes you invaluable.”

“You’re planning something,” Toyne whispered. “Not war… rebellion.”

Rain closed off his empathic channel, satisfied that his father’s influence had retreated.

“If I let him continue like this, he will be the death of me. And I fear what that would mean for our people. For my kingdom. Perhaps it is time they had a leader capable of change. One who doesn’t drag us into endless, mindless wars.”

He leaned in, voice low.

“I am not speaking of a rebellion, General. The throne is rightfully mine.”

A long silence followed. Rain held Toyne’s gaze, sensing the man’s pulse quicken as thoughts churned behind his eyes. Toyne was the first to look away. He stood, straightening his uniform.

“If you move against him—openly or in silence—I can’t commit to you with words. Not yet.” He paused at the door, posture crisp. “But when the moment comes…Yourarmy will fight for its kingdom.”

Rain exhaled slowly, tension draining from his shoulders.

“That’s all I need to hear. Follow his orders. You can’t disobey him. But I can. For now, tell him I refused direct orders, I will not comply with this suicide mission. Keep me informed, and I’ll intervene when necessary.”

“Affirmative. Good day, Your Highness.”

General Toyne saluted and marched out, leaving Rain alone with his thoughts as his eyes drifted over the scattered parchments and battle plans strewn across the table.

Chapter 11

“Your Majesty—terribly sorry to interrupt!” Neel shouted from the edge of the mat, loud enough to cut through the grunts and scuffling coming from Rain and his combat trainer.

Rain had Raym pinned in a choke-hold, his legs locked around the male’s torso, trapping one arm to his side. He squeezed just hard enough to stop Raym from using his legs against him. The trainer’s free arm flailed in surrender before tapping out. Rain released him, shaking off the stinging vibration running through his muscles. He chuckled as Raym gasped for breath, both of them instinctively shuffling back, never foolish enough to turn their backs on one another.

“You of all people should know better than to get me into a horizontal position, Raym,” Rain teased, flicking a towel at his trainer’s face with a playful burst of power.

Raym—Raymon Sonatri—was Rain’s personal combat instructor. A Red Aetherial by lineage, his ancestry tied him to the Red Aetherchrome source, though like most, his power was only a faint echo of his predecessors. He was what they called a Heatmarked; someone whose ability inflicted a lingering burn through muscle and nerve. Not dangerous, but potent enough to hinder an opponent. In training, it was a tool, not a punishment: the sting sharpened awareness, imprinting mistakes into muscle memory. Enough hits, enough burn, and the body learned to avoid openings before the mind even caught up.

He hadn’t always been able to use his power on Rain, not without Rain’s emotional pain ricocheting back onto him or others but Raym’s century of hand-to-hand experience had been invaluable. His early methods gave Rain the mental and physical stimulation he needed to regulate his nervous system. As Rain’s control strengthened, Raym’s heatmarking became an essential part of conditioning him to withstand physical pain without destabilising emotionally.

“Your pain tolerance is starting to piss me off,” Raym muttered, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. “A young thing like you shouldn’t be able to floor me that fast.”

“I was trained by the best.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“Your Majesty!” Neel called again, impatience creeping into his tone.

“Yes, Neel?”

“Apologies for the intrusion, Sir. There is a young man at the gates claiming to be a friend of yours. It seems rather urgent—the guards don’t appear to have taken kindly to him.”

“Does he have a name?” Rain asked, puzzled.

“Unfortunately, not to my knowledge, Sir.” Neel gestured animatedly with his white-gloved hands. “A guard very rudely informed me that a young man was demanding to see you before storming back to his post. I get the impression the gentleman in question is refusing to leave.”