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Samuel

Samuel hesitated at the door to the King’s laboratory, his hand hovering inches above the handle. He hadn’t seen the King since the day they had been shown where the blood of Aeravin came from. They had been working tirelessly to put together the clues, to find the killer.

To stop it all before Isaac was put at risk in a pointless, ridiculous ceremony.

But they kept coming up empty.

He didn’t know if he could continue to do this. He was walking a tightrope, dancing dangerously close to destruction, and if he kept down this path it wouldn’t just be his life that was changed. His very soul would be stained beyond all recognition.

The Guard at his side coughed, and Samuel realized that he had been standing there for over a full minute. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and stepped through the door into the somber, sterile room. The King didn’t even glance his way, too busy in a whispered argument with Isaac.

Well, Isaac was arguing. The King just stood there, a glass of amber liquid in his hand as he stared out into the night.

They also weren’t alone. There was a third person in the room, a middle-aged man with his hands bound behind his back and his legs chained to a heavy metal chair. He looked up, his blue eyes shining with fear, but the gag in his mouth prevented him from saying anything.

Samuel cleared his throat, and both Isaac and the King turned to him. “Ah, you’re here,” the King said, but Isaac just whispered, “Please.”

The King shook his head, a quick but harsh nod. “Enough. Do not forget your place.” Isaac stepped back, as suddenly as if he had been slapped, looking completely and utterly defeated. “Now be gone.”

Samuel lurched forward, but Isaac was already heading towards the door. He wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he did say, gently and softly, “I’m sorry.”

For what, Samuel didn’t have the foggiest idea, but the dread in his stomach grew stronger. Whatever the King was planning, it must have been something terrible if Isaac had tried to stop it.

And he already knew how terrible the King could be.

Then Isaac was gone, leaving Samuel alone with the King, who tossed back the rest of his drink. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day,” he muttered, with no small amount of annoyance as he stared at the space where Isaac had just stood. “But no matter, we have other things to focus on.” He gestured to the prisoner, raising his empty glass to him. “Meet Erik. He’s going to help with the next step of your training.”

Samuel couldn’t help the fearful glance he shot Erik, who just stared down at the floor. He didn’t even seem afraid or angry. He was just quiet and empty, like a husk devoid of all soul. “I… what precisely are we doing?”

“De la Cruz should be thankful for what we’re doing tonight. Even he should see that it’ll only be to help him.” The King smiled, and it was a cruel thing. “It’s time we found out the limits of your power.”

“Limits?” Samuel echoed, and the King frowned.

“Don’t look so timid, Samuel. It’s time you let go of this idea that your powers are something unsavory, an unfortunate necessity. This is something you will have to come to terms with if you want a place in my court. If you want to be part of it, you must accept that power—that justice—is not kind.”

Samuel turned back towards Erik, remembering how the King had said that when he had killed that poor girl. The traitor. “And tonight we deliver justice?”

“Precisely.” The King stepped forward, standing next to Samuel. “This bastard doesn’t deserve mercy. He is a treasonous snake and was part of a plan to assassinate me.”

Samuel blinked at the man, emaciated and pale, and had a difficult time imagining him as a threat. “I didn’t realize there was—”

“It was years ago,” the King interrupted. “And I ensured no word of it got out. I cannot have the crown looking weak, after all. But I’ve been waiting all this time to find the perfect punishment for him. At last he can be of use.”

“I see.” Samuel tore his eyes away from Erik, who hung his head low. Whatever spark he once had—bright enough to stand up to the Eternal King himself—had long ago burned away, leaving this broken and empty man. It seemed almost too cruel to contemplate, but Samuel was learning that the King specialized in that. In finding the exact right way to draw out the most pain possible.

It would have been awe-inspiring if it wasn’t so horrible.

“What will you have me do?” Samuel asked at last, and the King relaxed for the first time that night.

Samuel had given up the fight, and the King knew it.

“We test just how much your gift can affect the body, not simply the mind and the will.” He poured another glass of the amber liquid and brought it over to Samuel. “Here, this will help you relax, son.”

Samuel stared down at it, hiding the flinch as he stared at the whisky. He hated being called that. Son. Like the King could ever be a father to him. Like he’d ever known what a father was like.

It was all bullshit.

“I don’t need to be drunk,” Samuel said, at last.