Page 45

45

VEYLAN

S era moves behind me, silent, watchful. She does not trust this place. She does not trust my brothers. Good. She shouldn’t.

We’re under House Drazharel, an underground tunnel known only to me and my brothers. We reach one of the bunker rooms, and I turn to her, “Stay here. Rest. I’ll meet my brothers in the underground war chamber.”

“Okay,” she replies but her eyes are wary and anxious.

“I’ll be back,” I reassure her before leaving. Ten minutes later, I step inside the underground war chamber. The past greets me like a blade to the throat.

The table, the maps, the stone walls stained with memories of blood and power. I grew up in this room. I learned how to kill in this room.

I have come back to end it.

They are already waiting.

Five shadows. No. Four.

The air shifts as Maelrik moves first.

The assassin. The liar. The blade in the dark.

"So," he drawls, leaning against the stone table. "The exile returns."

Vaedros chuckles from his seat, swirling a goblet of stolen wine. The opportunist. The strategist.

"I was wondering when you'd crawl back."

Xalith does not speak. The brute. The warhound. His fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword. A threat. A promise.

Drathis leans against the far wall, arms crossed. The cold one. The calculating one. His silence is worse than their words.

I exhale. This is not a reunion. It is a battlefield.

"I didn't come back to beg," I say, stepping forward. Daring them to move.

"No?" Maelrik smirks. "Then why are you here, traitor?"

"To kill our father."

The words cut through the chamber like steel.

The room goes still.

For a beat, none of them move. None of them breathe.

Xalith moves first and his fist slams into my jaw. The force of it sends me stumbling back, but I don’t fall.

I expected this.

I twist, grab him by the throat, and slam him into the war table. He roars. I snarl. We are not brothers right now. We are monsters fighting for dominance.

The next second, Vaedros lunges. He is quick, but I am quicker. My elbow catches him in the ribs, and he chokes on a curse.

Drathis does nothing. He watches. Calculating. Judging.

Maelrik laughs, staying at the edges. "Now this is entertaining."

The fight is brutal. Bones crack. Blood spills. The table is overturned, maps scattering like useless memories.

We fight because it is the only way we know how to speak.

We fight because it is the only way we understand being brothers under my father’s cruel rule. The tyranny.

By the end, we are on the floor, panting, bloodied, bruised. But not dead.

That is how I know—they will listen.

"We cannot kill him," Drathis finally says, breaking the silence. "You know that."

I wipe blood from my mouth. "No. But we can seal him."

A slow shift. A thought none of them have dared to say out loud.

"That would require all of us," Vaedros mutters.

"And a sacrifice," Xalith grinds out.

They all look at me.

I nod. "One of us dies."

The room is so quiet, I can hear my own heartbeat.

We all understand what this means. Hazeran cannot be killed, but he can be imprisoned. A blood-binding ritual is the only way. And one life must be given to fuel the magic.

None of them speak.

All of them are thinking the same thing.

Who will it be?

A sound interrupts my thoughts.

Soft. Barely there.

But I feel it.

I whip my head toward the far shadows.

A silhouette stands in the dark, just beyond the doorway. Sera.

She should not be here.

I move fast, reaching her in seconds. Her skin is cold. Her pulse is rapid.

"You were listening," I whisper, voice low.

She does not deny it.

"You are planning something," she murmurs, searching my face. Accusing.

I say nothing.

If I speak—I will lie.

Sera will know.

Her throat bobs as she swallows. She is not afraid. But she should be.

"What are you not telling me?" she presses.

My fingers tighten around her wrist. Too tight. "Leave it, Sera."

She doesn’t.

"Is it me?" Her voice barely rises above a whisper. "Are you going to use me for the ritual?"

The question hits harder than Xalith’s fists. But before I can reply, one of my brother interrupts.

“What, you think you’re that important? And what is a toy like you doing here? Really? You brought your pet here? Your brain is muddled, brother,” Maelrik interrupts, glaring at me.

“Pathetic,” Xalith replies. “A whipped dark elf is a dead one.”

I glare at my brothers and says through clenched teeth, “She’s my business, not yours. Whether I bring her or not is my decision.”

I force my grip to loosen.

"I would never let them touch you," I murmur before adding, “Go back to the bunker room. Rest.”

It is the truth. But it is not the whole truth. I want her gone. There’s no need for her to hear the rest of my words.

Someone must die and I already know who it will be.

Sera stares at me, I think she understands.

Not everything. But enough.

She exhales softly.

"I still don’t trust you but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Don’t betray me, Veylan. "

The words nearly destroy me.

I am going to betray her.

Twenty minutes later, the meeting is done.

The plan is set.

Tomorrow, we ride to war.

After leaving the war chamber, I leave her to the underground bunker. These tunnels are deep under the fortress and prepared for war.

We lay on the small bed together, but I do not sleep.

I hold Sera close, knowing that after tomorrow—she will never forgive me.