Page 24 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)

I couldn't speak. Couldn't think. The horror of what he was describing was too vast to comprehend. Children stolen from their families, enslaved, forced to breed like animals...

"This invasion will solve that problem beautifully," he continued.

"We'll capture every shifter in the Talfen kingdom—men, women, children, all of them.

The breeding programs will be revitalized with fresh blood, stronger lineages.

Within a generation, we'll have dragon legions the likes of which the world has never seen. The Empire will be unstoppable."

"You're talking about genocide," I said, finding my voice at last. "You're talking about enslaving an entire people."

"I'm talking about securing our future," he snapped, the first real emotion he'd shown. "About ensuring that our bloodline rules for a thousand years. About building something that will last."

I looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time in my life, I saw my father clearly.

Not the wise ruler, not the protective parent, but the monster he truly was.

A man who could order the deaths of his own people for political gain.

A man who could speak casually of enslaving children, of breeding sentient beings like cattle.

"You're evil," I said quietly. "Truly, genuinely evil."

His face darkened. "I am practical. I am strong. I do what must be done for the good of the Empire."

"For your own glory, you mean." I was surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "This has nothing to do with the Empire's good. This is about your ego, your legacy. You're willing to commit atrocities to see your name remembered."

"And you're a naive boy who understands nothing about power or responsibility." He rose from his throne, suddenly seeming larger, more imposing. "But you will learn. You will go north with the recruits, lead a wing through the border into Talfen lands. You will do your part in this great work."

"No." The word came out without thought, driven by a revulsion so deep it overrode every instinct of obedience I'd been raised with. "I won't be part of this. I won't help you enslave and murder innocent people."

"You will do as you are commanded," he said coldly. "You are my son and my heir, and you will serve the Empire as I see fit."

"Then disown me." I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze directly. "Cast me out, name someone else your heir. I won't be party to this... this abomination."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or even a grudging respect. Then it was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.

"Disown you?" He laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Oh, my dear boy. You misunderstand the situation entirely." He stepped down from the dais, moving toward me with predatory grace. "You seem to think you have a choice in this matter. Allow me to correct that misconception."

A chill ran down my spine. "What do you mean?"

"Come with me," he said. "I want to show you something."

Against every instinct screaming at me to run, I followed him though the hallways of the palace, down narrower corridors, and finally down a staircase that spiralled into darkness.

Torches flickered in sconces along the walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to reach for us with grasping fingers.

We descended for what felt like an eternity, going deeper into the earth than I'd known was possible. The air grew colder, staler, carrying scents I couldn't identify but that made my stomach turn. Finally, we emerged into a vast underground chamber.

And I saw hell.

Massive iron cells stretched out before us, row upon row of them disappearing into the torch-lit darkness.

And they were full. Full of people—men, women, children of all ages, all bearing the unmistakable features of Talfen blood.

Some were obviously full-blooded, with the characteristic height and fine bone structure.

Others showed only subtle signs—slightly pointed ears, eyes that caught the light strangely, skin with an unusual pallor.

They were all dressed in rags, all thin and hollow-eyed. Some sat in silence, staring at nothing. Others paced their cells like caged animals. I heard quiet weeping, whispered conversations, a baby's thin cry that cut through me like a blade.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" my father said conversationally. "The fruits of years of careful planning and execution."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. The scale of it was overwhelming—hundreds of people, maybe thousands, imprisoned in these underground chambers. How long had this been going on? How long had I lived above this suffering, oblivious and comfortable?

"There's another complex on the other side of the city," he continued. "And in each major city of the Empire. Similar size, similar... occupancy rate. We've been quite thorough in our collection efforts."

My eyes found a young woman in one of the nearer cells.

She was about Livia's age, holding a baby that couldn't have been more than a few months old.

A toddler clung to her ragged dress, thumb in his mouth, staring out at us with eyes too old for his small face.

The woman's gaze met mine for a moment, and I saw everything there—despair, exhaustion, a flickering hope that died as she took in my imperial robes.

"If you refuse to serve," my father said quietly, "if you persist in this foolish rebellion, I will order the execution of every single person in these dungeons. Every man, woman, and child. They will die screaming, and their blood will be on your hands."

I turned to stare at him, hardly believing what I was hearing. "You would murder thousands of innocent people to force my compliance?"

"I would remove a potential source of future problems while teaching my heir a valuable lesson about the cost of defiance." His voice was utterly calm, utterly certain. "The choice is yours, Jalius. Lead the wing north as ordered, or watch these people die for your principles."

The air left my lungs in a rush, as if I’d taken a physical blow.

The world narrowed to the woman’s face, to the wide, terrified eyes of her child.

My principles, my outrage, my defiance—they all turned to ash in my mouth.

What was my honour worth when weighed against a single one of their lives, let alone thousands?

It was a monstrous, perfect trap, and he had sprung it with the casual cruelty of a man swatting a fly.

My gaze drifted from cell to cell, seeing not a faceless mass of enemies, but individuals.

An old man with a long white beard who looked like a scholar.

Two teenage boys wrestling half-heartedly in a corner.

A woman humming a lullaby to a swaddled bundle in her arms. Each one was a life my father held hostage against my obedience.

Each breath they took was a debt he was calling due.

I turned back to him, the architect of this hell. The hatred I felt was a physical thing, a sickness coiling in my gut. But it was a powerless hatred. He had won. He had known he would win from the moment he brought me down here..

“Their fate is in your hands,” my father said, his voice echoing in the vast, cavernous space. “A true leader understands that personal morality is a luxury. The only morality is the preservation of power. What is your decision?”

A cold certainty settled in my gut, heavier than any stone.

He hadn't given me a choice. He had given me a leash and tied the other end to the throats of thousands. The air was thick with the stench of despair, and it coated my tongue, choked my throat. My principles, the core of who I thought I was, felt like brittle glass, ready to shatter. What was my honour worth when weighed against the life of that child clinging to his mother’s leg?

What was my soul worth against the lives of all these people?

I thought of Livia. I thought of the fire in her eyes when she spoke of justice, of freedom.

She would rather die than bend to this kind of tyranny.

But it wouldn't just be her death. It would be the deaths of everyone here, and countless more in the war that would follow.

My father had built his cage perfectly. There was no escape.

My gaze fell again on the young mother. She had pulled her children closer, her body a frail shield against the horrors of this place. If I said no, her face would be the last thing I saw in my nightmares before my own execution.

I turned back to my father, the monster wearing his face. I saw the victory in his eyes. He knew he had won. The word felt like swallowing poison, a corrosive acid that burned its way up from my soul.

“I will do it.” My voice was a dead thing, a hollow echo in the vast, terrible silence of the dungeon. “I will lead the wing, but I need your word. Your sworn oath that you will not harm these people if I do as you command."

"You have it," he said immediately. "Serve faithfully in this campaign, and these prisoners will remain unharmed."

I closed my eyes, feeling something fundamental break inside me. When I opened them again, the world looked different—darker, colder, less real.

"I'll do it," I whispered.

"Excellent." He clapped a hand on my shoulder as if we'd just concluded a pleasant business transaction and smiled, a victor’s smile that did not reach his cold eyes.

“I knew you would see reason. You have the makings of a true emperor after all.

You'll depart at the end of the week—the orders will be issued this evening. "

He turned and began the long walk back up the stairs, my father’s footsteps echoing behind me like a jailer’s. I didn’t look back at the cells. I couldn't. But I felt the weight of their gazes on my back.

Every weeping man, every hollow-eyed child was another link in the chain my father had forged around my neck. Each step was heavier than the last, a journey not out of Inferi, but deeper into it.

My father spoke of strategy, of logistics for the northern campaign, but his words were a meaningless drone against the roaring in my ears.

How could I ever face Livia again? How could I look into her fierce, honest eyes, knowing I was about to lead an army against her friends, her people?

The man who had held her, who had tasted her tears and promised her his heart, had died in that dungeon.

In his place was a hollow thing, a puppet whose strings were pulled by a monster.

When we emerged back into the gilded splendour of the palace corridors, the bright sunlight streaming through the high windows felt like a personal insult.

It was a beautiful lie painted over a foundation of rot and suffering, and I was now part of its suffocating deceit.

“You see, Jalius,” my father said as we reached the upper levels, the air growing warmer, cleaner, a grotesque mockery of the foulness below. “Power isn’t about being loved. It’s about being obeyed. A lesson your tender heart has resisted for too long.”

I didn’t answer. The part of me that could have argued, that could have raged, was dead.

It lay in the dungeon below with the ghosts of my principles.

When we returned to the throne room, the light streaming through the high windows felt like a violation.

How could the sun still shine on a world that held such darkness?

“Go now,” he said, dismissing me with a wave. “Prepare yourself. You have a war to win.”

I bowed, the movement mechanical, my body a puppet whose strings he now held.

As I walked away from him, away from the Golden Throne, I thought of Livia.

I was caught in my father's web now, as trapped as any of those people in their cells.

Whatever happened next, whatever horrors I was about to be part of, I would have to live with the knowledge that I had chosen compliance over courage.

I would have to look her in the eye and lie.

I would have to become the very thing she fought against, the loyal son leading a war of annihilation against her friends, her people.

To save the lives of the innocent, I had to become guilty.

My soul was the price for their survival.

And that was a damnation from which there could be no escape.