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Chapter Eight

VICTOR

Once more, I stood on a proverbial cliff, my circumstances taking a turn for the worse. While I was born here, I’d few memories of Carcerem’s kings and castles. Perhaps because my mother and I lived in squalor, too busy surviving this brutal land to worry about such things.

As I expected, Slyborn Castle was a dismal canker sore, rotting upon a desolate land. Why anyone would want to rule in such a place was beyond me. The barbaric architecture was as stark and unwelcoming as the rest of the kingdom.

Though I’d managed to mask my reaction as we’d approached the castle, a strange energy made the hairs on my arms spike to attention.

Once we were inside, the energy built to the point I feared it would splinter my ribcage, leaping out of my chest. Despite the desolation of the land, something here was very much alive.

After we exited our conveyance, armed guards ushered me and my former captors through endless corridors until, finally, we arrived at a monstrous throne room.

Smoky marble with golden veins stretched out beneath our feet.

Scores of spectators filled blackened benches placed on either side of a wide aisle.

The cathedral-like space had domed ceilings.

The supporting pillars were shaped like long fingers with claws.

Ropes of crimson ivy twisted around the soaring columns.

Whether it was dead or alive, I couldn’t discern.

Regardless, it gave the illusion that the very walls bled.

Still, I maintained my composed facade until my gaze landed on the throne. One glimpse and drool pooled in my mouth, my jaw dropping.

At the center of a raised dais was a massive tree made of ebony stone.

Thick pulsing roots rolled out from its enormous trunk, delving deep into the floor and to parts unknown.

Sturdy branches with copper leaves stretched up into a domed skylight.

Carved into the bottom of the tree was a throne, blackened roots slithering from beneath its base.

Perched on the seat was a striking male, his rich brocade clothing woven with gold.

Over his spiked silver hair was an elaborate crown designed to resemble branches.

As I took the male’s measure, yet another jolt ran down my spine, but not of fear.

Never that. Rather, it seemed a strange thread connected us.

“Wait here,” the guards ordered.

My entourage came to a stop.

On the floor before the dais, there was a large circle etched with ancient runes. A horned demon wearing manacles kneeled in its center.

“Please, sire. If I could have more time. My mate is with child and the crops—”

“Enough of your sniveling,” the king snapped, his voice sharp with disdain. “You know the law, and yet, you broke it. The repercussions are clear.” He held up his hand, golden light illuminating his fingertips.

“Please, sire. I beg you.”

“And I grow weary of the noise.” The king flicked his wrist, and the imprisoned demon let out a yowl, falling to his knees. He clutched his throat, gasping and gurgling.

The bloodthirsty crowd murmured their delight at the display. Golden flames ignited the man’s body, his reedy screams echoing. Except this was no typical fire. In seconds, his writhing form became a tower of glowing embers that soon disintegrated into shimmering sparks.

I stood speechless. It was one of the most effortless demonstrations of power I’d ever seen. Behind the king, the enchanted tree pulsed as though alive. Black veins throbbed along its thick roots. From the canopy, a single withered leaf ignited, tumbling from a branch as it floated to the ground.

“Next,” the king commanded.

Guards prodded our backs, urging us into the middle of the circle.

“Kneel,” the milky-eyed guard demanded.

We hit our knees—all except for Runa.

“Kneel, I say.” At her defiance, he clamped his gloved hand on the back of the sorceress’s neck, forcing her to the ground.

The crack of her kneecaps striking the marble made me wince.

The king’s eyes gleamed with delight. “Ah, the notorious Blood River Bandits. It’s so good of you to join me today.”

“He’s heard of us,” Drazen muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Of course he has,” Kronk whispered, his shoulders drawing back.

Fools. At this rate, we’d all be ashes by the time this was over.

Oddly, Runa had fallen silent. Her body was tense, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The sweet scent of her fragrance turned bitter, tainting the air with fear—like she gazed upon her worst nightmare.

Fear was a scent I typically found appealing. Only for some reason, hers had a low growl pushing its way up my throat. I coughed to cover my loss of control. What did I care if she was afraid? Runa was a known criminal in the king’s throne room. She had every cause to be concerned.

Myself, I was eager for this meeting. This was my chance to improve my situation, align with a powerful king, and find my way back to the mortal world to claim my revenge and everything that was stolen from me.

It was Drazen who spoke first. Figured. The arrogant infernus believed himself to be charming.

“Great King Idris, it’s an honor to kneel before you. If it so pleases, Your Majesty, may I say you look quite royal this evening?”

The king’s unnerving gaze locked on Runa and darkened with an antagonistic gleam. “And what does fair Runa Starborn think of her king’s appearance?”

Static sparked along my spine at the tension between the two. Apparently, the sorceress and the king were acquainted.

Runa’s rigid frame began to quake.

“Easy,” Kronk mumbled in a low tone.

“Answer your king,” the guard demanded, withdrawing his sword from its scabbard.

“I think,” Runa croaked, seeming to have lost her voice. Likely, it was a first.

“Louder,” the guard urged, taking a menacing step.

“I think you look—”

“Remember the villagers of White Bridge,” Drazen hissed.

Energy crackled as a dark shroud settled over our shoulders.

“I think you look like a murderous piece of—”

Before she could finish, a unified gasp rang out. Hushed voices muttered their excitement. From a door at the side of the room, an ethereal woman appeared, gliding toward the throne.

Attired in a flowing gossamer gown that dragged along the chilly marble, the woman came to stand at the king’s side.

On her head was a smaller version of the king’s crown.

Pale lavender hair hung down her back. Her eyes were glazed white like the guards.

I studied her arresting features, finding her exotic—and familiar.

“Raelynn,” Runa grated in a furious snarl, the name scraping past her lips.

Both Drazen’s and Kronk’s thick skulls whipped in Runa’s direction.

“Raelynn? I thought you said your sister was dead,” Drazen hissed.

“It is a miracle,” Kronk stated in that deadpan way of his, the words lacking emotion.

“My love,” King Idris grasped the queen’s fingers in his hand, kissing their blackened tips. Inky flesh shadowed her porcelain skin from fingertips to shoulder. Black veins spread across her chest, creeping up her neck.

“Look at us. I adore family reunions.” The king beamed, pleased at his game.

Family. My ears twitched. So this was why the queen and Runa were so similar. My little thief had been keeping secrets. Perhaps I could use it to my advantage.

“I have no family.” Runa sprang to her feet, violence in her snarling visage. “You made sure of that.”

Too late, I realized Runa’s initial fear had turned into blinding rage.

“Runa, no.” Kronk attempted to stand, far too slow to intercept her. Drazen as well.

Since I was the only one with my hands bound in front, I sprang up and looped my arms over the raging sorceress’s head.

Runa struggled against me, and I held her tight. Reasoning, if she angered the king, she’d place my own life in danger. This I wouldn’t tolerate.

“Easy, pet. This isn’t the time or place,” I whispered.

To my relief, she calmed, settling in my grip .

Ignoring Runa’s hysterics, the king set the queen’s hand on the arm of his throne, and the great tree pulsed beneath her blackened touch. Idris groaned as if she had reached down and stroked his manhood instead.

“Yes. Yes, I know,” he said over his shoulder to someone. Except there was nobody there. Did he speak to ghosts? “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” he muttered to an entity only he could see before straightening. Was the king mad? Hearing voices? This, too, I could use to my benefit.

With his queen at his side, he turned to Runa.

“While Queen Raelynn has been a valuable and treasured addition to my kingdom, it saddens me to hear of the discontent her sister has been brewing. Just this quarter, three of my conveyances were robbed. Honestly, Runa, I expected a little more gratitude from you when I granted you your life, despite your parents’ disobedience. ”

“You expect gratitude after you murdered my family and burned my village?”

The king heaved a dramatic sigh. “While sparing you . At your dear sister’s request, of course. Still, you are unappreciative—stealing from my caravans, undermining the reasonable expectations I’ve placed on my kingdom.”

“The villages cannot afford to pay your tax, and you know it,” Runa spat. “Your reign is a disease, sucking the life out of everything it touches.”

Gasps echoed from the crowd. Murmurs of outrage bounced off the walls.

King Idris lurched from his throne, anger darkening his conscience.

“You stand before me, in chains no less, spitting this blasphemy? I am the true king. The divine being whose veins run with the blood of the gods. Your own sister knows this. Be grateful for your queen’s generosity, or I’d smite you on the spot. ”

“Her generosity?” Runa choked out, seeming on the edge of losing her lunch. “My sister is a traitor to Carcerem and her family. The only one she’s been generous to is herself, helping to place the false king on the throne just to become queen.”