"You need to get washed before anyone notices," Fira whispered urgently.
"I'll bring food to the room tonight... and tomorrow, I just pray he doesn't notice," she added, finally managing to lift Aurelia to her feet and guide her toward the bathroom.
The moment the door opened, a different world greeted them.
It was vast—like a secret lake hidden inside the walls of the palace. The floor shimmered with black stone, and the bath stretched so wide it looked carved from a riverbed. Petals floated across its glassy surface, releasing soft, honeyed scents that curled through the air like lullabies.
Aurelia's eyes widened, dazed with pain but mesmerized by the beauty.
Even though her legs trembled, her palms were raw, her arms bruised, and her entire body ached—she couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop aching to fall into that water and disappear completely.
Aurelia didn't care if someone was watching.
With trembling fingers, she peeled off the blood-soaked dress, then her undergarments—her skin marred with bruises, red lines, and patches of dried blood. Shame didn't exist anymore. Only pain.
Naked, she stepped toward the water and slipped in.
The moment her body hit the pool, blood bloomed like ink in silk—dark tendrils curling through the clear water, tainting beauty with ruin. The sting of the scented water burned into her open wounds, but she didn't flinch. She just sank deeper.
She couldn't swim—not well. Her arms barely moved, and her ribs screamed with every breath. But she drifted slowly, weightless, broken. From a distance, Fira watched in silence, mistakenly believing her grace meant she was healing.
She wasn't.
She was just tired of standing.
---------------------------
The war chamber thrummed with restrained fury.
Black marble floors reflected the firelight that spilled from torches mounted in skeletal sconces—bones of ancient kings twisted into symbols of loyalty. The ceiling arched high above, veined with molten silver that pulsed like arteries. A cold wind, thick with brimstone, rolled in from the slit windows cut into the mountain stone.
Tenebrarum entered without announcement.
The doors slammed behind him.
Wings like shadows folded tight behind his shoulders. His eyes were obsidian, unreadable, rimmed with a crimson that hadn't been there yesterday. The Crown of Thorns sat crooked on his head—less a symbol of rule, more a warning of pain.
He said nothing.
The commanders stood.
Julius, second-in-command, waited only a breath before stepping forward. He didn't kneel.
"Before we speak of strategies, there's something you must see," he said, his voice smooth—but bitter at the edges.
He motioned to the guards at the far end of the chamber.
They dragged someone in.
A demon—ranked, armored, but bloodied—his eyes wide with disbelief, a dark bruise blooming across his temple. His mouth had been gagged with ironwire, fresh scorch marks on his lips. He stumbled and fell to his knees as they forced him before the war table.
Tenebrarum's gaze didn't flicker.
"General Vesper," Julius said, spitting the name like ash. "Three hours before our ambush on the human borderlands, he sent a private raven. Not through the castle tower. Through a back channel. My hounds traced it."
The room went still.
Another commander shifted uneasily. Someone's gauntlet clinked.
"He says it was a message to his mate in the Fifth Court," Julius continued. "But the seal on the scroll was broken, and the scent was masked in witchbane. Only a fool would buy that lie."
Tenebrarum stepped forward.
Vesper made a desperate, muffled sound.
Tenebrarum looked down at him like he was already dead.
Then, softly:
"Remove the gag."
A soldier obeyed, careful not to meet his master's eyes.
Vesper gasped for breath. "My Lord, I swear on the River of Bones—I did nothing. I was loyal. I am loyal. They're framing me, Julius has always hated me—!"
"Enough," Tenebrarum said.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Tie him. Bring the fire. Burn him."
Tenebrarum's voice was low—but it cracked through the war chamber like a whip. The words needed no repetition. The guards moved at once.
From the far end of the room, they dragged forward a black-glass jar sloshing with thick liquid. Smoke hissed from its mouth. Another guard hauled a flaming brand from the hearth.
General Vesper began to thrash.
"No—no, my Lord, please—" he choked, his voice torn by panic. "I would never—you know I would never—!"
But it didn't matter.
The jar was uncorked. The stench of demon-oil hit the room like blood rotting in sunlight. The guards drenched him—his armor, his skin, his throat. He screamed. He begged. He fought.
And then the torch touched him.
Fire bloomed.
A shriek like metal tearing in half burst from Vesper 's lungs. His body rolled, twisted, split against the marble, a man set alive like parchment soaked in hellfire.
"No—my Lord—I didn't do it! I didn't—!"
It didn't save him.
He burned.
No one looked away.
No one moved.
The flames licked higher. His cries broke into gurgles. Then silence.
Just the sound of crackling.
Julius stepped forward once the fire began to die, his voice colder than iron.
"Let this be a warning to any soul who dares cross the will of the Crown Prince."
His words echoed.
Some of them looked at Julius—but not a single one dared to speak.
The fire still hissed where Vesper had been, black smoke rising in delicate curls, like the soul fleeing what was left of him.
But around the chamber, glances were exchanged. Brief. Measured. Careful.
No one would question him aloud—not in front of the Lord.
But in their hearts, one thought coiled like a snake:
Tenebrarum trusted Julius far too much.
They had grown up together, fought beside each other in every battle, from the burning of the Southern Wastes to the siege of Orvus Keep. Where Tenebrarum went, Julius followed—his shadow, his voice, his blade.
But believing every word from his mouth?
That was something different.
That was dangerous.
Yet no one spoke. Because in this room, suspicion could kill you faster than truth.
And Tenebrarum, seated at the head of the obsidian table, said nothing else. His gaze flicked over the men. Cold. Indifferent.
As if daring anyone to speak.
---
To be continued...