The boots stopped outside Aurelia's chamber.
Fira's fingers froze mid-stroke in Aurelia's hair. Her face drained of color as though blood itself had abandoned her. She set the comb back onto the vanity with trembling hands, then dropped to her knees.
The door opened.
Tenebrarum entered, shadow and heat folding into the chamber like a storm. The guards outside bowed low, but none dared follow when the door shut behind him with a final, echoing click.
Fira pressed her forehead to the floor, her voice barely more than breath. "My lord." Her body shook, and she did not dare lift her eyes.
Tenebrarum's silence stretched, heavy, merciless. His gaze did not leave Aurelia.
Fira scrambled upright in a rush, nearly tipping the basin of water as she stumbled back. "Forgive me—she needed tending—I'll take my leave."
Her bow was hurried, clumsy, skirts dragging as she backed toward the door. She didn't wait for permission. The moment she was gone, the chamber sank into suffocating quiet.
Now only the two of them remained.
Aurelia's heart thudded painfully, knocking against her ribs. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Tenebrarum advanced slowly, each step deliberate, the strike of his boots echoing in her bones. His shadow lengthened over her as if he were swallowing the air itself.
"Aurelia," he said at last, his tone low and deliberate. Her name lingered like a vow—or a sentence.
His eyes swept over her, tracing every wound. The bruises blooming purple across her cheek. The raw cut of her lip. The swollen wrist she tried and failed to hide. His jaw tightened, the muscle twitching once.
"Who did this?" His voice was dangerous, sharp enough to cut stone. "Who dared mark you without my permission?"
Aurelia's breath caught. Her lips parted, then closed again. She said nothing.
He stepped closer, unhurried, his movements predatory. "Answer me," he said, each word weighted. "I gave no leave for anyone to touch what belongs to me."
Her lips trembled. Fear clawed up her throat, but she forced the words out, fragile yet sharp enough to wound.
"It is none of your concern."
The air shifted.
Tenebrarum stilled, and in that silence his gaze darkened into something vast, merciless. He came nearer, every pace slow, boots striking the floor like the toll of a bell. When he stopped before her, his shadow covered her entirely.
"None of my concern?" His voice was soft, almost gentle—but the softness struck harder than any shout. He leaned in, close enough that his presence smothered her, his eyes burning with unspoken violence.
"You forget yourself," he murmured, each syllable biting. "You are nothing here. Nothing but what I decree."
He bent lower, his breath brushing her ear, until her whole body trembled from his nearness. His hand hovered just above her cheek, so close she could feel the heat of it without a touch.
"And you—" his voice fell to a whisper—"you belong to me."
Her stomach knotted. For a moment, she thought he might strike her. But he didn't raise his hand. He didn't need to. His claim was the blow. His nearness, the chain.
Her voice cracked when she finally spoke. "It was… a slight misunderstanding between me and Matrona."
The name soured the air.
Tenebrarum's jaw clenched. His gaze sharpened, molten gold cooling into steel.
"A misunderstanding," he repeated, as if the word itself was treason.
He turned abruptly, his cloak slicing the air like a blade.
"Guards."
The door opened instantly. Two soldiers knelt, foreheads nearly to the floor.
"Bring Matrona to me," he commanded, voice calm—too calm. "Drag her by the throat if you must."
The soldiers bowed deeper and vanished, their boots hammering down the corridor. Silence swallowed the chamber again.
Tenebrarum turned back, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat of his body press against her skin. His eyes blazed like molten iron as he lowered his voice to a venomous whisper.
"No one marks what is mine."
The doors slammed open, iron against stone.
The guards dragged Matrona inside, their fists locked hard around her arms. Yet she refused to stumble. Her chin was high, eyes sharp as a hawk's, fire alive in their depths. Her gown, though wrinkled from the struggle, swept about her ankles like the train of a queen. Even restrained, she carried herself with defiance.
When they released her, she did not fall. Instead, she rolled her shoulders back, smoothed the fabric of her sleeve with deliberate calm, and lifted her chin higher. With one steady hand she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and then fixed her gaze on Tenebrarum.
No bow.
No fear.
Aurelia's breath caught, terror swelling in her chest. She shrank back against the chair, her body pressed to the carved wood as if she could vanish inside it. Her pulse raced so loudly she feared the others might hear it.
Tenebrarum's eyes, burning with their dark, molten light, slid between the two women. First to Aurelia's bruised cheek, then to Matrona's bold face. His silence filled the chamber like smoke—dense, suffocating, inescapable.
At last, Matrona spoke. Her voice was steady, ringing with conviction, her words sharp enough to cut the silence.
"I did it," she said. "I struck her."
Aurelia flinched at the rawness of the admission.
Matrona stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until the hem of her gown whispered against the marble floor. Her eyes did not waver, not once, from Tenebrarum's face.
"I hurt her because I love you," she said, the fire in her voice rising. "Because she is unworthy, because she takes what I have longed to give. I would bleed for you. I would fight for you. And if that means bruising her flesh, so be it. My love demanded it."
The confession hung in the air, wild, unashamed.
Aurelia's throat tightened. She could not breathe.
Tenebrarum did not move. His face remained carved from shadow, his eyes fathomless, his jaw set hard as if her words carried no weight at all.
Then, slowly, he descended the dais step by step, cloak trailing like a storm. Each bootfall struck the stone with the sound of judgment.
Matrona's chest rose and fell, proud, waiting for his reply. Perhaps expecting wrath—but also, perhaps, some acknowledgment of the love she had declared.
He stopped in front of her. His shadow fell over her face.
Tenebrarum tilted his head, ever so slightly, as though her confession were a puzzle he had already solved. His lips curved—not in amusement, not in anger, but into the faintest, cruelest ghost of a smile.
"You love me," he said, his voice low, measured. "So you dared touch what is mine."
The words struck heavier than a blow.
Matrona's defiance flickered, but she did not drop her gaze. "I would do it again," she whispered.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then Tenebrarum lifted his hand. The gesture was simple, almost graceful, but it carried the weight of a verdict.
"Guards," he said, his tone calm, steady, merciless. "Take her hand."
The soldiers moved at once. Steel boots rang out as they seized Matrona by the arms again. She struggled, her proud stance breaking as they forced her to her knees.
Aurelia's stomach lurched. Her fingers dug into the chair, knuckles white. She wanted to cry out—but her throat locked shut.
Matrona's voice cracked into a desperate cry as the guards wrenched her arm across the stone floor. "My lord—please—you cannot—"
But Tenebrarum did not so much as blink. His gaze was fixed, cold as iron.
"Let her remember," he said softly, "that love is no excuse for defiance."
The guard's blade gleamed in the torchlight.
Matrona thrashed against their grip, her pride breaking at last into raw terror. "No! Please—my lord, listen! I love you! I—" Her words strangled into a sob as the soldiers forced her arm flat against the marble floor, wrist stretched taut, palm trembling.
Aurelia's body lurched forward before she could think. Her nails scraped against the carved wood of the chair as she half-rose, voice torn from her throat. "Stop! Please, no—"
Tenebrarum's hand lifted, silencing her. His eyes did not leave Matrona.
The guard pressed the flat of the sword to her skin, aligning the edge across her wrist. Matrona shrieked, the sound sharp enough to tear the air, and bucked against the hands restraining her. Her knees slammed against the stone as she fought, but the soldiers were immovable.
"No, no, not this—anything but this!" Her voice cracked, wild, the proud queen's mask shattered to pieces. "Tenebrarum—mercy! I love you—"
The sword edge shifted. Pressure built against the delicate bones of her wrist. Then, with deliberate slowness, the steel began to cut.
Matrona screamed, high and raw, the kind of scream that tore through the chest and clawed at the walls. Her body convulsed as the blade bit deeper, through flesh, through sinew. Blood welled and spread across the marble in thick, dark rivulets.
Aurelia cried out too, her scream tangled with Matrona's. She stumbled to her feet, heart hammering, and ran toward the door. But Tenebrarum was faster. His hand shot out, iron-strong, seizing her wrist before she could reach freedom.
She gasped, pulling, struggling, but his grip was unyielding. He held her fast, forcing her to watch.
The sword pressed deeper, grating now against bone. Matrona's cries broke into sobbing gasps, her voice shredded from the force of her agony. "Please! Please, stop! I'll never—never touch her again! I swear it!"
Tenebrarum's gaze never wavered. His lips moved, low and final, each word a seal on her fate.
"Too late."
The guard bore down. Bone gave way with a sickening crack. The hand severed.
Matrona's scream split the chamber one last time, then collapsed into choking sobs as her body sagged forward, blood spilling hot across the stone. Her severed hand lay inches away, fingers curled as if still reaching for mercy.
Aurelia wrenched in Tenebrarum's grip, tears blinding her. "Why—why are you doing this—please, let me go!" She clawed at his hand with her free one, but his hold tightened until her bones ached.
He pulled her against him, forcing her trembling frame to face the blood pooling at their feet. His voice was low, dark, brushing against her ear.
"Do not look away. This is the price of defiance."
Matrona collapsed sideways, half-conscious, her face streaked with tears, her breath ragged. The guards stepped back, their swords dripping, awaiting the next command.
Tenebrarum released Aurelia at last. She stumbled, nearly falling, hands flying to her mouth as sobs tore through her. Her stomach twisted; bile burned her throat.
But Tenebrarum only turned away from the ruin, cloak whispering across the floor as though nothing of consequence had occurred.
"Take her out," he ordered the guards, his voice calm, untouched by the horror that still clung to the walls. "Let her live. She will remember."
The guards bowed and dragged Matrona's broken body from the chamber, her blood leaving a trail in their wake.
Silence fell again.
Only Aurelia's sobs filled the space, fragile and desperate, while Tenebrarum stood unmoving in the center of the room, his shadow darkening the pool of blood.
---
To be continued...