The palace courtyard rang with screams.
Raw. Desperate. Echoing off marble walls that had long forgotten mercy.
Two men were dragged across the stone floor, their lips cracked, tongues swollen, eyes hollow with thirst. Chains bit into their wrists as guards forced them to their knees before the throne steps.
All they had done—
all they had dared—
was drink water from the royal fountain.
Water meant for the king.
King Edward lounged back in his throne, fingers drumming lazily against the armrest. His expression was bored, almost irritated, as if the cries were an inconvenience rather than a consequence.
"Pathetic," he muttered. "Stealing from the crown because your bodies are weak."
One of the men tried to speak, his voice a broken rasp. "Your Majesty… please… we hadn't eaten in days—"
Edward lifted a hand.
The guard understood instantly.
The whip came down.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The sound cracked like thunder.
Blood splattered across the white stone.
The other man screamed—not for mercy—but for death.
Ministers stood in a neat line along the sides of the courtyard.
None spoke.
None moved.
Their eyes were lowered, their faces carefully empty.
They knew better.
And then—
Footsteps.
Measured. Calm.
Malveric entered the courtyard.
He couldn't have been more than twenty—dark hair tied back, posture straight, expression unreadable. His eyes flicked briefly to the bleeding men… then away.
Not in disgust.
Not in sympathy.
In understanding.
He took his place beside the ministers, hands folded behind his back.
Said nothing.
Because speaking would change nothing.
Because cruelty was law here.
Edward rose slowly from his throne and descended the steps, boots clicking against stone. He stopped before the first man, crouched, and tilted his chin up with the tip of his boot.
"You should've died quietly," Edward said softly. "Hunger is more dignified than theft."
He nodded once.
A sword flashed.
The scream cut off mid-breath.
The second man sobbed, eyes wide, body trembling so hard the chains rattled.
The palace echoed with it.
Edward straightened, blood staining the hem of his robes.
"Let this be remembered," he announced calmly. "The palace feeds the crown. Not the vermin outside it."
The guards dragged the remaining man away.
The screams faded slowly—
down the corridors,
into the stone,
into the bones of the palace itself.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Edward returned to his throne as if nothing had happened.
Malveric finally lifted his eyes.
For a fleeting moment, his gaze met Edward's.
There was no fear there.
Only calculation.
The kind that waits.
And somewhere far away in time—unknown to them all—
a queen who had suffered in silence once before was remembering every cruelty.
Every scream.
Every crime.
And fate was already shifting its weight.