⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️
This chapter contains intense violence and mature themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
The chamber lay hushed beneath midnight's embrace. Eva slept soundly, her lashes resting against her cheeks, her breaths soft and steady as though the world outside could never touch her.
Kyel stood over her, unmoving, his gaze heavy with something unspoken. For a heartbeat, he wished time would freeze—so he would never have to leave her side.
With a flicker of shadow, three wolves materialized—Talon, eyes sharp as steel; Fen, broad and steadfast; and Mara, silent as the grave. Their dark forms blended with the night, yet their presence radiated power.
Kyel's eyes lingered on them, his voice low but commanding.
"Guard her well."
The wolves dipped their heads in silent obedience, fanning out around her like living sentinels.
He bent close, brushing his lips gently across Eva's forehead. She stirred faintly, murmuring something in her sleep, and his chest tightened.
"I'll be back, princess," he whispered, the words laced with promise. "Sleep well."
With one last look, he turned to the open window. The moonlight caught his figure for a fleeting instant, and then—with a silent leap—he vanished into the night.
---
The marble halls of the royal palace fell silent under the weight of Eyan's footsteps. His stride was firm, his expression carved in ice, and none dared cross his path.
"Your Majesty, you are back," Hans stepped forward, bowing low.
"Everything is ready?" Eyan asked, his tone clipped.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Just as you commanded."
"Good." His eyes narrowed. "Where is he?"
"In the dungeon."
Eyan said nothing more, his cloak trailing behind him as he descended into the cold stone depths. The dungeon reeked of damp and rust, the air heavy with despair. At the barred door, two knights stood at rigid attention.
"Open it," Eyan ordered.
The knights bowed quickly and pulled the iron door aside. Inside, Duke Malric Vane cowered against the wall, his fine clothes torn, his face pale and streaked with sweat.
"Your Majesty… please," Malric stammered, "forgive me—"
Eyan removed his gloves slowly, each movement deliberate, his silence more terrifying than any word.
"I was drunk!" Malric blurted, desperation in his voice. "I didn't know what I was doing—"
"Slap"
The first slap cracked through the cell like thunder. Malric's head snapped sideways, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth.
Eyan grabbed his collar and hauled him upright. Another slap—harder, sharper—sent him reeling.
"You were drunk, you say?" His voice was low, dangerous.
"Yes… I was dr—"
Slap.
"How dare you touch her?"
"Your Majesty—"
Slap.
"Do you know what she suffered because of you?"
Another blow echoed, cruel in its precision.
"Because of you," Eyan snarled, his grip tightening on Malric's collar, "she flinches every time I reach for her."
Slap.
"You made her afraid of my touch… afraid of me."
Slap.
Malric whimpered, broken, bloodied, but the strikes did not stop.
"Because of you," Eyan's eyes blazed with fury, "she doesn't know if she can trust anyone again."
Slap
The slap landed with such force that Malric collapsed, unconscious, onto the stone floor.
For a long moment, Eyan stood over him, chest heaving, his jaw clenched with rage. Then he turned to the knights, his voice cutting like a blade.
"Bring cold water. Wake him."
The command sent them hurrying at once, the air thick with the storm of his wrath.
---
The bucket of icy water splashed across Duke Malric Vane's face, dragging him violently back to consciousness. His body jolted, coughing and sputtering, but before the words could fully leave his lips—
"Your Majest—"
SLAP.
His cheek snapped sideways, blood spattering across the filthy stone floor. Eyan's palm left his face stinging red, but it wasn't the pain that made Malric tremble—it was the eyes staring down at him, cold and merciless.
Eyan turned his gaze to the knights. "Bring it."
One of them returned carrying a heavy wooden box. He overturned it, and the dungeon floor glistened with sharp, broken glass. Each piece caught the torchlight like hungry fangs.
"Make him stand on it," Eyan ordered.
"No—no, please!" Malric's voice cracked in panic as he tried to crawl away. His bloodied hands scraped against the stone. But the knights grabbed him, their grips like iron, and hauled him upright.
"Wait—please, Your Majesty, I'll do anything—"
His words dissolved into a guttural scream as his bare feet were forced down onto the jagged shards. The glass sliced through skin instantly, embedding deep, blood welling between his toes and dripping onto the floor.
He thrashed, trying to lift one foot, only to drive the other deeper into the razors below. Every twitch tore him open further. His screams echoed against the dungeon walls, raw and unrelenting.
Eyan stood motionless. Not a flicker of pity crossed his face. His arms were folded behind his back, posture rigid, the embodiment of restrained fury.
"Keep him there," he commanded, voice calm, almost chilling in its control.
Time dragged on. Every second was an eternity of agony. Malric sobbed, his voice breaking, his feet nothing more than shredded flesh pressed against glass. His body shook violently as blood pooled beneath him, painting the shards in crimson.
By the end of an hour, when the knights finally dragged him off and threw him like discarded trash before Eyan, Malric was drenched in sweat, his skin pale, lips quivering.
"Kill me," he rasped, his voice hoarse from screaming. His body convulsed, and blood from his ruined feet smeared across the stones. "Please… just kill me…"
Eyan crouched down before him, his presence suffocating. He gripped Malric's blood-soaked chin, forcing his swollen face upward.
"You will die," he said softly, dangerously. "But not that easily." His thumb pressed against Malric's split lip until the duke whimpered.
"Not until you feel every shred of the pain she felt. Every violation. Every terror. Until your soul begs to be torn from your body."
He shoved Malric's head back against the floor with a thud, rising to his full height. His eyes gleamed with a predator's calm fury as he looked at the knights.
"Bring him here too."
The knights bowed, vanishing briefly into the dark. When they returned, they dragged another figure between them, his wrists bound, his clothes torn from rough handling.
Alric Elvaris was thrown onto the stone floor, his head snapping up in confusion and horror as he caught sight of Malric's broken, blood-soaked form.