"Ermac… check for any others." Torin's command rumbled like a growl, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
Ermac bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord." He turned and disappeared into the palace chambers.
Draven's gaze locked on his mother. Charlotte's eyes were heavy with sorrow, her face streaked by tears. His own vision clouded as he whispered, "I am so sorry, Mother. I… I could not protect you."
"Foolish mind," Torin muttered under his breath, shattering the moment.
Draven's head snapped toward him, fury blazing in his eyes.
"You may not be able to save one life now," Torin said, his tone laced with disdain, "but one day you will safeguard an entire nation."
"I swear," Draven's voice thundered, rage burning hot in every word, "the moment I get the chance, I'll kill you." He struggled against the soldiers pressing him down, their hands forcing him to his knees as he strained toward Torin.
Torin raised an eyebrow, faintly amused.
"I doubt you even realize who I am," Draven spat, but Torin silenced him with a mocking glance.
"Forgive me, Draven. Bearer of the elements… fire, water." His tone dripped with scorn. "Do not act so astonished."
He strode forward, boots striking the marble floor, until he was halfway to Charlotte.
"Don't you dare touch my mother!" Draven roared, his voice cracking like a whip. The command silenced the hall, leaving Torin to savor the weight of it.
He met Charlotte's gaze, locking her in. "I have a gift for you," he whispered, mockery twisting his tone. "One you will be dying to see."
"Queen," he added with a cruel curl of his lips, the title spat like an insult.
"He is the reason I came here. I have sent countless messages, and my patience has been stretched beyond its limit."
The silence that followed pressed down with suffocating weight.
Finally, Torin spoke again. "In less than six months, on his twentieth birthday, your son will become the power he was destined to be. A force nearly divine."
Draven's voice cut through the air, filled with venom. "By then you will have no empire left to command."
Torin's smirk widened. With a dramatic flourish, he hurled a sack at Charlotte's feet. It spilled open, and a severed head tumbled across the polished stone until it came to rest before her.
It was Ethan.
Charlotte's legs gave way, and she collapsed with a scream that tore from the depths of her chest. She fell to her knees and crawled forward, her trembling fingers reaching for her husband's lifeless face. Her cries filled the throne room like the lament of a grieving spirit.
"Father," Draven groaned. His voice was raw and broken. Tears spilled as if his heart had been split open.
Memories of Ethan flooded her: the warmth of his hand, his smile before leaving for battle, and his promise to return.
Torin tilted his head with a cruel smirk. "At least I tried. I brought him home to you." His mocking tone was cold and without remorse.
"Take him away," Torin ordered.
The guards dragged Draven away, his body twisting in their grip as he cried out for his mother, his voice breaking between ragged breaths.
Torin turned to Charlotte. "I promise you, he will grow fond of his new home."
Charlotte's sorrow flared into fury. With a cry, she rose to her feet and seized the sword beside her. Her scream cut through the silence as she charged, defiance blazing in her eyes.
Torin moved with merciless precision. His boot struck the weapon, sending it upward. In the same breath, his hand seized Charlotte by the throat, yanking her close. The blade spun, and Torin caught it mid-air. With cold resolve, he drove the steel into her stomach.
Charlotte's eyes widened in horror as blood spread across her gown. Her lips parted, but only a sharp breath escaped as Torin twisted the blade deeper.
He leaned close, whispering against her ear, "The queen is always right. Goodnight."
Charlotte staggered, clutching the wound. Blood seeped across her hands as her legs gave way, and she crumpled to the floor.
"Mother!" Draven's scream split the hall. He fought against the guards' grip, thrashing wildly.
Charlotte's hand lifted, trembling as it reached for him. Tears blurred her vision, her gaze wavering until it fixed on Ethan's severed head.
Her lips quivered. "My love…" The words cracked apart as her final breath slipped from her lips.
The light drained from her eyes. Draven's cry shattered the air, raw with anguish. He kicked and twisted against the guards dragging him away, desperation lending him strength, but their hold only tightened. His head wrenched back toward Charlotte's lifeless form, as though keeping her in sight might hold her soul a moment longer.
At that instant, Ermac returned to the chamber. He knelt before Torin. "My lord… I searched, but there is no one else."
Torin's expression hardened. "Search again. There is another child."
Ermac bowed, summoning more guards before vanishing once more into the shadows.
******
Dragged into the open, Draven's eyes darted from side to side as raging flames devoured the city. Shrieks echoed through the air, filling Aethel with a terror that clawed at the soul. Walls buckled and roofs collapsed as the buildings gave way.
The frail sheets of metal that formed the slum dwellings could not withstand the searing heat.
Though the sun still burned above, a shroud of black smoke swallowed the kingdom, veiling every street in shadow. Among the wreckage, bodies lay scattered, from infants to the aged. Tears streamed down Draven's face, his gaze sharpening with fury as he lifted his head, his brow tightening in grim resolve.
✦IN VANILOR✦
Torin strode into the palace as the towering gates swung wide to receive him. Behind him, Ermac advanced, bowing in silence as he collected his master's sword. The warlord's gaze instantly found Ashley, his queen.
Her eyes fixed on him, pulling him forward as though by an invisible bond.
"My dearest," he whispered, drawing her close and pressing a kiss to her lips, heavy with desire and longing.
"My king," Ashley answered softly, lowering herself with elegance, her gown flowing like water across the marble floor.
Torin's stare lingered on her, filled with unguarded admiration. "I missed you, my queen," he admitted, the exhaustion in his voice impossible to disguise.
She spoke no reply this time, only bowed again in reverence.
He gathered her into his arms, their lips meeting once more before his attention shifted toward their son. Victor had entered quietly with Malen, his loyal companion, walking beside him. His expression was calm, but his restraint was plain.
Only the gods knew what trouble he had stirred this time, Victor thought, casting Ermac a cautious glance.
Ermac offered a slow, deliberate wink, mischief and hidden intent glittering in his eyes. Victor instantly returned his focus to Torin.
Torin and Ashley parted, and the king's attention drifted from his queen to his son.
"Welcome, Father," Victor said, inclining his head with measured courtesy.
Torin's brow shadowed. "You kept your father waiting?"
Victor stepped forward without hesitation and clasped his shoulders firmly.
"Behold… your father returns triumphant," Torin said evenly, resting both hands on his son's shoulders, his gaze drilling into Victor's.
A stillness lingered in the chamber, weighted with anticipation.
"You made us proud… as always," Victor replied at last, though his words rang hollow. Torin heard the falsehood immediately.
"You sound distant at my return," Torin pressed, his smile fading, his tone edged with accusation.
"What would you have me do?" Victor's voice was low and unyielding, radiating a killing intent so palpable it seemed to choke the air. "Shall I sing your praises when you stain the earth with innocent blood for reasons only you hold? They did not deserve the fate you cast upon them."
Torin's laughter thundered through the chamber, sharp and merciless. With regal grace, he mounted the steps to his throne and sank into it, the weight of his presence commanding the hall. "How I savor it when my own son dares to lecture his father, his king."
His stare locked on Victor, its intensity pressing silence into every corner of the chamber. The stillness stretched, thick and suffocating.
Torin's gaze shifted past his son to Ermac. With a sharp snap of fingers, Ermac signaled. At once, the gates groaned open again.
The hush deepened as every eye turned toward the figure entering.
Draven entered, carrying an aura that seemed to ignite the very air. His beauty was ruinous, impossible to look away from. His bare chest bore the marks of captivity, skin marred with bruises and dust yet still brimming with strength.
Even bound in chains, he stood unbroken, defiance etched into every line of his frame. His only garment was a pair of trousers, low at the waist, clinging to his form and hinting at the sculpted curve of his body. Shackles weighed down his ankles, the chains dragging with a harsh scrape across the marble floor as he advanced.
Victor's breath caught. In Draven's steps walked both death and seduction, and he found himself unable to avert his gaze.