Chapter 61 - Royal Family
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"Two Kings? How is this possible?" one noblewoman exclaimed from near the back of the room.
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DripA case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Drip
Drip
The blade trembled slightly in his grip, slick with warmth. His breath came in short, measured bursts as he pressed it deeper, feeling the resistance give way beneath the steel. A gurgled gasp escaped the lips of the man beneath him, eyes wide with something between terror and fading comprehension.
A sharp twist.
A wet, choking sound followed. Fingers, weak and desperate, clawed at his wrist, but the strength was already leaving them. The body spasmed once, then twice, before sagging against the chair, limp.
Drip
A fresh rivulet of crimson trailed down the edge of the blade, collecting at the tip before falling, joining the growing pool below. The metallic scent filled the air, thick and cloying. He exhaled, steady now, his pulse slowing as he released his grip and stepped back.
He wiped the blade against the man''s shirt, smearing deep red across the once-clean fabric. The room was silent now, except for the soft patter of blood hitting the floor.
Drip
Drip
Drip
He tilted his head, admiring his work. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
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My eyes fluttered open slowly, the haze of unconsciousness lifting like a heavy curtain. My breathing was shallow, uneven, as though I had been pulled back from the edge of some abyss.
The first thing I noticed was my right hand—closed tightly and pressed against someone’s chest. The fabric beneath my fingers was rich and regal, a blend of red and black with golden accents that shimmered faintly in the dim light. My gaze trailed upward, taking in the intricate embroidery that seemed to pulse faintly with life, as if the threads themselves carried some ancient power.
Further away, beyond the figure beneath me, my attention was drawn to an object that radiated an almost unbearable intensity—a chalice or goblet, crafted from dark stone or metal. Its surface was twisted and gnarled, resembling veins or branches frozen in time. The vessel brimmed with what looked like molten lava, its fiery liquid swirling and crackling as if alive. Bright, intense light spilled from it in flickering waves, casting eerie shadows across the dull brown walls of the room. Wisps of smoke curled upward from its surface, laced with embers that danced like fireflies in the gloom. Embedded within the chalice were glowing gems—red, orange, and gold—that pulsed rhythmically, adding to its otherworldly aura.
The room itself was lifeless and oppressive. The walls were a dull brown, devoid of decoration or warmth. The only sound was the crackling of fire from the chalice, its energy filling the space with an almost suffocating presence.
I raised my head slowly, my movements sluggish as though I were underwater.
And then I saw him.
Cillian.
He sat on a throne of dark wood and bronze, its design stark yet commanding. His posture was relaxed but exuded authority—like he had always belonged there. I realized with a jolt that I was perched on his lap, my body leaning against his as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
His suit mirrored my dress perfectly; it was tailored to perfection in shades that complimented me—dark tones accented with subtle hints of gold that gleamed faintly in the firelight.
Our eyes met.
And then—
"PRINNSHHHHHH!"
The muffled sound shattered the fragile silence like glass breaking underfoot. I flinched violently at the sudden noise and turned sharply toward its source.
Behind me stood Myla, Mylo, and Veles—all bound and kneeling on the cold stone floor. Their hands were chained behind their backs with thick iron shackles that looked heavy enough to crush bone. White cloths were tied tightly over their mouths, muffling their cries but failing to hide their desperation.
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To be Continued...