12. Chapter 12
twelve
T horne
I stand at the window, watching the maze writhe and pulse like a living, breathing thing. It twists, reshaping itself, walls shifting as if mocking my control. Days… it’s been days since I last saw her. Brielle. The thought of her name alone sends a spike of rage through my chest. How could I have let this happen? She’s mine, and yet she’s slipping further into the abyss.
The door creaks, and Grom stumbles in, bloodied and torn, like the pathetic excuse for a guardian he’s become. His face is smeared with dirt, his clothes shredded from the battle I know he must have lost. The sight of him stikes fear in me.
"Tell me you have news of her." My voice slices through the air, colder than the stone beneath my feet. "Where is she?
Grom falls to his knees, head bowed as he trembles. Good. He should be on his knees after the failure he's made of this. My blood boils because I know she is dead, I’ve killed her. If he looks like this I can’t even imagine what has happened to her. My body starts to shake again and I don’t even try to hide it.
“My King… I tried to warn you," he stammers, his voice thin with desperation. "The maze… it's changing. We got separated by shade hounds.”
Shade hounds. The pit in my stomach tightens. My eyes narrow as I glare down at him. “What do you mean, separated? Where is she? Where did you last see her? Is she alive?”
Grom gulps, eyes darting around as if the walls themselves will answer for him. "She was with me until the maze closed... a wall... it shut between us. She’s in the Abyssal Quadrant.”
“I know that much,” I growl, stepping forward, my shadow looming over him. “Your news offers me no relief.”
“I tried searching, my King,” Grom continues, voice shaking. “But the maze… it’s not the same. The walls, the paths... they're shifting in ways they shouldn’t. I fear something foul is happening.”
“And you left her there?” My fury is a palpable thing now, claws sinking into my skin. “Why are you here, groveling like a worm, instead of still searching?”
Grom’s head hangs lower, his body trembling. “My King… these weren't just any shade hounds. This was a pack. Not stragglers that were simply lost in the changing of the maze. They were organized, they knew who they wanted. I was able to defeat them so she can get away. She was alive and safe when I lost her.”
The room falls silent, his words twisting inside me like a blade. A pack, hunting her specifically. I bristle, knowing all too well what that could mean. My thoughts snap to Nyria, and the possibility that she’s behind this betrayal claws at my mind. If she has done this, if she dared defy me…
My gaze hardens as I glare down at Grom, who cowers at my feet.
“If this is Nyria’s doing, she will beg for a swift death,” I say, my voice low and lethal. "And I will make sure her end is a warning to any who think to challenge me in my own kingdom."
Grom shifts on his knees, his body trembling but not from fear—it’s the weight of something deeper. His skin is torn and raw, the aftermath of his battle with the shade hounds plain to see. But even now, he refuses to give in to the pain, his desperation to find her outweighing everything else.
“That is why I came here after my failure to reach her,” Grom says, his voice thick with remorse. “I needed you to know… this may be bigger than we think.”
I pause, the fury that has gripped me since he entered the room softening slightly as I take in the state of him. The gashes across his chest, the way his breathing rattles—this was no coward’s retreat. He took the brunt of the shade hounds' assault, defending her as best he could. Despite his failure, Grom had tried to protect her, risking his life for Brielle.
For that… I am grateful.
My jaw tightens as I look down at him, forcing the words past the jagged edge of my pride. “You protected her. You took their attacks for her, and for that, Grom, you have my gratitude.”
His eyes flick up at me, surprise flashing through them, but I don’t let him speak.
I turn toward the door, my voice sharp. “Isthra!”
A figure glides into the room, tall, draped in a soft grey dress that whispers against the stone floor. Her body is human-like, but her face is something else entirely. Dark feathers frame her sharp features, beady black eyes unblinking, her face like that of a crow. She has been in this castle among my staff for as long as I have taken the thrown.
“Isthra, see that Grom gets to Griffin,” I order. “He is to be patched up, taken care of and fed before he leaves.”
Grom shakes his head, trying to stand on his weakened legs. “No need,” he rasps. “I’ll be fine. I need to get back out there, to find her.”
I see it now, not just the pain of failure in his eyes, but something deeper. He isn’t merely ashamed of letting me down; he cares for her. Truly cares for Brielle. The thought tightens my chest, though I keep my face unreadable.
“There is no point in returning if you are too broken to finish the task,” I snap, though my voice is not as harsh as before. “Go with Isthra. You will need your strength if you wish to make up for your failure.”
Grom hesitates, torn between the urge to keep searching for her and the reality of his injuries. But eventually, he bows his head, his loyalty to me and Brielle still burning behind his eyes.
“As you command, my King,” he mutters before limping after Isthra.
I watch him leave, the tension in the room thickening once more. “Send for Grath,” I bellow, my voice reverberating through the stone walls of the throne room. The tension in my chest tightens, a knot of frustration and something deeper, something darker that I dare not name. Isthra slips out with Grom, and I can hear her soft steps retreating down the corridor. But I need more than healers and guards. I need soldiers.
Moments later, Grath strides into the room, his heavy boots making the floor quake with each step. The man is a beast, towering over most of my soldiers, his armor scratched and dented from countless battles. His face, half-hidden beneath a thick beard, is stern as he kneels before me.
“My King,” Grath says, his deep voice a low rumble, “what do you need of me?”
“What updates do you have for me?” I demand, impatience curling at the edges of my words.
Grath hesitates, and the silence is damning.
“We’ve sent as many men as we could to find her,” he begins, his tone cautious. “But… the maze is changing. It’s shifting faster than we anticipated. There have been no new sightings of her.”
I slam my fist down on the table beside me, the force shaking the chalice and scattering papers. “And what of Lord Valak? Has he sent his men into the Abyssal Quadrant? She was last seen there.”
Grath’s face tightens, his eyes flicking to the ground. “I’ve been informed… Lord Valak has not yet returned to his quadrant.”
I freeze, my blood turning to ice. “Where the fuck is he then?”
“We do not know, sire,” Grath admits, his voice quiet but steady. “He should be back by now, but we’ve had no word from him or his men.”
A low growl rumbles in my chest, vibrating through me. The room seems to close in as rage threatens to bubble over. Valak was supposed to have control of his quadrant. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to rip something apart. No, someone.
“I want more of you out there searching,” I snarl, my hands curling into fists. “I don’t care what it takes. Find her.”
Grath holds steady, though I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. “My King, we’ve sent as many as we can. But the threats still remain at the borders of the maze. If we pull too many men, we risk losing the borders entirely.”
I whip my chalice from the table and hurl it at the wall, the metal sounding off against the stone. “I must find her!” The words tear from my throat before I can stop them, a raw, desperate quiver I didn’t intend to release. The sound of my vulnerability echoes in the room, and Grath’s head lowers slightly.
A long, tense silence follows. I feel the weight of my own weakness, the crack in my armor, and it gnaws at me. I never should have let that slip out, never should’ve shown how deeply this affects me. But damn it, if she dies—if Brielle dies—the blood will be on my hands. And that’s blood I can’t bear to have. I can live with the blood of anyone else on my soul, but never hers. Never Brielle’s. The thought claws at my insides. I turn away from Grath, the tension tightening like a vice around my chest. I need to regain control. I need to find her before the maze takes her from me forever.
"Go," I say, my voice low, controlled.
Grath doesn’t leave immediately, as if he's wrestling with something unspoken. I narrow my eyes, already sensing the shift in his demeanor.
“What is it?” My voice slices through the air, sharp and impatient.
Grath hesitates, then clears his throat. “My King... Lord Nyria’s whereabouts.”
The name alone sends a ripple of suspicion through me. I still my hand on the table, my eyes boring into him. “What about her?”
Grath shifts his weight, his reluctance clear. “She hasn’t reported in for some time. We’ve heard little from her quadrant. I suspect she’s trying to get the situation under control, but...”
“But what?” I snap, my patience fraying.
“There have been breaches,” Grath continues. “ Challengers of the maze are making it through her quadrant with ease. Her own hounds are running wild. Our men have been tied up dealing with the chaos.”
The shade hounds—of course. Nyria’s pets, her twisted tools of control. And yet now, they are the ones running rampant? My suspicion deepens, coiling around my thoughts like a serpent. If Nyria has lost control of her own domain, it bodes ill. But the more unsettling question gnaws at me; has she truly lost control, or is she playing a more dangerous game?
"You believe it's just a matter of her struggling with the chaos?" I ask, keeping my voice steady, though the doubt is creeping in.
Grath hesitates, glancing at me. “I do, but… I can’t say for certain. Something feels off. I will send for a report, my King. We need to know more.”
I study him for a moment, the words hanging between us. Nyria is no fool, but her ambition runs deep, her allegiance questionable. Too many unexplained shifts in the maze, too many threats coming from her quadrant. And now, Brielle, seperated from Grom and lost in the maze. Grom’s words ring in my ears, the pack was organized and knew their target. My fingers tighten on the arm of the chair, tension radiating through me.
“Send for that report,” I command. “But I want more than that. Keep your ears open, Grath. I have my suspicions about Nyria. If she’s involved in this in any way…” My voice trails off, the threat implicit.
Grath meets my gaze, his eyes darkening with understanding. “I’ll find out, my King.”
I lean back, narrowing my gaze. “See that you do. And I want those reports no later than this afternoon.” Grath bows and finally takes his leave, the heavy doors closing behind him.
As soon as the room is silent again, my mind races. Nyria. Always ambitious, always eager to prove her worth, but never without an ulterior motive. If she’s somehow behind Brielle’s entrapment in the Abyssal quadrant, if she’s toying with the maze to seize control... the repercussions will be brutal.
I stand, pacing toward the window again, my hands curling into fists at my sides. The maze stretches out before me, an endless labyrinth of stone and shadow. Could she truly be foolish enough to challenge me? How could she be altering the maze itself? The questions burn, searing into my mind, and I rub my temples, trying to stave off the building rage.
Nyria... She always fancied herself clever, believing she could stand by my side, a throne of her own awaiting her. And yes, in my youth, when I was weaker, I entertained her advances. Her body was always easy to claim, but that’s all she was—easy. Her affections weren’t for me, but for the power I held, the throne I sat on. I saw through her quickly, and whatever passing interest I had died just as fast. She was never the one who would sit beside me. That place had always been meant for someone else. Someone far beyond Nyria's reach.
Brielle.
The moment I heard the songs sung in taverns about her beauty, her grace, I knew I had to see her for myself. My crow followed her, watching, waiting. And when I finally saw her, it was as if the world stopped. She was even more magnificent than the tales described. Her every movement, every glance captivated me, took hold of something deep inside me that I didn’t know I was still capable of feeling. The years that followed, my obsession only grew. I longed to meet her, to claim her, to show her a life she could never imagine.
But I was the Maze King—the monster.
The stories they tell in her town are of the Maze King, the creature that rules this labyrinth, a shadowed beast no one dares speak of in anything but hushed tones. To them, I am a figure of fear, something children whisper about when the sun sets. And Brielle... she would have seen me the same way. I knew it, deep down. No matter how much I wanted to meet her, how much I wanted to pull her into my world, she would only ever see me as a monster. The one who lures the lost into the maze, the king of shadows. And so, I watched her from afar, never daring to interfere.
Until Henry came.
That pathetic excuse for a man took her. I watched from the shadows, helpless, as he sunk his claws into her, took what should’ve been mine. I could do nothing but rage within the confines of my maze, knowing she’d never come to me willingly. And for a time, I let him have her, convincing myself that perhaps she could find happiness with someone like him. Someone who wasn’t a monster. Someone normal. A knight in shining armor, just like in the stories she probably believed in.
But the first time he struck her, I felt something in me snap. I could barely contain the fury that surged within me, every instinct screaming to tear him apart, to bring her here, where she belonged. Each time he laid his hand on her, I felt my resolve crumble a little more. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t safe. She was with a monster—only it wasn’t me. It was him. And the more I saw, the more I realized there was no happy ending for her with him.
That’s when I knew. I couldn’t stand by any longer. If she were to hate me for being the monster they spoke of, then so be it. I would rather her hate me than let her suffer another day beneath his cruelty. I would bring her here, to my maze, where she would be mine. She might despise me, call me the beast she’s always heard of, but at least she would be free from him. And that’s when the plan started to take root. To bring her to my side, no matter what it took.
I turn from the window, my eyes falling on the crystal ball embedded in the top of my staff. It sits there, cloudy and useless, mocking me with its silence. It’s supposed to show me what I seek, to reveal what I cannot see with my own eyes—but it has failed me. Time and time again, the fog within refuses to clear, leaving me blind when I need its guidance most. My hand tightens around the staff in frustration, knuckles white from the effort.
“Where are you, my love?”