Chapter 10 The Price of Revenge
CHAPTER TEN
THE PRICE OF REVENGE
The marble steps beneath my bare feet were cold and slick with blood, mine or others’, I couldn’t tell anymore.
Each step left crimson footprints trailing behind me like macabre breadcrumbs marking my path towards the castle I’d once begrudgingly called home.
Pain shot through my soles where shards of broken glass and debris had cut into them, but I welcomed it.
The physical agony was a dull counterpoint to the storm raging inside me, a reminder that I was still alive when so many others weren’t.
I approached the grand doors of the castle, my silk robe billowing around me in the night breeze.
The fabric clung to my skin in places, still damp from sweat and fear, the delicate material never meant for running through darkened corridors.
The moon hung bloated and yellow in the sky behind me, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for me with grasping fingers.
The Nocthari guards stationed at the entrance stiffened as I approached, their dark armor gleaming dully in the torchlight. Their hands moved to their weapons, faces half-hidden behind their helmets, but their eyes tracked me like wolves eyeing wounded prey. I did not slow my pace.
“Stand aside,” I commanded, my voice steadier than I felt. When one reached for me, I hissed, “Do not touch me. I can walk to my husband unaided.” The words tasted like ash in my mouth. Husband. A title bestowed mere hours ago, in a ceremony that now felt like a nightmare.
To my surprise, they obeyed, parting around me.
Not out of respect, I knew, but out of fear of him.
They flanked me instead, forming a grim procession as we moved through familiar corridors now stained with death.
The castle was eerily quiet, the usual bustle of servants and courtiers replaced by a suffocating silence interrupted only by the heavy tread of armored boots and my own bare feet slapping against the stone.
Bodies lay where they had fallen. Servants, guards, nobles—Valen’s men had made no distinction. I forced myself to look at each face we passed, to commit them to memory. I owed them that much, at least.
They led me to the grand throne room, the journey stretching like a fever dream, time bending and warping around me until suddenly I stood before the massive oak doors.
The guards pushed them open without ceremony, and I stepped into the chamber that had been the heart of Vareth’s power for generations.
The room was drenched in shadow, illuminated only by scattered torches that cast more darkness than light.
At the far end, seated upon my father’s ornate throne like he’d been born to it, was Valen.
The sight of him sent a jolt through me.
Not of fear, though perhaps it should have been, but of something more complex, a tangled knot of rage and despair I couldn’t begin to unravel.
In his hands, he toyed idly with my mother’s crown. His fingers traced the intricate patterns with an almost loving touch, while his own iron crown, severe and brutal, sat upon his brow like a physical manifestation of his cruelty.
As I entered, his eyes lifted to mine, and his lips curved into a slow, delighted smile.
It was the smile of a predator that had cornered its prey after a long hunt, satisfied yet still hungry for the kill.
He made no move to rise from the throne, merely watching me approach with that unsettling gaze that seemed to see through flesh to bone.
And then I saw them.
Kneeling before the dais, bound and gagged, were my father, Queen Ira, Princess Cordelia, and my four half-brothers.
Their fine clothes were torn and stained, their faces marked with blood and terror.
Father’s crown was gone, his grey-streaked hair matted to his head.
Ira still wore her jewels, though they seemed to mock her now, glittering in the firelight as she trembled.
Cordelia’s perfect composure had shattered, tears streaked down her face, smearing the cosmetics she had so carefully applied for the wedding feast. My half-brothers, ranging from seventeen to eleven, huddled together, the youngest silently sobbing.
The sight stole the breath from my lungs. I had never particularly cared for them, Ira’s contempt and Cordelia’s jealousy had made sure of that, but I had never wished for this. They were still my blood, still part of the tapestry of my life, however frayed those threads might be.
Horror coiled in my stomach as I forced myself to continue walking, each step heavier than the last. The reality of the moment settled around me like a sheath, the blade of understanding pressed against my throat.
This was no impulsive violence, no chaotic aftermath of conquest. This was calculated, personal, a tableau arranged specifically for my return.
I searched the room for any sign of Darius, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Had he escaped? Had he already fallen to Nocthari blades?
Or was he being kept elsewhere, a separate punishment awaiting him?
The uncertainty gnawed at me, though I couldn’t afford to dwell on it.
My focus had to remain on the immediate threat.
When I finally reached the end of the dais, Valen stood, unfolding his tall frame from the throne with fluid grace. He descended the steps until we stood eye to eye, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the metallic scent of blood that now clung to him.
“My queen returns,” he said, his voice soft yet carrying easily in the silent chamber. “I was beginning to wonder if you had fled.”
His hand rose, gentle as it brushed my hair from my shoulders, his fingers lingering against my neck where my pulse betrayed my fear. Then, with unnerving care, he placed my mother’s crown upon my head, adjusting it until it sat perfectly, as if this were nothing more than a normal coronation.
“There,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine. “As it should be.”
His touch shifted to my robe, smoothing the wrinkled silk, tightening the sash at my waist with an almost concerned gesture, as if displeased by the chill of my bare skin. There was something profoundly wrong about this tenderness, this parody of care amidst the carnage he had orchestrated.
Cordelia made a muffled sound of disgust behind her gag, and Valen’s gaze flicked over my shoulder, his expression hardening for just a moment before smoothing out again.
“I’ve been thinking about what to do with your family,” he said conversationally, as if discussing dinner plans rather than murder.
“Initially, I thought a public execution would be fitting, a message to any who might consider opposing Nocthar. But then I realized how... common that would be. We deserve something special for our wedding day, don’t you think? ”
I said nothing, sensing the trap in his words. My silence didn’t deter him.
“Once,” Valen said, stepping closer until his lips nearly touched my ear, “I might have allowed you to spare one as a wedding gift. A token of my generosity. But since you saw fit to ensure the little princess’s escape...” He pulled back, studying my face. “You helped yourself to my mercy.”
Ice flooded my veins. He knew. Of course he knew. Had he known all along? Had he let me think I was being clever, let me believe I was saving Lysa and Isolde, only to hunt them down once I returned?
He leaned forward so that our faces were mere inches apart, his breath warm against my skin. “Should I send my men to collect them? The little princess and your loyal friend? I imagine they haven’t gotten far. The woods are treacherous at night, especially for a woman burdened with a child.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird. I couldn’t let him see my terror for them, couldn’t give him that power over me. Instead, I forced my features into a mask of careful indifference, lowering my lashes in what I hoped appeared as submission rather than calculation.
“I would be very pleased if you let them go,” I said, pitching my voice to sound meek, demure, everything I had never been. “They pose no threat to you or your rule.”
Valen studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine for the lie. Then his smile softened, almost sweet in its apparent sincerity.
“I would do anything to please you,” he said, his thumb brushing over my lower lip in a caress that was both threat and promise. “Consider it done. They may live… for now. After all, what kind of husband would I be if I denied my bride’s first request outside of the bedroom?”
A mixture of shame and relief flooded through me in a concoction so potent I nearly swayed on my feet.
I knew I couldn’t trust his word, couldn’t be certain this wasn’t another cruel game.
Still, it was all I had. This fragile hope that Lysa and Isolde might escape the bloodshed that had consumed Vareth, might carry on some small piece of what had once been.
Valen stepped back, his eyes glittering with cruel amusement as he studied me.
“Would you like to beg for the lives of the rest of your family?” The question hung in the air between us, a trap baited with false hope.
I fought to keep my voice steady, to match his casual cruelty with indifference of my own.
“Would it make a difference?” I asked, holding his gaze without flinching. The marble floor was slick beneath my bleeding feet, but I refused to shift my weight or show any sign of discomfort.
His grin widened, revealing teeth too white, too perfect, like those of a beast that had never known hunger. “No,” he admitted, seeming pleased by my perception. “But I would have liked to see you try.”
Something ancient and terrible lurked behind his eyes, something I had glimpsed during our consummation but had dismissed. Now, surrounded by death and the promise of more to come, I could no longer deny that there was something inhuman about the man who called himself my husband.