102
Mornon
A circle of disgusting druids waited for me in the middle of the long hall.
Clothed in a regal white robe that seemed to shine like a diamond in the still faint dawn light filtering through the walls of pointed glass doors with wrought-iron decorations, Erech glowered at me as he squeezed the armrests of one of the two stone and wooden thrones he was sitting on.
“Walk, dog,” his son growled from behind me, pushing me.
I feigned staggering forward, similar to how I’d pretended to be suffering when that idiot had beaten me after throwing me in that cell. Damn, seeing him so certain he was finally stronger than me had been so funny that I’d had to hold back from laughing in his face.
Even now, staying in the part was terribly difficult.
The circle of druids opened to let me pass, then closed again when I stopped in the center. Their thousand-year-old eyes looked at me with great severity, as if they could see inside me and behold every single, magnificent atrocity I had committed.
Erech continued to watch me for a few more seconds, displaying the same pride he had shown me for years during diplomatic meetings where I played King Amlach III. It was clear that, without my magic, I was back to being as dangerous to him as any ordinary human.
Fool.
“Proceed,” he commanded.
The prince came closer and pulled a key from beneath his light armor. “Feel free to do anything that allows me to slit your throat here and now.”
Oh, it would be so easy to seize him by the hair and sink my teeth into his jugular to show him that I didn’t need a blade to bleed him dry.
Instead, I remained nice and calm as he removed my shackles and stepped aside to let the druids approach. I didn’t move a muscle while their silver scissors cut the sleeves of my leather robe to remove it.
Erech’s attention shifted to the bruises on my chest—a gift resulting from his soldiers’ and his son’s beating. When two druidesses approached with a ceramic basin filled with water and linen clothes folded over their arms to clean me, the sovereign raised one hand to stop them.
“No,” he said. He looked me up and down like I was an ant to squash. “Let everyone see that this being is nothing but blood and flesh.”
This time, I didn’t hide a smirk. No, I was not blood nor flesh.
I was eternal.
And soon he would find out.
The druidesses went back to their positions while another pair of druids approached, holding a white robe. I let them slide it over my arms and fasten the buttons down my back, my sly gaze fixed on Erech.
However, I slightly grimaced when a druid advanced with a golden rope in his hands. The Spirits essence that imbued it made me seethe with resentment as it was wrapped around my wrists, and I fought to suppress the urge to tear it off with a sharp tug.
When the druid returned to his spot, Erech stood up and moved toward me. He stopped three steps away, radiating haughtiness. “You lost, monster,” he declared.
“And you lost your daughter, Elf King.”
His eyes flashed with barely contained anger. “Your hold on her will disappear with your death, Abomination. And Nauriel will come back to her senses.”
“She is mine, Erech, son of Calien,” I declared in a dark and fierce voice. “And she will always be.”
He was about to leap at me but held back at the last second, his furious face contrasting sharply with his composed demeanor. “You will not take her from me,” he hissed. “From her family. From her people.”
I stared at him with such sinister intensity that he recoiled subtly.
Without another word, Erech headed toward the massive double doors.
The next moment, his son stood beside me and scanned me with a look of superiority. Too bad I didn’t even bother to glance at him sideways.
“My sister won’t come to save you. Know that,” he said harshly. “She will never choose you.”
I stayed laboriously impassive as he brutally forced me to walk out of the throne room.
We’ll see, Prince.