Chapter 139
Malakor stopped a few paces before the prisoner and studied him in silence. Even after days of torment, there was something infuriatingly unyielding about Rhaevan. His eyes still carried the same quiet defiance, and there was not even a trace of fear in them.
A slow smile spread across Malakor's face.
"You know... you look just like her. That pathetic excuse for a queen."
His smile twisted into a sneer.
"You inherited her revolting gift as well. Magic."
A low chuckle escaped him before growing into booming laughter that echoed through the stone chamber.
"People worship magic as though it makes them invincible." He spread his arms, gesturing toward the dungeon around them. "And yet, look at you. The great High Arcanist of the Magic Tower, reduced to chains."
His laughter faded into a smug grin.
"And look at me. A man born without so much as a spark of magical talent, standing over you and bringing you to your knees without possessing the very power you take such pride in."
He stepped closer until only the restraints separated them.
Rhaevan met his gaze without fear, anger, or even contempt.
He had spent years serving as the High Arcanist, fighting in wars and standing before kings, nobles, and enemies who would have exploited the slightest sign of weakness.
He had been trained to keep his emotions under control, to conceal surprise, fear, and pain when necessary.
Malakor's words revealed nothing he had not already understood.
Rhaevan had figured out his identity long ago.
He had begun to understand why Archmage Theodore had taken such an unusual interest in his education, why the old man had insisted he learn about the kingdoms, their histories, their political structures, and even the royal etiquette he had once considered completely unnecessary.
Theodore had been preparing him for something.
For years, Rhaevan had suspected the truth.
The Archmage had been preparing him to return to Varynthar.
Malakor's identity no longer surprised him.
Yet Rhaevan's expression remained so utterly indifferent that it irritated Malakor far more than hatred ever could.
Malakor studied him for another moment before his smile returned.
"Tell me... does anyone in Eryndor know who they truly sheltered all these years?"
Rhaevan remained silent.
"The High Arcanist, Rhaevan Aetheris." Malakor chuckled. "A convenient name. Or should I call you by the name your mother gave you?"
He leaned closer.
"Aurelian Caelan Dravenor. The prince of Varynthar I threw into a river."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Rhaevan's lips.
He looked away.
There was no disbelief in his expression, no outrage, and no desperate demand for answers. Malakor's revelation had landed exactly where Rhaevan expected it to, and that calm acceptance made the king's smile disappear.
He seized Rhaevan by the jaw and forced him to meet his eyes.
"Do you know what your mother did before she died? She begged. Not for herself, but for you."
His grip tightened.
"'Please save my son.'"
His voice carried a cruel satisfaction.
"She actually believed I was still capable of mercy. I watched the hope leave her eyes when she realized I wasn't."
He released a bitter laugh.
"And your father... he died believing he had failed his kingdom. I rather enjoyed watching the life leave him."
Still, Rhaevan gave him nothing. He simply stared back at him, his expression unreadable.
After a long moment, his hoarse voice finally broke the silence.
"Are you done?"
Malakor's eyes narrowed.
Rhaevan held his gaze.
"You may leave."
Malakor shoved him back and took several steps away.
"You truly are remarkable. Viremont is crumbling, and the Archmage, that old man who sheltered you for years, continues to interfere, although not for much longer. It is only a matter of time before I crush that king and his Crown Prince. Eryndor has already fallen,
and it won't be long before the others follow."
He paused, watching Rhaevan carefully.
"And Princess Lysenne will watch her kingdom crumble before she kneels. Speaking of her, I intend to marry her and bring her beneath my feet. I shall break her, ruin her, and you will watch every moment of it."
Rhaevan remained silent.
Malakor frowned.
"Strange. I expected that to trouble you."
He began pacing leisurely in front of him.
"I reveal your lineage, and you don't care. I speak of your parents, and you don't care. I threaten the kingdoms you once served, and still you show nothing. I even threaten the princess you were once bound to serve, yet you remain completely unmoved."
He stopped and looked directly at Rhaevan.
"Vivienne mentioned something, though."
His gaze sharpened.
"According to her, there was one person you guarded fiercely. An Ardentian girl."
Perhaps that was the first thing that truly caught Rhaevan off guard.
Malakor noticed the subtle shift immediately.
It was barely perceptible, but Rhaevan's posture had changed, and the muscles along his jaw tightened for the briefest moment at the mention of Cassiane.
He had spent years learning how to conceal every emotion, but Malakor had finally found something capable of breaking through that discipline.
Malakor leaned closer, his smile widening at the discovery.
"At the time, I dismissed it as sentiment."
His eyes travelled slowly over Rhaevan's face.
"But now..."
He allowed the silence to stretch before asking the question.
"Tell me. Did you fall in love with that filthy-blooded witch?"
For the first time, something changed.
The fingers of Rhaevan's chained hand curled tightly around the iron. His jaw clenched, and a faint surge of magic stirred beneath his skin.
The Solithium woven into the shackles reacted immediately, pulsing with a dark violet glow as it suppressed the magic before it could fully surface.
Malakor saw it.
His smile widened.
"There you are."
He tilted his head.
"So it was the filthy Ardentian."
He paused deliberately.
"What was her name?"
Recognition flashed across his face.
"Cassiane."
He clicked his tongue.
"Such a shame. If I had known sooner, I might have kept her. I probably would have bedded her to my heart's content."
Rhaevan's gaze snapped toward him.
The indifference was gone.
"You stay away from her."
Malakor smiled.
"Oh. Too late, brother."
He watched Rhaevan carefully before delivering the words he knew would hurt him most.
"She is dead."
Rhaevan's eyes widened.
For the first time, disbelief broke through his carefully maintained composure, and his breathing became noticeably heavier. Malakor savored the reaction.
"Didn't anybody tell you?"
Rhaevan stared at him.
Malakor's voice dropped.
"She was executed."
For several seconds, Rhaevan did not move.
"She was convicted of murdering Queen Seraphine and sentenced to death by her own kingdom. Eryndor's court ordered her poisoned. Her own father signed the sentence, and her own sister carried it out."
Rhaevan's breathing grew shallower. His hands clenched into fists until his nails dug into his palms.
Malakor continued, watching every change in his face.
"And when they were finished with her, they cast her body into the wilds for the beasts."
His eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.
"I watched them devour her."
Something inside Rhaevan broke.
The chains rattled violently as he pulled against them. His hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles whitened, and a violent surge of magic erupted from his body before the Solithium shackles immediately flared.
Rhaevan lunged forward.
"Stop lying, you bastard! What did you do to her? Where is she?"
His voice tore through the chamber.
He pulled against the restraints with everything he had, the iron biting into his wrists as his magic fought desperately against the Solithium suppressing it.
"Where is Cassiane?!!!"
The shackles burned brighter.
Pain tore through his body, but he barely seemed to feel it.
Malakor watched him with open satisfaction.
"You don't believe me."
Rhaevan's eyes were fixed on him, red with rage.
Malakor glanced over his shoulder.
"Ruther."
The general stepped forward carrying a silver tray.
Resting upon it was a silver bracelet inlaid with blue stones, scratched and stained with dried blood.
Malakor lifted it between two fingers.
"I believe this belonged to her."
Rhaevan stopped struggling.
His gaze fell upon the bracelet.
He knew it immediately.
It was the bracelet Lucien had given Cassiane, the one she had called her lucky charm and had never removed.
For several seconds, he could only stare at it.
His breathing became shallow.
"No..."
The word escaped him before he could stop it.
Malakor watched the realization settle across his face.
The blood.
The scratches.
The bracelet that had never left Cassiane's wrist.
Rhaevan's eyes widened as the last fragile piece of hope inside him collapsed.
"No."
This time, the word came out broken.
His knees weakened beneath him, but the chains held him upright.
He slowly shook his head, as though refusing to allow his mind to accept what his eyes were seeing.
"She can't..."
His voice failed.
He swallowed hard and looked at Malakor.
"You are lying."
It was no longer defiance.
It was desperation.
Malakor's smile widened.
"I have no reason to."
Rhaevan stared at the bracelet again before looking back at him.
"What did you do?"
Malakor raised an eyebrow.
Rhaevan's voice dropped to a whisper.
"What did you do to her?"
Malakor's expression became almost amused.
"I did nothing."
He stepped closer.
"You did."
Rhaevan looked up sharply.
"The portal you opened spared us quite the search. It led us straight to her."
Rhaevan went completely still.
The portal.
He had opened it to get Cassiane away from the destruction. He had pushed her through it himself. He had watched her disappear beyond it and clung to the belief that she had reached Master Benedict safely.
Even in this dungeon, he had held on to that hope.
She was alive.
She was safe.
She was waiting.
Now he understood.
His portal had not carried her to safety.
It had carried her straight into Malakor's hands.
The realization hollowed him from the inside.
His head lowered, and his shoulders trembled once before he forced himself to remain still.
He had endured every torture they had inflicted upon him without giving Malakor the satisfaction of seeing him break.
But this was different.
This was Cassiane.
And if Malakor was telling the truth, then Rhaevan had failed to save her.
He had delivered her directly into the hands of the people who killed her.
A strangled breath escaped him.
Malakor watched him for a moment, clearly enjoying the sight.
He tossed the bracelet towards Ruther.
"Dispose of it."
The general caught it.
Satisfied with the torment for now, Malakor turned toward the exit.
"Malakor." He stopped.
Rhaevan slowly lifted his head.
His face was pale, his eyes red, and whatever composure had remained in him was gone.
"Kill me when you have the chance."
His voice was quiet again, but something dangerous lay beneath it.
"Because every second you spare my life is another second you bring yourself closer to your own death."
Malakor turned back and regarded him with amusement.
"I won't kill you, brother."
He stepped closer and lowered his voice.
"I want you alive."
His smile returned.
"I want you to watch everything you failed to protect disappear."
He turned toward the door.
"Come, Ruther."
The iron gate slammed shut behind them, and their footsteps slowly faded into the endless corridors.
Only then did Rhaevan's strength finally abandon him.
His knees struck the stone floor.
The Solithium continued to burn through his remaining resistance, violet light spreading across the shackles and crawling over his skin, but the pain barely registered anymore.
He stared at the empty space where Malakor had stood.
His thoughts returned to the bracelet, to the portal, and finally to Cassiane.
He saw her smile.
He heard her laugh.
He remembered the way she had looked at him when she finally told him she loved him.
Then he remembered pushing her through the portal.
His hand closed helplessly around the cold stone beneath him.
He had promised to protect her.
He had promised that everything would be fine.
And now she was gone.
He had handed her into death's hands himself.
His head lowered. For the first time since his capture, Rhaevan stopped fighting the tears and allowed them to fall freely.
"Dove..."
The word broke in his throat.
He closed his eyes as the tears continued to fall, and for the first time in years, the man who had endured wars, torture, and unimaginable pain without breaking was left with nothing to fight against except the unbearable knowledge that the woman he loved was gone.