Chapter 5
The King had been making plans ever since he had mentioned the expansion, as though speaking the words aloud had bound him to seeing them through.
Every order, every whispered conversation, every echo of his plans made Ellaryn feel physically sick.
She had to remain stone—expressionless, silent, unmoved.
She had learned long ago that thoughts were safer when kept behind her teeth and feelings safer still when buried somewhere no one could reach them.
There was nothing she could do.
And that was the worst part.
So she stood beside him, listening as he planned for more land, more blood, more suffering, and swallowed every protest that clawed its way up her throat.
Even now, preparing for the meal the King had organised to discuss the schematics, Ellaryn felt on edge. Every thought of what was to come sat like a weight in her chest, keeping her nerves taut. So when her door suddenly swung open, she couldn’t help but jump.
She looked up at the Defier blocking her doorway from her bed with her eyebrows furrowed. The Defiers didn’t speak; they couldn’t, not without a mouth, but they didn’t have to.
Grabbing her sword, she followed it through the dark corridors of the castle, her heart beating a little quicker than usual. In all the fifteen years she had been under the King’s control, his dinners were almost as painful as his orders.
The Defier vanished outside the door to the dining room; even that thing knew better than to venture beyond it. Her boots felt heavier as she walked the remaining steps leading up to it, the muscle in her chest thumping so loud she could hear it in her eardrums.
Ellaryn hesitated before she knocked, preparing herself for which King she was going to face. She prayed she hadn’t done anything to anger him in the few hours since she had last seen him; she hoped ‘dinner time’ didn’t have an alternative meaning today.
She knocked gently, and the door opened.
“Ah, Ruin, how nice of you to join us.” The King exclaimed, raising a golden chalice in the air from the head of the long ivory table. Ellaryn cringed at her nickname but didn’t dare to show it.
“Please sit.” He clicked his fingers, and a Defier pulled a large chair out for her.
“Thank you for inviting me, your Royal Darkness.” Ellaryn bowed and then made her way over to him.
Her eyes first drifted to Scornszar as she sat down. He was perched on the large balcony that spanned the entire back wing of the castle; dark scales bruised with orange specks, as if embers lived inside of him. His onyx eyes followed her as she moved. She forced her gaze away.
Other familiar faces dined with them—the King’s four chancellors who had proven themselves and pledged their undying allegiance to his name.
They too lived like royals, one housed at every quadrant in the city, ensuring the King’s rules never faltered.
Morvan, Bane, Selcrose and Benton—last names, of course.
She didn’t know their first names and, quite frankly, didn’t care to.
Then there were the members of the Royal Council—they lived within the castle walls and advised on matters of trade, finances and anything to do with land. There were three of them, all male, all equally undeserving of breath.
Then, lastly, seated at the far end of the table were the top commanders of the Dark Knights—the King’s army. Lyon caught her gaze as her eyes wandered, expression unchanged at her presence.
She knew that if the King weren’t nearby, his tongue would already be sweet-talking her, as it so often did. He made advances whenever he could—he and more than a few of the knights.
It wasn’t that she found him unattractive. Quite the contrary. He had charcoal-black hair, a strong jaw, and hazel eyes that caught the light so fiercely they seemed to flare orange.
It was everything beneath the handsome exterior that repulsed her.
Unlike most of the guards, he had never known poverty in Cinala, nor had he ever been a prisoner.
He was just simply cruel.
Rumour had it he’d murdered his own parents in cold blood, then carried their severed heads to the King as proof of his devotion. Whatever the truth, the gesture had earned him the King’s favour, and from there he had risen swiftly through the ranks of the army.
Ellaryn had never cared to discover whether the rumours were true.
He was the sort of man she preferred to keep at sword’s length.
But even he knew better than to let his usual loud mouth run loose in a setting such as this.
“Are you not going to greet our guests?” The King said, an anger underlying his tone as he picked between his rotting teeth with a wishbone.
“Forgive me, your Darkness,” She inclined her head. “How do you do?”
Her heart skipped multiple beats as she met the cold eyes of her patrons, each adorned in finery, clean clothes and cleaner faces, unlike the soot that mottled the skin of the dwellers and the dust that clung to their hair.
They acknowledged her with subtle nods and side glares before focusing back on their overfilled plates or sparkling wines.
“Now, I presume you all know why you are here.” The King’s gaze travelled slowly across the faces gathered around the table. One by one, heads dipped in acknowledgement. “The expansion—”
His words were cut short by a low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate through the stone beneath their feet.
Every head turned.
Scornszar stood behind the King, his enormous head lowered, smoke curling lazily from his nostrils. He took a single step forward, and the ground trembled beneath them.
The King barely glanced over his shoulder.
“Someone get him some food,” he ordered, clicking his fingers.
The beast growled again, but the King simply sighed, as though Scornszar were nothing more than an impatient hound at his heel.
Ellaryn hated this part.
The double doors swung open, and this time it was not the Defiers that appeared; it was guards. Four of them were holding two prisoners.
A man and a woman, soot smeared across their faces, clothes hanging in rags, stomachs round and bloated. They were Scornszar’s chosen meal, picked from the cells and force-fed just enough to satisfy his needs.
The couple wailed and whined as the guards dragged them forward, their hands tight around their arms and their expressions even tighter.
Defiers slid open the door to the balcony as the guards chucked the prisoners outside as if they were nothing more than rubbish to be discarded.
When it slammed shut, the woman pleaded, pounding her fist against the glass as though she might somehow muster the strength to break through. She didn’t.
The man struggled against the chains binding him, pressing himself into the corner. His breath came quick and shallow, his eyes desperately avoiding the beast’s gaze.
A pair of onyx eyes stalked him with a predatory hunger and seemed to charge as he took in his meal. His tongue slipped from his mouth, tasting the air.
The woman screamed as she felt his hot breath against her back, clinging to her hair and leaving a sheen across her brow. Slowly, she turned, anticipating the demise she knew was coming.
Just as she was about to run—just as she had gathered the strength to get away—Scornszar expelled a burst of fire in her direction.
It was so hot it froze her in place; her skin charred where she stood.
He preferred his food cooked.
Scornszar gobbled her down in one bite, flicking her into the air so she landed directly in his mouth. Her leg scraped against the side of his lips, bones crunching as though they were trying to escape.
Then his attention turned to the man, whose face was now twisted with terror.
He used the chains binding him to whip at the dragon, flailing them wildly through the air.
But it was no use.
A chain against that beast, that strength, was like trying to put out an inferno with an ice cube.
Scornszar burned him with a single breath, then crunched him up before perching on the edge of the balcony, overlooking the city as though none of it had ever happened.
“Such a good boy.” The King commented, eyes flicking back to the table.
Ellaryn swallowed hard.
Every face around the table had turned several shades paler. All except the commanders, of course. They had seen enough blood to know better than to flinch.
The Chancellor and Council, on the other hand, rarely got their hands dirty. They preferred to leave that particular privilege to Ruin and men with swords.
“Now,” the King finally continued, clasping his hands together and turning back to the table, “where was I?”
“The expansion,” Chancellor Morvan said, leaning in, despite the greenish hue on his face now resembling the colour of his tunic.
“Oh, yes, of course,” the King drawled, lifting his glass. “I intend to move forward as quickly as possible, ideally within the next couple of days—”
“Respectfully, Your Darkness, this sort of undertaking requires considerable planning.” Sirus, one of the council members, spoke carefully. “We must not act prematurely.”
“Are you questioning my judgement?”
The King’s eyes narrowed on him, and silence consumed the table.
Sirus’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the sound seeming unnaturally loud against the stone walls.
“I think what Sirus is trying to say,” a voice cut in, “is that we ought to consider this carefully.”
Reginauld leaned back in his chair, his weathered face unreadable. Unlike Sirus, he did not seem particularly interested in choosing his words delicately.
“If we invade in a matter of days, will we truly be as strong as we could be if we waited?” he continued. “We could bide our time. Learn the kingdom. Study its defences, its weaknesses, its people. We choose where to strike and when.”
His fingers drummed once against the table.
“This is an invasion, Your Darkness. Not a drunken brawl. There is no glory in rushing blindly into a battle we could have won more easily with patience.”
Reginauld’s name carried weight in Cinders. He was older than most of the commanders around the table, mean when he needed to be, and always meticulous. He had survived long enough to know when to speak—and, more importantly, when not to.
Ellaryn watched the King carefully as he leaned back in his chair, head tilting as his grey eyes shifted over him.
“Perhaps you are right.” He finally said. “How many days do you think you will need to get everything in order?”
“I can have men ready at first light to go and investigate the city. Shake a few trees, see what falls out.”
“And how long do you think they’d need, these men of yours?” The King’s finger traced the ring of his glass before he took a sip, the red liquid coating his tongue.
“A week, maybe two, depending on how much information we can deduce.”
The King nodded before his eyes moved to Lyon. “And the Knights? They are ready?”
“Always,” Lyon replied firmly, inclining his head.
“Good.” The King showed his blackened gums. “Now, does anyone else have any concerns on the matter?”
His eyes moved amongst everyone. Ellaryn didn’t move. Didn’t speak, even though she had wanted nothing more than to scream at him. To tell him to leave the kingdom and all its people alone.
“Well, this is not really a concern, more of something to consider, really,” Chancellor Selcrose spoke up, dabbing around his mouth with a handkerchief, cheeks flushed with the mark of a full meal.
“Go on.” The King encouraged with a wave of his hands.
“Are we sure now is the right time to be even thinking of an attack, you know, given the rumours—”
Selcrose’s words were cut short with a wave of the King’s hand.
He twisted the air with the black tips of his fingers, and a blue mist poured out of the chancellor, the colour slowly draining from his plump face.
She watched each bead of sweat form on his wrinkled brow and his hand grip his chest for dear life.
That was the first Ellaryn had heard of the rumours since the King had mentioned them to her a few days earlier. She had listened carefully during her rounds, paying particular attention to the conversations of the dwellers, but she had heard nothing. Not a whisper. Not a hint.
She had assumed there was nothing to worry about, believed the King’s words about dogs and ownership. Perhaps people truly were like that—restless creatures chasing their own tails without someone to keep them in line.
But now…
Now it felt different.
The King’s reaction to the mere mention of the rumours had been far too severe to dismiss. Whatever Selcrose had said, it had cost him more than his courage.
It had cost him his soul.
Quite literally.
The rest of the table held their tongues, fear dancing upon their features.
Ellaryn dared not move, not if she wanted to avoid punishment tonight.
Selcrose’s blue tunic grew a few shades darker, until it was as dark as the shadows the Defiers wore before a vapoured hood embalmed his face.
“Yes,” the King drawled, settling back into his chair. “I think I like you better like this.”
Then his fist came down against the table.
The crack of it silenced the room.
“Now, the next person who speaks to me of rumours will meet the same fate as Selcrose.” He pointed towards him. Selcrose’s blackened frame drifted soundlessly through the air before settling into place beside the door, joining the other sentient beings that lined the chamber.
“Am I clear?” He bellowed, and the table bowed in unison.
“Yes, Your Darkness.”
“Good.”
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the King’s anger dissipated. He smiled, almost pleasantly, and gestured towards the plates spread across the table.
“Now, please.” His voice softened. “Enjoy your meals.”
No one moved for a moment.
Ellaryn was fairly certain the entire table had been put off their food, but eventually cutlery clinked against porcelain. One by one, they ate.
So did she.
She lifted a piece of chicken to her mouth and chewed slowly.
It tasted like chalk.