Chapter 20
Elira
The doors at the end of the hall loomed larger with every step, towering structures of black oak inlaid with gold. They swung open without a sound as I approached, revealing the king’s private chambers.
The floor gleamed with obsidian under the light of massive crystal chandeliers that threw a thousand fractured reflections across the walls.
Tapestries of blood-red silk hung from the high ceilings, depicting grand battles and victories where the king himself always seemed to feature at the centre, larger than life.
At the far end of the cavernous chamber sat King Ashton.
He was sprawled on a monstrous gilded throne, upholstered in deep crimson velvet.
His body overflowed the seat — rolls of flesh barely contained by his ornate, ill-fitting garments stitched with gold thread.
Despite it all, he wore a self-satisfied smirk, swirling a goblet of wine in one hand as if he were the most desirable man in the world.
His small, greedy eyes raked over me as I entered, and I had to force myself not to flinch.
"Ah, Elira," he drawled, his voice as thick and sticky as syrup. "Come closer, my dear. Let me look at you."
The thick smell of wine, sweat, and too much perfume hit me as I stepped forward, every instinct in my body screaming to run.
But I didn’t.
“My, my, aren’t you … delectable.” He said softly.
I walked with slow, steady steps, the crystals on my gown catching the light as if daring him to look closer.
I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing fear.
“Your majesty.” I said, my voice cold.
The table before me was laden with a feast fit for royalty, yet none of it mattered.
The roasted meats glistened with honeyed glaze, fresh bread sat warm and inviting, and bowls of fruit offered bursts of colour and sweetness.
The scent of rich sauces and spices filled the air, teasing my senses, but it was impossible to ignore the heavy weight of the situation.
“Please, do sit,” he urged, his words slow and deliberate.
I nodded as a seat was pulled out for me by a servant. My body was stiff and awkward. My stomach felt twisted in knots.
I didn’t like being alone with the king. I felt exposed.
A plate of food was put in front of me, along with a glass of wine.
“So, how are you finding your new room.”
“Fine, sire. But unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary?” the King sat back in his chair. “Do you not like it, my dear?”
I flinched at the endearment. “It’s too much. More than I require.”
“I just want you to be comfortable.”
“Then perhaps you should have left me in the streets.” I snapped quickly. “Sire.”
His eyes darkened in calculation. “Indeed.” He took a hearty gulp of wine and watched me until I picked up my own glass.
I pretended to sip, swishing it around in my hand.
“That dress in stunning on you, Elira.” He said. “Do you like it?”
“It’s heavy.” I said, adjusting it roughly around my feet.
“It’s made from the finest silks in all of Varrowmere.” He spoke, his eyes narrowed. “Many would kill for such finery.”
“I’m sure they would. And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” I said carefully, forcing my voice to stay calm. If I angered him, I had no doubt I’d die here and now.
“But you are, aren’t you?” he snapped, his eyes glittering with something unpleasant.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, burying my temper deep. “The dress is lovely. Thank you,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
He watched me for a long moment, as if weighing whether to push further. Finally, he hummed low in his throat, pleased enough for now. “I heard you were out fighting with my Shades the other day.”
“I was with them when we were attacked,” I corrected, stiffly.
The King laughed, the sound deep and grating, like he found the whole thing amusing. “Ahh, Vael. Still determined to kill me and mine, isn’t he?” His tone was almost fond, like he was talking about an unruly dog rather than a rebel leader.
“He took off with a lot of civilians, sire. He killed many of your men.” My voice sharpened with disgust before I could stop it.
He waved a lazy hand in the air, as if batting my words away like gnats. “They're just soldiers. What else do they do but stand between me and certain death?” He chuckled, like it was a joke.
“They are people, sire!” I shot back before I could think better of it.
“Are they?” he mused, cocking his head slightly, as if genuinely considering it for the first time.
He shrugged, utterly indifferent. “I suppose they are. It doesn't matter either way. Thorne and his Shades will hunt Vael’s men down, kill them, and the cycle will begin again. It comes with the territory.”
“How can you be so cold?” I asked, despite my plan to stay calm.
“What would you have me do? Cry about it?” Ashton shrugged.
“One day, Vael and I will face each other again and it will be over. Until that day, that’s why you are here, my dear.
As my newest weapon, you will be standing before me, like the rest of my Shades, ready to die for me.
It’s a noble destiny, protecting your king. What’s not to like?”
“A true king stands between his people and their enemies, not behind them.” I growled.
Ashton’s eyes grew darker.
“Is that a fact?” He asked, his voice dangerous.
I gulped, wishing I had access to my shadows right then, but I was stunted. Something brushed my legs under the table, something soft and velvety.
A cat?
I kept my chin up, refusing to let him see my fear.
“Yes sire.”
The king seemed to swell with rage, his hands bracing on the table as he pushed to his feet.
“You dare speak to your king like that?” he thundered.
I clenched my fists, steadying myself.
“You will never be my king,” I hissed.
Ashton’s face twisted with fury. He raised his hand to strike me —
—but before the blow could fall, a sleek black cat leapt onto the table. Midnight-dark, its yellow eyes fixed steadily on the king.
Ashton froze, his hand hovering midair.
Was that fear flashing across his face?
“What is this?” he whispered, almost to himself.
I flicked my gaze between the cat and the king, heart hammering.
Wait.
I knew that cat.
The king’s gaze snapped to me, sharp and suspicious.
“Who sent you?” he barked.
“What?” I gasped. “No one! I—”
The chamber doors slammed open.
Thorne stormed in, a dark figure wreathed in fury. In his hand, he carried a burlap sack dripping with something dark and wet.
“Ashton,” Thorne said coldly. “You demanded my audience when I returned. I’ve brought you a gift.”
He flung the sack onto the banquet table. It spilled open with a wet, ugly sound. I stumbled back, horror rising.
Inside lay a severed wolf’s head, the mouth slack, eyes glassy with death.
The king staggered forward, transfixed.
“Is that…?”
“Caius Markham,” Thorne said coldly. “Vael’s wolf general.”
A twisted grin unfurled on Ashton’s face. “And his pack?”
“Decorating the grounds of Darkmoor,” Thorne replied without emotion.
Ashton clapped his hands once, delighted. “Oh, this will enrage him. This is perfect, Thorne.” He lifted the sack again, gazing at the bloodstained cloth with something close to reverence. “I think I’ll mount this above the throne.”
A flicker passed over Thorne’s face. Disgust, maybe. But he lowered his head.
“Yes, sire.”
Ashton turned to me again, all amusement now sharpened into a predator’s smile.
“Dinner’s over, my dear. You’re dismissed. Run along to your room, we’ll continue this another time.”
Relief hit me like a wave.
I didn’t hesitate. I turned, walking swiftly for the doors with my pulse hammering in my ears.
Only when I was out of the chamber, out of his line of sight, did I allow myself to breathe.
Thank the gods.