30. Kaisner
KAISNER
T he room is silent, the air thick with unspoken tension as I sit at the head of the long table, fingers steepled before me.
My most trusted advisors surround me, their expressions grim, mirroring the weight pressing against my chest. This meeting is not about business.
Not about alliances, territories, or wealth.
It is about betrayal.
A betrayal so deep it threatens the very foundation of our clan.
As I scan the faces around me, a more personal burden settles in my gut—Clarissa’s absence.
It has been weeks since I last heard from her, weeks of forced restraint as I honored the space she asked for, even as the ache of her silence gnawed at me.
My informants keep me updated—she’s withdrawn, avoiding the world, but safe.
Safe. The word should bring me solace, but instead, it taunts me. Because safety is a fragile thing.
That night at éclipse… it was too much. Too savage. Too raw.
I can still see the fear in her eyes, the way her hands trembled in mine after gunfire rang out and blood tainted the air. She stepped too far into my world that night, straight into the darkness of shifter brutality and clan violence. And I let it happen.
I should have protected her. Should have known she wasn’t ready for the reality of my life—the cruelty, the power struggles, the unspoken laws. She wasn’t raised in this world. She doesn’t bear its scars like I do.
Now, I may lose her because of it.
The irony isn’t lost on me. For years, my greatest fear was failing to awaken my dragon self. Now, that fear pales in comparison to the thought of losing her. The shift in my priorities unsettles me more than I care to admit.
I think back to the moment I first saw the request from the Lumière Foundation.
My staff and lawyers had been blocking their inquiries for months, following my standard protocols.
But the instant I learned it was Clarissa’s organization?
Everything changed. I reached out personally, bypassing all the usual channels, reckless in my need for any connection to her—even if only through her work.
But she hasn’t responded. Not a word.
I told myself I wouldn’t pressure her. That I’d give her the space she needs. After éclipse, after everything she witnessed, she deserves that much.
But waiting is its own kind of torture. Every day without her voice, every unanswered message, every moment of silence stretches the distance between us. I don’t know if she’s avoiding me out of fear, or if I’ve already lost her to the violence of what happened that night.
And yet, I can’t force her hand. Not when I’m the one who led her into the dark.
So I wait. And the waiting kills me.
I glance down at the file before me. The damning evidence it contains cuts deeper than any blade.
Photographs spill across the polished ebony table—grainy surveillance images, clandestine meetings in dimly lit alleyways. In one, Marcus is passing a manila envelope to a tall, bronze-skinned figure I recognize instantly.
Vikram Mahindra’s right-hand enforcer.
Transcripts of intercepted phone calls reveal Marcus’s treachery in his own words.
“The Draken girl,” his voice murmurs over the recording. “Drachenstein’s obsessed with her. She’s his weakness.”
The paper crumples in my tightening fist.
Printouts of emails detail the classified information he leaked—Clarissa’s daily routines, her favorite cafés, the security measures I had put in place to protect her.
But the final blow is the handwritten note, Marcus’s familiar scrawl outlining a plan so vile it makes my blood run cold.
“Kidnap the girl, and Drachenstein will fold. We can end this war in one swift move.”
Rage surges through me, molten and unforgiving. My vision blurs at the edges, my hands flexing as I struggle to contain the violent urge clawing its way to the surface.
Clarissa—an innocent in all of this, a woman with no ties to our world beyond me—was to be used as a pawn.
Because of him.
Because of this .
The law of our clan is clear. The punishment for treason is swift and absolute. And yet, even now, some foolish part of me hesitates. Marcus was more than a soldier in my ranks. He was a brother. A man who fought at my side.
But that man is dead.
All that remains is a traitor.
I exhale slowly, steadying myself. “Bring him in.”
The heavy doors swing open, and Marcus is dragged inside. His hands are bound, his face drawn with fear. He stumbles as my guards force him to his knees before me.
He keeps his head bowed, but the tremor in his shoulders does not escape me.
“Marcus.” My voice is cold, devoid of emotion. “You stand accused of treason against the Drachenstein clan. Of conspiring with our enemies. Of betraying the trust I placed in you.”
I pause, letting the words sink in. Letting him feel the gravity of his sins.
“But your greatest crime,” I continue, my tone sharpening, “was against Clarissa Draken.”
At that, he lifts his head, his eyes wide with something like regret. It means nothing to me.
“You leaked information about her movements. You compromised her safety.” I lean forward, my fury barely leashed. “You planned to have her taken. Used. Bargained away like some pawn in your pathetic attempt at diplomacy.”
His mouth opens—whether to plead or to lie, I do not know. I do not care.
“You knew what she meant to me.” My voice is barely above a whisper now, but it cuts sharper than any blade. “And still, you sold her out.”
His breath hitches. “Kaisner, please.” The words come raw, desperate. “I never meant for her to be harmed. I was only trying to end this war.”
I exhale slowly, measured, staring down at the man I once trusted. Rage settles over me like a storm rolling in, dark and inevitable.
“By betraying me?” the question is hushed, lethal. “By offering up the life of the only person I cannot afford to lose?”
Marcus flinches as if struck. His shoulders sag, the fault of his choices pressing down on him like a man drowning under the tide. “I was wrong,” he whispers. “I see that now. But please, Kaisner, for the sake of our history?—”
“There is no history,” I cut him off, my tone edged with finality. “Not anymore.”
A bitter silence stretches between us. For a fleeting moment, I consider mercy. I think of the battles we fought together, the blood spilled, the victories we toasted with fire and steel. Once, he was my brother-in-arms. Once, I might have forgiven him.
But Marcus made his choice. And now, he will answer for it.
“Betrayal is an art, Marcus,” I murmur, the sound smooth as glass. “But so is retribution. And I? I am an artist of the highest order.”
I take a step closer, watching as realization dawns in his eyes—the cold, sick understanding that there is no escape from what comes next.
“Did you truly think I wouldn’t find out?” My tone turns almost amused, though there’s no humor in the air between us.
I crouch before him, my gaze locking onto his, unflinching. “Your greatest sin wasn’t betraying me.” My voice drops to a whisper. “It was believing I’d let you survive it.”
I rise, then give a slow nod to my guards. One steps forward, a blade gleaming in the dim light.
Marcus’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps. He struggles against his bindings, his pleas turning into incoherent cries of desperation.
I do not look away. Because this is the burden of leadership. These are the choices that define a king.
The blade falls.
His screams are brief.
Silence follows.
I straighten, my expression unreadable. Around me, my men shift, uneasy in the wake of what they have witnessed. I let them sit with it. Let them understand the lesson woven into Marcus’s demise.
When I finally speak, my tone is quiet, but it carries through the chamber with the force of a decree.
“Let this be a warning.” I meet the gaze of each man in the room. “Treason will not be tolerated. And any threat against Clarissa Draken will be met with the full might of the Drachenstein clan.”
I pause, allowing the words to settle, allowing the air to hum with their finality.
“Treue ist nicht verhandelbar,” I state coolly. Loyalty is not negotiable.
With that, I turn, striding from the chamber without a backward glance.
My heart is heavy. My hands are stained.
But Clarissa is safe.
And I will stop at nothing to keep her that way.