Adrenaline pulsed through my veins as we reached the imposing oak doors of the throne room. These weren't the flimsy service entrances I was used to navigating. These doors were carved with the snarling faces of mythical beasts, their golden eyes glinting menacingly in the flickering torchlight.

  Unlike the usual throng of guards, the corridor was eerily empty. The king’s fury had likely sent them scrambling to appease the advisors with their burnt curtains.

  Finn moved to secure the entrance. A flurry of movement and the satisfying clink of metal announced his handiwork – a carefully placed web of tripwires and snares that would hopefully deter any curious guards.

  This was our chance. With a silent nod, Kass placed her hand on the ornate handle, and the heavy doors groaned open, revealing the opulent chamber beyond.

  A gasp escaped my lips. The throne room was a dazzling display of wealth and power. Sunlight, filtered through stained glass windows, cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the polished marble floor.

  Massive tapestries hung from the high walls, each one a masterwork of intricate embroidery and brilliant color. Scenes of battles, ancient kings, and mythical beasts stared down at us, their silent witnesses to the tyranny this room had seen. The heavy fabric swayed faintly, responding to some unseen draft.

  Gleaming mirrors lined the walls in intervals, their surfaces polished to an unnerving brilliance. They reflected the room in unsettling detail, creating an illusion of infinite space. Every step we took was echoed in the mirrors, every movement fragmented and refracted into countless copies.

  I frowned, unease prickling the back of my neck. The mirrors weren’t decorative; they served a more practical purpose—to give the king eyes on every corner of the room, to see threats coming before they had a chance to strike. Paranoia.

  "Creepy,” Finn muttered under his breath, his gaze darting nervously from one mirror to another. I couldn’t disagree.

  My breath caught in my throat as we stepped further into the throne room. The towering golden throne loomed at the far end of the hall, its opulence a stark reminder of unchecked power. The long table stretching the length of the room was laden with a lavish breakfast feast. Silver platters overflowed with fruits, breads, and cheeses, their rich aromas wafting through the air. Crystal goblets sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows, each one filled with crimson wine.

  But something was missing. Something crucial.

  There were no diners, no sign of the king or his court. The table was a mockery of peace and plenty, untouched and eerily pristine.

  I turned to Erin, my confusion mirrored in her wide eyes. "Where is everyone?” I whispered.

  Before she could respond, a flicker of movement at the far end of the table caught my eye. My breath hitched as I realized someone was there. A lone figure stood at the head of the table, his back to us, setting down a jug of wine. His movements were unhurried, almost casual, as he adjusted the placement of a gleaming silver chalice, sliding it slightly to the side.

  "Who—” I began, but the words died in my throat as the figure turned.

  "Caleb?” Erin’s voice broke the silence, sharp with disbelief.

  It was him.

  "You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, his voice low and rough. His words echoed in the vast hall, carrying an edge of urgency that set my nerves on edge.

  "What are you doing?” Erin demanded, her tone a mix of shock and anger. She took a step forward, her hand hovering near the hilt of her sword.

  Caleb’s jaw tightened as he moved from the table, standing between us and the empty throne. "Leave,” he said firmly, his gaze hardening. "You’re not supposed to be here. Not yet.”

  "Not yet?” I echoed, my voice shaking. "What are you talking about? Caleb, what’s going on?”

  His eyes flicked toward the table briefly before returning to us, his expression unreadable. "I can’t explain right now,” he said. "But you need to leave. Before it’s too late.”

  Why wasn’t the king here? Where was he? And with whom? A thousand questions swirled in my mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

  The carefully rehearsed plan we had clung to for weeks seemed to crumble in our hands. Confronting the king, using the wolfsbane if necessary, that was the mission. But now, the king was a ghost, vanished into the maze-like castle with who knows what intentions. A cold dread seeped into my bones. This wasn't just a change of plans, it was a complete rewrite.

  Suspicion prickled at my skin like a swarm of insects. Caleb materialized out of nowhere, his presence in the empty throne room throwing our meticulously planned infiltration into disarray.

  Where was the king? Why hadn't Caleb waited for us?

  Just as I opened my mouth to voice my concerns, a sound like distant thunder echoed through the vast chamber. Murmurs and the unmistakable clang of metal scraping against stone grew louder, emanating from beyond the heavy oak doors. A cold dread bloomed in my stomach. Our carefully placed traps hadn't held.

  The small light orb I kept hidden beneath my cloak, the magical artifact supplied by Elyse to keep us connected, to keep us safe, pulsed with an alarming intensity. It thrashed violently, as if in fear, its normally soft glow turning an angry red.

  Then, with a shower of sparks and a groaning protest, the doors burst open. We all whirled around. But the sight that greeted us wasn't the swarm of enraged guards I had braced myself for.

  Standing in the doorway, his black royal robes a stark contrast to the polished marble floor, was the king himself.

  Gone was the image of a blustering tyrant I had conjured in my mind. This king was a pale, gaunt figure, his face etched with worry lines that deepened with each ragged breath. A lank, oily mane of long black hair cascaded down his shoulders, framing eyes that looked haunted. Perched regally on his head, an ominous black crown.

  But what truly sent a jolt of ice through me was the glint of metal at his waist. A jeweled dagger, the very same one I'd seen displayed proudly in his chambers, hung from a meticulously crafted belt.

  And a sword.

  I knew that blade from the history books, from the whispered legends that circulated among scholars who dared to speak of forbidden truths.

  Soulreaver.

  Forged from the same material as his guard’s swords. Shadowsteel. Its blade was said to be unlike any other, a weapon imbued with dark enchantments that consumed the souls of those it struck down. Its name was a chilling reminder of the king’s past as a general in Cyrennia’s army, a time when his prowess on the battlefield was unmatched, his blade cutting through enemies as if they were made of air. Now, Soulreaver hung at his side like a dormant predator, waiting for its master’s command.

  The weapon's hilt was wrapped in black leather, the pommel adorned with a single red gem that seemed to pulse faintly, as though it were alive. Even sheathed, the sword exuded an oppressive presence, the faint hum of dark magic emanating from it.

  The king’s lips curled into a thin, joyless smile as his hollow eyes swept over us. His hand moved slowly, deliberately, resting lightly on the pommel of his blade.

  "Well, well,” the king rasped, his voice as cold as winter’s breath. "I must commend your bravery. Or is it foolishness? To come here, to my throne room, with such bold intentions.”

  "Your Majesty…” Caleb’s voice was low, steady, his hand instinctively tightening on the hilt of Oathbreaker. He took a half-step forward, shielding me and the others with his broad frame.

  His gaze swept over us, taking in our battle-ready stances and the weapons clutched in our hands. Then, it landed on Caleb.

  "Ah, Caleb," the king rasped, his voice a dry whisper, "I finally get to meet your friends."

  My heart plummeted. He knew. He had been waiting.

  He was supposed to be surprised by our ambush, caught unaware in the sanctuary of his royal chambers. But the king, frail as he seemed, looked prepared. Armed.

  My blood ran cold. This wasn't a reunion, it was a trap, and Caleb, for some reason, was at the center of it.

  The king, a gaunt specter in the opulent room, held our gaze captive. The light orb beneath my cloak pulsed a frantic crimson, its silent alarm echoing the dread that coiled in my gut.

  With a curt, commanding gesture, the king barked, "Step aside."

  My heart twisted violently in my chest. My gaze darted between the king and Caleb, searching for an explanation that would make sense of this nightmare. Caleb didn’t move at first, his back straight, his hand gripping Oathbreaker tightly. He stood between us and the king like a shield, but something was wrong—something in his silence, the way his shoulders were set, the tension rolling off him in waves.

  And then the king’s lips curved into that thin, cruel smile. "Ah, the loyal knight hesitates,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "Still clinging to the shreds of your honor, Caleb?”

  Caleb didn’t respond. His silence only made the dread in my stomach churn harder.

  I felt my breathing quicken, my pulse pounding in my ears. The king’s words, Caleb’s silence—it was too much. My gut screamed that there was something I didn’t understand, something Caleb wasn’t telling us. I had to know. I couldn’t stand still. My feet moved before my brain caught up.

  Before I could think, before I could stop myself, I lunged at him. My fingers curled into fists as I charged, aiming to tackle him, to force him to answer me. If he wouldn’t explain, I’d make him.

  But Caleb moved faster than I’d thought possible.

  He caught me effortlessly, twisting his body to block my charge. One of his hands shot out, catching my wrist in an iron grip, while the other pressed firmly against my shoulder. Before I could even register what was happening, he shoved me backward, sending me sprawling onto the cold marble floor.

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  I landed hard, the breath knocked out of me, and for a moment, the room spun. I looked up at him, stunned. He hadn’t even drawn his sword.

  His eyes were dark, sharp, filled with something I couldn’t name. Anger? Guilt? Fear? "Don’t,” he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Not now.”

  "You’re working for him, aren’t you?” I spat, pushing myself to my feet, the sting of betrayal burning hotter than the pain from the fall. "You knew this was a trap!”

  "Kira, stop,” Caleb snapped, his tone harder now.

  Erin, her voice trembling slightly, broke the suffocating silence. "Caleb," she pleaded, "I trusted you. You promised you were on our side."

  Caleb remained silent, his eyes locked on the king’s in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. A sickening realization dawned on me – cold and sharp.

  Caleb had never been on our side. He'd been a double agent all along, feeding information to the king, manipulating us into this desperate dance. And Erin had known all along.

  A surge of anger, hot and fierce, threatened to consume me. How could she not tell us?

  Erin's accusation was a challenge that shattered the tense silence of the throne room. Caleb, however, remained a statue. No smile, no smirk – just a rigid posture and a gaze locked on the king with an intensity that spoke volumes.

  This wasn't loyalty, not anymore. It was a simmering pot of something far more complex – disgust, perhaps, or a tightly leashed fury. His hands, hidden from view by the folds of his cloak, balled into fists, the knuckles turning white under the strain.

  The king, for his part, seemed to relish the tension. A dry rasp that passed for a chuckle escaped his lips. "Indeed," he said, the word dripping with a bitter amusement. "They did trust you, Caleb. And you, my dear… servant, have exceeded expectations."

  Servant. An insult barely disguised as praise. Caleb's jaw clenched, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something – defiance, perhaps, or a flicker of the man we once knew – threatened to break through his impassive mask. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a chilling emptiness.

  This wasn't the Caleb we knew, the leader who had inspired us with his unwavering belief in a free world. This was a stranger, a pawn in a game we didn't understand.

  Finn, usually a whirlwind of chaotic energy, was now a pale, shaking mess, the weight of the situation threatening to crush him. His small, choked voice broke the tense silence. "Caleb?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the din. Disbelief flickered in his wide, terrified eyes.

  Kass stood with her hand hovering over the hilt of her sword, her gaze narrowed in a dangerous glint.

  But it was Erin who sent a fresh wave of despair crashing down on me.

  She stood there, her shoulders slumped, her face etched with a sadness so profound it felt like a physical blow. No anger, no defiance – just a chilling acceptance, a white flag fluttering in the face of overwhelming odds. Her surrender, silent and complete, mirrored the fracturing of the hope within me.

  The king surveyed us with cold amusement. His gaze settled on Erin, lingering on her defeated posture for a beat too long. Then, a cruel smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his gaunt face.

  A tense silence followed. My fingers itched around the hilt of my dagger. Part of me, the fighter, screamed to resist. But a single glance around the room squashed that urge. Guards, more than I could have anticipated, were slowly trickling in from behind the king, their faces grim, weapons drawn.

  No. This wasn't a fight we could win. My mind raced. There had to be another way. I would talk my way out of this. Like always.

  The king’s voice boomed through the opulent chamber, shattering the tense silence. "Seize their weapons! Now!"

  A gasp escaped my lips as the well-rehearsed guards surged forward. Kass' hand flew to the hilt of her sword. But before she could even draw it, I shot her a desperate glance, a silent plea to stand down. The glint in her eyes dimmed as she understood the futility of resistance. We were vastly outnumbered.

  With a growl of frustration, Kass let her hand fall back to her side. The clang of her sword hitting the marble floor echoed in the sudden quiet. I followed suit, letting my dagger and crossbow clatter to the ground with heavy thuds. Finn, his jaw clenched tight, reluctantly surrendered his knife. Erin offered no resistance as the guards relieved her of her sword and dagger.

  Rough hands descended upon us, expertly binding our wrists with thick ropes. The coarse twine bit into my skin. I stole a glance at the guard binding my hands. A triumphant smirk stretched across his face, sending a surge of anger through me. I met his gaze with a withering sneer, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

  And then I turned to Caleb.

  My breath caught in my throat as I saw him standing motionless, his sword, Oathbreaker, still sheathed at his side. The guards hesitated briefly, their gazes darting between each other and the weapon. But Caleb made no move to stop them.

  Without a word, he released the hilt of his blade and let his arms hang loosely at his sides. The guards took advantage of his stillness, one stepping forward and cautiously unbuckling the scabbard from his hip. The weight of Oathbreaker was lifted, and Caleb didn’t resist. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at them.

  I couldn’t stop myself. "Why?” The word burst from my lips, raw and confused. My voice shook with something between desperation and anger. "Why aren’t you fighting?”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes, dark and unreadable, stayed fixed on the floor, his jaw tight. My heart raced, panic clawing at my chest. Caleb—the man who had fought alongside us, who had defended us without hesitation in countless battles—wasn’t defending us now. He wasn’t defending himself. He was just… letting it happen.

  "So," the king rasped, his voice a dry whisper that scraped against my nerves, "it seems your little game has come to an end. The Ironfang Rebellion. More like a pack of runts with chipped teeth, if you ask me. Pity. I was rather enjoying the… entertainment." The word dripped with disdain, a final twist of the knife in our already bleeding wounds.

  Fury choked the air from my lungs, squeezing out a single, ragged word.

  "Why?"

  It resonated through the chamber, momentarily silencing the king’s cruel amusement. My gaze slammed into Caleb, searching for answers. The sunlight danced across his face, highlighting the shame etched on his features. It was a look that went beyond mere regret – a silent apology, a plea for understanding that seemed to flicker with unshed tears.

  Slowly, as if unveiling a horrifying secret, he lifted the sleeve of his tunic. Crimson welts marred his skin, identical to the brutal scars that branded William.

  Understanding crashed over me like a tidal wave, suffocating and cold. He was bound too. Bound to the same monster who was holding us captive.

  The weight of our stolen moments – the whispered confessions under the twilight sky, the lingering touches that spoke volumes more than words – felt like a cruel joke. Everything, tainted. Betrayal burned in my throat, acrid and bitter.

  His silence spoke volumes. Shame radiated from him, a palpable force that filled the space between us. There were no justifications, no excuses that could erase the sting of his deception. Trust, once a bridge between us, now lay shattered in jagged pieces at my feet.

  Next to me, I saw the echo of my own devastation mirrored in Erin's eyes. She sank to the floor, her shoulders slumped in defeat. The fight had bled out of her, replaced by a chilling acceptance that sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over me.

  That was what shocked me the most.

  Erin, who had been all steel and spite and rage, now looked hollow. Her defiance, the fiery spark that had carried us, was gone. I had never seen her give up. Not Erin. Erin didn’t know the meaning of surrender. She was the one who laughed in the face of impossible odds, who stood her ground when the rest of us faltered.

  But now, she was on her knees, her head bowed, her shoulders trembling. It was like watching an unyielding fortress crumble to dust.

  Kass, never one to mince words, exploded. Her voice, usually laced with playful banter, now dripped with venom.

  "Well, lookie here," she spat, her gaze burning into Caleb. "The mighty leader, reduced to a whimpering lapdog. Turns out all that talk about a free world was just that – talk."

  She took a menacing step forward.

  "You," she snarled, her voice barely a growl, "can go fuck yourself."

  The crudity of her words was shocking, a stark contrast to Kass' usual bravado. But in that moment, it was the perfect encapsulation of our collective betrayal.

  Caleb flinched under her withering gaze, shame coloring his cheeks a deeper crimson than the scars on his arm. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Perhaps there were none. How could he justify his actions, his silence?

  The king, however, seemed to relish the unfolding drama. A cruel smile stretched across his gaunt face, his amusement momentarily eclipsing the sadistic glint in his eyes.

  The king’s oily voice slithered through the room, a sickening contrast to the raw despair that gripped me. "Now, now, Kassandra," he drawled, enjoying the spectacle of our crumbling unity. "Don't talk to my pet like that."

  Kass froze mid-stride. A flicker of surprise, quickly masked by a steely glint in her eyes, crossed her face.

  Pet.

  The word tasted like ash in my mouth.

  The tension in the room stretched as taut as a bowstring, ready to snap. Then, with a cruel flourish, the king gestured behind him. Dread pooled in my stomach as two figures were ushered into the chamber, their faces etched with terror.

  Isaac, his usually neat clothes hanging off him like ill-fitting rags, stumbled into the room, his eyes wide with fear. But it was Elyse who truly stole my breath. Shackled at the wrists, the heavy iron burning her flesh, the metal anathema to elves, a deliberate cruelty. A message.

  I caught sight of her face, and my heart sank. There was blood smeared across her cheek, and a bruise was already forming. She must have fought back. But her spirit wasn’t broken yet; her face was etched in a determined snarl, her soulless eyes filled with quiet rage.

  The king’s smile widened, the amusement in his eyes replaced by a chilling satisfaction. "Looks like your little escape plan wasn't quite as successful as you'd hoped," he purred, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure.

  We were screwed. The stark realization slammed into me with the force of a battering ram. Isaac and Elyse's capture was the final nail in the coffin of our rebellion, snuffing out the embers of hope that had flickered within me moments ago.

  The king’s voice, slick with false surprise, sent a fresh wave of nausea churning in my stomach. "Who have we here? Elyse? What a surprise. I was very upset when I couldn't find you in my chambers anymore."

  The implication hung heavy in the air. Understanding dawned on me, bitter and cold. Elyse used to be the king’s… possession. A tremor of anger, laced with a sickening pity, shook me to the core. She must have escaped, fled from the gilded cage that had imprisoned her spirit.

  And now, the king, with a predatory glint in his eyes, reached out a hand towards her. His long, skeletal fingers aimed to cup her chin, a gesture of forced intimacy that sent a primal scream of rage through me.

  Before I could even think, my voice ripped through the suffocating silence. "Don't you dare touch her!" The words exploded from my lips, a desperate plea laced with a fury that burned through the despair threatening to consume me.

  Elyse, her face contorted in defiance, mirrored my outburst. She thrashed against the shackles, her body a taut bow against the cruel restraints. A flicker of resistance, a spark of the fiery spirit I knew resided within her, ignited a tiny ember of hope in the desolate landscape of my heart. We may be captured, broken, but we weren't defeated. Not yet.

  The king’s gaze snapped towards me, a cruel amusement twisting his features. "Kira, dear," he rasped, his voice dripping with a mockery that sent shivers down my spine. "Then how about I take you instead?"

  A wave of nausea washed over me. The air grew thick and suffocating, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a physical blow.

  He tilted his head, a predator savoring its prey's fear. "Caleb let me into his head when you two…" He trailed off, letting the implication hang heavy in the air.

  My face burned with a mixture of fury and shame.

  Caleb wouldn't have… wouldn't have willingly spilled such secrets. The doubt lingered, a poisonous seed planted in the fertile ground of my betrayal. But even if the king forced his way in, the violation felt like an extension of Caleb's deception, twisting the knife further.

  "That mouth of yours," he continued, his eyes gleaming with a depraved hunger. "You’re volunteering, then?" The words slithered from his lips, laced with a venom that made my skin crawl.

  Disgust threatened to engulf me, but beneath the churning emotions, a steely resolve began to form. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I met his gaze head-on, my voice ringing with defiance.

  "Never," I spat, the word sharp as a knife.

  The king’s smile faltered for a fleeting moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a cold fury. His gaze shifted, sweeping across the room. It landed on Erin, a heap on the floor, her eyes vacant, staring off into a distance only she could see. My heart ached for her. Our lifeline, reduced to a broken shell.

  "Miss Erin here," the king drawled, his voice laced with a cruel amusement, "has already given up, it seems. What would your parents say if I told them about the little gift you left me on your last visit?"

  Confusion slammed into me. They knew each other? A gift? My mind raced, searching for answers that weren't there.

  Erin, her face pale and drawn, looked up at the king.

  The king's laugh, a harsh rasp that sent shivers down my spine, echoed through the chamber. "It was a rather... thoughtful present, I must admit."

  Terror coiled in my gut, icy and suffocating. Was she another pawn, tethered to the king's will?

  The image of her, face etched with dissent during the mission, flickered in my mind. But now, as she stared up at the king, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and something else – recognition? — a seed of doubt sprouted in my heart.

  Was this fear of the king’s cruelty, or fear of her own actions being exposed?

  Panic threatened to consume me. Could we trust anyone? Was our entire rebellion built on a foundation of sand, each member riddled with hidden loyalties and secret pasts? I stole a glance at the others, searching for answers in their faces.