The court was still heavy from the reading of names, the air sour with incense and dread, when a sound broke the silence.
The door at the far end of the throne hall… creaked.
Every head turned.
It edged open — just a sliver. A breath of shadow slipped through. Then it closed again with a hollow thud.
Murmurs stirred. Eyes flicked between the Emperor, the herald, and the door.
It opened again. Wider this time. Then slammed shut.
The crowd's confusion thickened. Some frowned, others whispered prayers.
Again, the door swung. In, out. In, out. A rhythm, almost playful — almost mocking — echoing through the hall that had only moments ago rung with grief.
By the fourth time, whispers had become a rustle. The guards shifted, uncertain whether to draw steel against… nothing.
Finally, one of them moved. His armor clinked against the tense hush as he strode toward the stubborn door.
He set his hand to the handle, drew a slow breath, and pulled it open wide.
Light spilled through — and in the frame stood the last prince.
Tiny. Fragile. Bare feet blackened from running. His little hands still clutched the edge of the towering door, too heavy for him to master. Tear tracks cut pale lines down his cheeks; his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.
The court stared — bluntly, almost stupidly.
The silence clung as the boy stepped forward.
The great door shut behind him with a groan, yet his small hands moved with surprising care — smoothing the wrinkles from his robe, straightening the collar as if preparing for a lesson, not an audience of lords and kings.
He walked barefoot down the marble, each step echoing far too loudly for feet so small. The courtiers parted without a word, their stares cutting into him like blades.
At the foot of the dais, he stopped. His hands fumbled at his sides, then folded in front of him with practiced solemnity. His voice was thin, trembling — yet clear enough to carry.
"May spirit, light… and n—nature guide you. I greet Father."
A breath seemed to leave the entire court at once.
On the throne, Emperor Gemma leaned forward, his eyes fixed upon his youngest son. His voice was iron, but it did not rise.
"Speak."
The little prince lifted his head. His lips quivered. His words stumbled.
"E—elder broth… crown prince… elder brother…" His breath hitched, as though the weight of the title crushed his tiny chest. "Elder brother crown prince caught a m—man."
He blinked up at the throne, tears brightening again.
"He said… he caught th…e bastard."
The words shattered the hall. Gasps erupted, echoing against the vaults, lords and servants alike leaning forward, stricken between disbelief and dread.
And on the dais, every royal face froze.
The throne hall erupted.
Gasps became a roar of whispers, shock and fury tangling together until the marble itself seemed to hum.
"The crown prince—?"
"He caught someone—?"
"He said *bastard*! Who? Who was it—"
"Does that mean the killer's found—"
Every gaze snapped to the dais, to the royal line seated beneath the vaulted ceiling.
The First Prince Viktor rose halfway from his seat, jaw locked, eyes like steel on the boy. Astrid leaned forward, lips pressed thin, searching the Emperor's face for command. Flynn shifted uncomfortably, hand clenching his knee, sweat pearling at his temple.
The youngest prince flinched, little hands rising to cover his ears. Still, the voices raged around him, louder with each heartbeat.
Guards at the edges shifted uneasily. Some glanced toward the Emperor for orders, others toward the seat where Kaelin should have been.
All eyes turned to the throne.
The Emperor did not hesitate. He stood, his scepter striking the marble once. The crack rang like thunder.
"You heard him," Gemma declared, voice rolling through the chamber. "The crown prince has seized the hand that spilled royal blood. We go to see it with our own eyes."
The words ignited the court.
Benches scraped, cloaks flared, armored boots struck in unison as the royal sons and daughters rose. Viktor's jaw was set like stone; Astrid's eyes sharpened behind their calm; Flynn shoved aside a chair to fall in stride. Even the lords of the six houses surged forward, drawn by morbid gravity — none would be absent when the truth was unmasked.
The hall became a river of power and fear, sweeping toward the doors in the Emperor's wake.
Guards pulled the great doors wide. Torches guttered as air rushed in.
"Follow!" the King commanded, cloak snapping behind him.
And so they did. Princes, princesses, lords, warlocks, witches, sorcerers, even the masked master of the Void — all pressed forward in a storm of robes and armor, chasing the path toward the east wing where the crown prince waited with his catch.
The procession thundered down the east wing — footsteps, whispers, the hiss of silks and the clang of steel.
They slowed when they saw her.
Concubine Auren. Her silks were torn, her hair unbound, stumbling like a ghost down the corridor. She did not see them, did not hear their approach. Her eyes were fixed forward, chasing the sound already tearing through the air.
A man's scream. Shredded, raw, clawing at the walls.
The sound quickened their steps.
The doors loomed. Guards shoved them wide. And the sight within froze even the bravest tongue.
The crown prince stood in the chamber's heart, cloak hanging heavy, his breath steady as if he had not run a step. His eyes lifted at once to meet the horde that now spilled into the room — his family, his father, the lords of Tenebria.
His gaze was casual, unhurried, almost bored.
And at his feet — horror.
A man writhed across the tiles, blood slick beneath him. His cries filled the chamber, his body twisting as he clawed at the stone with one hand, the other nothing but a severed stump spurting crimson onto the marble. He dared to crawl, dared to drag himself away, as if distance could save him from the crown prince.
One of his eyes was already gone. The socket wept red and black.
In the crown prince's hand… the missing orb gleamed wet between his fingers.
Gasps shattered the air. Some courtiers staggered back. Others clutched their throats.
Kaelin's expression did not shift. His valet stood silent at his side, sword dripping a steady trail onto the marble, the dismembered hand of the murderer already cooling at his feet.
For one heartbeat, the crown prince's dark eyes swept the crowd — slow, sharp, measuring. The kind of gaze that peeled skin from bone.
Then he turned back to the man.
His lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl.
"Where am I…?" His voice was low, taunting, almost playful. He twirled the eye once between his fingers, and the prisoner's sob broke into a shriek.
"Aah…" Kaelin's teeth flashed, white against the dark. "Time to remove your second eye."
The man screamed again.
And not a soul in the court dared breathe.
The man tried. Spirits above, he tried.
With one arm and what was left of his body, he dragged himself in a frantic crawl, fingers scraping the marble, nails splitting as he clawed forward like a dying beast. Blood smeared in his wake, a trail of red desperation leading nowhere.
He didn't get far.
With just a short glance from the crown prince, Ryker moved — swift, precise, merciless. His blade arced down once, twice. A wet thud.
The man's legs crumpled to the ground apart from his torso, cut clean at the thigh. His howl split the air, high-pitched and animal, shattering what remained of the court's composure.
Kaelin did not flinch.
He crouched, slow and deliberate, lowering himself to the prisoner's level as if amused by the feeble crawl. With a sudden jerk, his hand shot forward, fingers plunging into the bloody hollow of the man's remaining eye.
The chamber erupted in gasps and cries. A noblewoman fainted. Someone retched.
The man's scream hitched into a gurgle as Kaelin yanked, and with a sickening rip, the second eye came free.
Blood poured down the man's face, his body convulsing violently.
The crown prince rose smoothly, holding both eyes in his hands now, their wet shine reflecting torchlight like jewels plucked from some hellish crown.
He did not hesitate. He pried the man's jaw open, ignoring the weak attempt to resist. With one shove, he forced the eye past broken teeth, down his throat. The man gagged, choking, blood bubbling from his lips as he struggled in blind horror.
Kaelin grinned.
His voice, sharp and mocking, cut through the chamber's silence.
"I guess you bit off your own tongue to avoid saying which royal you were bound to, huh?"
He tilted his head, expression twisting with dark amusement as he let the second eye roll between his fingers.
"…Or perhaps," his grin widened, wolfish, "you were threatened."
The prisoner choked louder, blood and bile spilling as the court recoiled.
Kaelin crouched again, his shadow spilling long across the blood-slicked marble. The man, blind and broken, trembled violently, breath rattling through ruined teeth.
The crown prince tilted his head, watching him as one might watch an insect squirm under a pin. His tone shifted, strangely calm, almost conversational.
"It is stupid," he said softly, "to attack the royal family. So I'll take it that you were threatened."
His words sank into the silence, heavy and deliberate.
Kaelin leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Was your family used against you?"
For a moment, the man only choked and writhed. Then, slowly — painfully — his head jerked in a nod.
Gasps rippled through the court. Some faces softened, pity stirring at the sight. For a heartbeat, it looked as though mercy might touch the prince's lips.
Kaelin's smile softened too. His voice lowered, almost gentle.
"Your family… huh?"
The prisoner's broken sob turned into a wheeze of hope.
Then Kaelin laughed.
It was a raw, jagged sound, a laugh that carried no warmth, only a predator's delight. He threw his head back, eyes gleaming with cruel mirth. The court flinched as if struck; the fragile illusion of mercy shattered.
He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing the prisoner's bloodied ear.
"Then… if I ever come across your family…" His grin widened, wolfish. "I'll send them after you. Every one of them."
The man stiffened, horror flooding his broken body.
"And afterwards…" Kaelin rose, his voice carrying across the hall now, cold as steel. "The one who sent you—"
He held up the last eye between his fingers, blood dripping down his wrist.
"I'll make sure to rip out their eyes too."
His grin gleamed in the torchlight, savage and merciless, while behind him the valet's blade dripped onto the marble like the ticking of a clock.
He squished the eyeball, right before everyone's eyes, then walked over the man and walked away.
"You should have stayed away from Aiden."
TBC…