Magnus woke to silk sheets and gilded ceilings a prison dressed as paradise.
His body was a symphony of pain. Every breath reminded him of cracked ribs, every movement sent fire through healing burns, and the deep wounds in his shoulder and thigh throbbed with dull insistence. But he was alive. Somehow, impossibly, he had survived.
How many days?
He blinked, his crimson eyes adjusting to soft golden light filtering through ornate windows. This room was different from before larger, more opulent. Marble floors inlaid with gold veins, tapestries depicting ancient battles, furniture carved from rare woods. A cage wrapped in silk and jewels.
"You're awake."
Magnus's head turned carefully toward the voice. Rhea sat in a cushioned chair near the window, grey eyes watchful. She looked better the deathly pallor had faded, though bandages still covered much of her body. She held herself carefully, protecting injured ribs.
"How long?" Magnus's voice was rough, his throat dry as sand.
"Five days since the battle," Rhea said quietly. "You've been drifting in and out. The palace healers say you should have died three times over." She paused, something dark flickering in her eyes. "They're calling it a miracle. I know better. That shadow power of yours... it kept you alive."
Magnus tried to sit up. Pain lanced through him like white-hot knives, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it, managing to prop himself against the headboard. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort alone.
"Avar? Hera?" The names came out like a prayer.
Rhea's expression softened fractionally. "Safe. Moved to a 'recovery house' in the merchant district. Well-fed, well-clothed, under constant guard." Her voice turned bitter. "The official story is they're receiving Prince Ethan's charitable protection after their traumatic ordeal."
"Hostages," Magnus said flatly.
"Yes." Rhea poured water from a crystal pitcher into a gold-rimmed glass, bringing it to Magnus. He drank gratefully despite the humiliation of needing help. "Just like us. Pretty chains, but chains nonetheless."
Magnus looked around the room, his assassin's mind cataloging details even through the fog of pain. One door—likely guarded from outside. Windows too high to reach without rope. No weapons anywhere. Even his twin shadow sabers were gone, disappeared into Ethan's collection.
"Our weapons?"
"'For safekeeping,'" Rhea quoted with acid sarcasm. "Along with all my poison vials, tools, equipment. We're completely disarmed."
Magnus's jaw clenched, shadows flickering weakly at his fingertips before fading. His dantian was recovering, but slowly, so slowly. "Prince Ethan?"
"Has visited twice while you were unconscious." Rhea's voice dripped contempt. "Very concerned, very gracious. He's been feeding the public a beautiful story—how the brave young master Magnus Caldryn heroically defeated the corrupt warlord Hardard, who'd been secretly running slave operations. How Prince Ethan arrived just in time to 'rescue' the hero and ensure justice was served." She leaned back, exhaustion showing through her composure. "The entire city is talking about the Red Shadow. You're a hero now, Magnus. The common people love you. And Prince Ethan is positioning himself as your noble patron and savior."
Magnus absorbed this, his mind working through implications even as his body screamed for rest. "He's building a narrative. If I'm the hero and he's my patron, my reputation bolsters his political standing. But if I step out of line—"
"Then he reveals you as a dangerous vigilante who needs to be controlled—or eliminated—for the public good," Rhea finished. "He's covered every angle. We're trapped, Magnus. Completely."
The door opened without warning, preventing further conversation.
A servant entered—young woman in fine livery, face professionally blank. Behind her came two guards in silver armor, the elite Black Guard serving Prince Ethan directly. Hands rested on sword hilts, eyes alert and predatory.
"Young Master Caldryn," the servant said with a practiced bow that somehow felt mocking. "His Highness Prince Ethan requests the pleasure of your company for breakfast. He's most pleased to see you've recovered sufficiently to receive visitors."
It wasn't a request. The guards' presence made that crystalline clear.
Magnus met Rhea's eyes. She gave the slightest shake of her head—a warning. Don't do anything rash. Not yet.
"Of course," Magnus said, voice carefully neutral despite the rage simmering beneath. "Give me a moment to make myself presentable."
The servant gestured toward an ornate wardrobe. "Fresh clothes have been provided, Young Master. Befitting your new status as a hero of Valisar."
Ten minutes later, Magnus found himself dressed in clothes finer than anything from either life. A deep blue tunic embroidered with silver thread that probably cost more than most families earned in a year, black trousers that fit perfectly, and a cloak that whispered wealth with every movement. The clothes were beautiful, restrictive, and obvious in their message: You belong to us now. You are our creation.
The guards escorted him through corridors of breathtaking opulence. Marble pillars supported vaulted ceilings painted with scenes from Valisar's glorious history. Servants bowed as he passed, eyes downcast. Everything screamed power, wealth, absolute control.
They arrived at a private dining room overlooking the city. Through massive windows, Magnus could see Valisar spread below—golden spires of the noble district gleaming in morning light, bustling markets alive with commerce, and far in the distance, the ruined skeleton of Hardard's fortress still smoking faintly, a monument to destruction.
Prince Ethan Valisar stood at the window, wine glass in hand, the picture of casual power. He turned as Magnus entered, cold grey eyes assessing like a jeweler examining a gemstone.
"Magnus Caldryn," Ethan said, voice smooth as poisoned honey. "The hero of Valisar. Please, sit. You must be famished after your ordeal."
Magnus moved to the indicated chair, every step sending pain rippling through his battered body. He refused to show it, keeping his expression neutral, controlled. The guards positioned themselves at the door, silent observers.
The table was set with a feast—roasted meats glistening with herbs, fresh bread releasing steam, exotic fruits Magnus didn't recognize, delicate pastries that looked like artwork. Far more food than two people could eat. Another display of wealth, another reminder of the power imbalance.
"I hope the accommodations have been satisfactory," Ethan said, taking his own seat with fluid grace. "My personal healers are the finest in the kingdom. They tell me your recovery has been... remarkable. Almost superhuman, given the extent of your injuries. Shadow techniques must be quite miraculous."
Magnus met Ethan's gaze steadily. "Your Highness is too kind. I'm grateful for the medical attention." Each word measured, careful, a chess move.
"Please, we're among friends here. Call me Ethan." The prince smiled, but it never reached his calculating eyes. "After all, we have so much to discuss. Your heroic actions, your future plans, your relationship with House Caldryn..." The smile sharpened. "Your mysterious shadow techniques that seem far beyond what a duke's son should possess."
It was a trap, and they both knew it. Every word Magnus spoke would be weighed, analyzed, potentially weaponized.
"I merely did what anyone with power should do," Magnus said carefully, taking a bite of bread to buy thinking time. The food was exquisite, but he could barely taste it through the tension. "Hardard was a threat to innocent people. He had to be stopped."
"Indeed." Ethan gestured for Magnus to eat more. "But not 'anyone' could have stopped him. Hardard was one of the strongest fire aura users in the kingdom—equivalent to a sixth-level master. Yet you, barely trained and outnumbered, defeated him. That speaks to extraordinary potential... or extraordinary secrets." The last word hung in the air like a knife.
Magnus set down his bread, buying another moment. "I had help. Rhea proved invaluable. And circumstances favored us—Hardard was overconfident, emotional, predictable."
"Luck," Ethan repeated, amusement dancing in his eyes like flames. "Yes, let's discuss luck. You were lucky to survive your wounds. Lucky that I arrived when I did with my medical teams. Lucky that the public narrative has positioned you as a hero rather than a dangerous vigilante operating outside the law." He leaned forward slightly, dropping all pretense. "One might say you're in my debt, Magnus Caldryn."
There it was. The real reason for this breakfast. Not hospitality, but leverage. The chains becoming visible beneath the silk.
Magnus set down his bread, meeting Ethan's gaze directly. His crimson eyes burned with controlled intensity. "What do you want?"
Ethan's smile widened, genuine amusement flickering across his aristocratic features. "Direct. I appreciate that quality. Very well, let's speak plainly since you prefer it." He stood, walking back to the window, hands clasped behind his back in a pose of contemplation. "Valisar is changing, Magnus. The old order—corrupt officials, criminal networks, incompetent nobility bleeding the people dry—is crumbling. The common folk are tired of suffering while their leaders feast. They want justice. They want change. They want hope."
He turned back to Magnus, expression hardening into something almost fanatical. "I intend to give it to them. But change requires... tools. Symbols. Heroes that the people can rally behind, believe in, die for if necessary." His grey eyes bored into Magnus like drills. "You, Magnus Caldryn, are the perfect tool for my vision."
"I'm not interested in being anyone's tool," Magnus said coldly, shadows flickering at his fingertips despite his depleted state.
"Aren't you?" Ethan's smile was razor-sharp now, all pretense of friendliness abandoned. "Then perhaps you'd prefer I tell the truth to Valisar's people? That you're a vigilante who murdered dozens of guards—many just following orders to feed their families—and destroyed valuable property. That you used illegal shadow techniques that reek of forbidden assassin arts. That you brought an unlicensed killer into my city and unleashed her to slaughter citizens. That you're a dangerous criminal who manipulated public sympathy."
He paused, letting each accusation sink in like poison. "Or perhaps I should investigate your connection to certain criminal elements in Caldera? I'm sure Duke Everard would be fascinated to learn what his disappointing son has truly been doing. How you've been practicing techniques no self-taught warrior should know. How you move like an assassin with decades of experience despite being barely twenty years old."
Magnus's fists clenched under the table, his crimson eyes blazing with barely suppressed fury. Every word was true, and every word could destroy him. Ethan had him cornered completely, and they both knew it with absolute certainty.
"What. Do. You. Want?" Magnus asked again, each word forced through gritted teeth.
Ethan returned to his seat, expression becoming coldly businesslike. "Simple. You work for me. Six months. Publicly, you'll be the hero of Valisar—a symbol of justice and righteousness, inspiring the people, giving them hope. You'll appear at events, make speeches, be the face of change. Behind the scenes, you'll handle problems that require a more... direct approach. Problems that can't be solved through official channels or legal means. Corrupt nobles who've bribed their way to immunity. Merchant lords exploiting the poor. Criminal elements that have embedded themselves too deeply in the system."
"You want me to be your attack dog," Magnus said flatly, the words tasting like ash. "Your pet assassin."
"I want you to help me reshape Valisar into something better," Ethan corrected with what seemed like genuine conviction. "The corruption you fought against? It goes far deeper than Hardard. There are noble houses, merchant guilds, even elements within the palace itself that profit from the people's suffering, that would kill to maintain their power. I intend to root them out, burn them away like diseased tissue. And I need someone with your particular skills—someone who understands darkness, who can move through shadows, who isn't bound by the laws that protect the guilty—to help me do it."
Magnus studied Ethan's face, searching for deception, for manipulation. But what he saw was more disturbing than simple lies—he saw genuine conviction burning in those grey eyes. Ethan actually believed what he was saying. He truly thought he was saving Valisar, that the ends justified any means.
A fanatic is more dangerous than a tyrant, Magnus thought with cold clarity. A tyrant can be negotiated with, bought, understood. A fanatic will destroy everything and everyone for their vision of perfection.
"And if I refuse?" Magnus asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.
Ethan's expression didn't change. "Then I reveal the truth about your actions, prosecute you for murder and destruction of property, and execute you publicly as a dangerous criminal who needed to be stopped for the public good. Rhea Varyn will be executed beside you as your accomplice. Avar and Hera will disappear into the system—probably sold to pay for your 'crimes,' their suffering used as an example of why vigilantes must be controlled." He sipped his wine casually. "But it won't come to that. You're too intelligent to refuse, Magnus. You understand the game now."
Magnus's shadow aura flickered—weak, barely a whisper, but present. His dantian was recovering, slowly rebuilding itself after being pushed beyond all limits. But he was nowhere near strong enough to fight his way out of this palace, and even if he could, that would validate every accusation Ethan had made.
He was trapped. Completely, utterly trapped.
"How long?" Magnus asked, voice hollow with defeat.
"Six months," Ethan said, as if offering a generous deal. "Work for me for six months. Help me clean up Valisar, be the hero the people need. After that, assuming you've proven trustworthy and valuable, you'll be free to return to Caldera with my blessing and gratitude. I'll even provide letters of recommendation to your father, praising your service to the kingdom. You'll return home a hero, your reputation enhanced rather than destroyed."
Six months under Ethan's control. Six months as his puppet, his weapon, his tool. Magnus's mind raced through options, scenarios, escape plans. But every path led to the same conclusion—he couldn't fight, couldn't flee, couldn't refuse without signing death warrants for everyone he cared about.
Ethan had him completely cornered, checkmate in every direction.
"And Rhea? Avar and Hera?" Magnus asked, grasping for any small victory.
"Rhea will work alongside you—she's clearly a valuable asset with skills I need," Ethan said smoothly. "Avar and Hera will remain under my protection, well cared for, wanting for nothing. Think of them as... insurance. Collateral. As long as you serve faithfully, they'll be safe, healthy, happy even."
Hostages. The word hung unspoken between them, heavy as chains.
Magnus stared at Ethan, crimson eyes burning with barely suppressed fury. Every instinct screamed to fight, to refuse, to tear down this carefully constructed trap. But the cold, calculating part of him—the part that had survived betrayal and death itself—whispered something different.
Play the game. Survive. Gather strength. Wait for the opening. Strike when they least expect it.
He'd been in worse positions. The Shadow Hand had betrayed him, poisoned him with his own creation, left him bleeding and dying. He'd survived that through cunning and patience. He could survive this.
And when he was strong enough, when the moment was perfect, he'd tear down Ethan's plans and show this prince what it meant to cage a shadow.
"Six months," Magnus said finally, words tasting like poison and ash. "I'll work for you for six months. But I have conditions."
Ethan's eyebrows rose with interest. "Oh? And what conditions would those be?"
"Avar and Hera are moved to a better location—not a 'recovery house,' but an actual home with freedom of movement within designated safe areas. They're not treated as prisoners."
"Reasonable. Done."
"Rhea and I are allowed to train freely. We'll need to maintain and develop our skills if we're to be useful to your vision."
"Of course. I'll provide excellent training facilities. Anything else?"
Magnus leaned forward, crimson eyes locking onto Ethan's grey ones with absolute intensity. "If you betray this agreement—if you harm Avar, Hera, or Rhea in any way—I will kill you. I don't care what it costs me, what I have to sacrifice. I will find a way to end your life. This is not a threat. It is a promise carved in blood and shadow."
The room fell utterly silent. The guards' hands moved to sword hilts. But Ethan simply studied Magnus for a long moment, then threw his head back and laughed—a genuine, delighted sound that echoed off marble walls.
"There it is," Ethan said, wiping his eyes with genuine mirth. "There's the real Magnus Caldryn. Not the heroic savior, not the desperate victim, but the ruthless predator underneath all the masks." He smiled, and this time there was genuine respect in it. "I accept your terms, including your threat. In fact, I appreciate it. It means you'll take this arrangement seriously, that you understand the stakes."
He stood, extending his hand across the table. "Six months, Magnus Caldryn. Help me reshape Valisar into something better, and then you're free to go. Betray me, and everyone you care about suffers beyond imagination. Do we have an agreement?"
Magnus stared at the offered hand—pale, soft, manicured, the hand of someone who'd never known real hardship or honest labor. The hand of someone who saw people as chess pieces to be moved and sacrificed.
He reached out and gripped it, feeling like he was signing away his soul. "We have an agreement."
"Excellent." Ethan's smile was triumphant, victorious. "Welcome to the team, Red Shadow. I think we're going to accomplish great things together. History will remember us."
That evening, Magnus sat in his gilded prison, staring out at Valisar below. Rhea had been allowed to visit, and they sat in heavy silence.
"You agreed," Rhea said finally. Not a question, a statement of fact.
"I had no choice," Magnus replied quietly, shadows dancing weakly around his fingers. "He has us cornered completely."
"I know." Rhea's grey eyes were hard as flint. "But six months is a long time. A lot can happen in six months. People make mistakes. Opportunities appear."
Magnus's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile that didn't reach his burning eyes. "Yes. It is."
They both understood what wasn't being said. They'd play along, serve Ethan faithfully on the surface, all while gathering information, building strength, learning his weaknesses, and waiting for the perfect moment to strike back.
Ethan had won this round decisively. But the game was far from over, and Magnus had learned patience in a lifetime of shadows.
To Be Continued in Chapter 28.....