CHAPTER 5: THE ONE WHO SAT ON THE THRONE

We were escorted into the king's throne room. A massive man clad in heavy armor sat upon the grand seat, his posture careless, almost bored. One hand rested against his chin, while at his side lay a colossal sword, its worn blade a testament to countless battles and lives taken. A thin scar ran from his eye down to his cheek, and his dark, lifeless gaze bore down on us with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. Even without his title, the sheer presence he exuded made it clear who he was.

His long, messy black hair was unmistakable, the very same I had inherited. But my vibrant blue eyes? Those must have come from Mother, for I had never seen such darkness in anyone else's stare.

"It's really good to see you, Rhea. Have you been well?" His deep voice echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the stone walls.

Mother immediately knelt before him. "I have been well, my lord. And it is good to see you in full health."

I frowned, frozen in shock. Why would Mother kneel to Father? I understood that he was the king, but did that truly matter to us?

His piercing gaze settled on me. "You have grown, boy." His voice was even, but there was something searching in his tone. "Tell me, why do you frown? Do you hate seeing your own mother kneel?"

"If you were in my shoes, wouldn't you?" I shot back before I could stop myself.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, he laughed, a deep, booming sound as if I had just told the most amusing joke in the world. "You remind me of my younger self," he mused. "Too bad."

With a wave of his hand, he ordered the servants to take us to our rooms.

The chambers we were given were vast, luxurious beyond anything I had ever known. Compared to this, the cottage where Mother and I had lived seemed no larger than a closet. So this is what they call luxury, I thought.

After we had rested and refreshed ourselves, we were summoned once more to the throne room. But this time, we were not alone.

Two elegantly dressed women stood beside the king. The first, slightly older, carried herself with a regal air, while the second was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Next to them were two young men, one, the spitting image of Father in his younger years, and the other bearing a stronger resemblance to the stunning woman. Their stares were sharp, unwelcoming.

"Where is she?" Father asked, his voice laced with irritation.

"She said she had important matters to attend to," the older woman replied smoothly. "She may not appear at all, depending on her mood."

Father's expression darkened. Whoever he spoke of, she had the power to annoy even the great Titus without fearing the consequences.

Before he could respond, the doors burst open. A towering woman clad in golden armor strode into the room, the gleaming metal accentuating her powerful frame. She moved with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, more gladiatrix than noble. But what struck me most was her hair, long, wild, and as red as roses.