Chapter 7- Kaelion
Chapter 7: Shadows of the Crown
Humiliation. It left a bitter taste in my mouth, sharper than the tang of blood still clinging to my blade. No one humiliated me—not the nobles who whispered behind gilded doors, not the rabble in the streets. And no one humiliated me in front of my soldiers.
Yet she had.
Granted, I was not expecting to see her when I had. Let's just say I had some business there and seeing her just made it more worthwhile for me. Lucky coincidence?
Only a few turns from where we met and there it was. An abandoned warehouse. This had to be it and if it was, that serves as evidence that she wasn't just some petty theif but in fact a part of the rebellion. But unfortunately it was empty. How had she cleared it out so quickly, she was obviously unprepared I could tell by the look of confusion on her face in our interaction only moments earlier which I chose to use to my advantage. But this wasn't right, there had to be many people here right now, the evidence certainly points to it- the flimsyexcuses for bunk beds that lined the space, remnantsof a fire still burning in the corner of the room- all these signs of life- and yet here I stand in a seemingly empty space. I even had my men Scour the place, top to bottom, searching for any form of presence, magical or otherwise. But nothing.
"Fuck!" I yelled, as a surge of anger pulled through my veins. How could I lose her so quickly.
The space was silent except for the sharp echo of my boots on the splintered floor. The air hung heavy, damp, and reeking of mildew. The men I commanded—if they could even be called that—stood rigid in a line along the far wall, their gazes averted. Pathetic. Useless. They'd failed me, just as I'd failed myself.
"You call yourselves soldiers?" My voice cut through the suffocating stillness like the edge of a knife. "You're a fucking disgrace."
One of them dared to flinch. I stalked closer, my steps deliberate, every ounce of my towering frame exuding the authority they didn't deserve to question.
The soldier swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he bowed his head. I didn't care about his fear; I thrived on it.
"She's not just some common rebel," I continued, my voice low but seething. "She's trained. Dangerous. And I don't tolerate failure."
They knew what I meant. There were no second chances in my command.
"Spread out," I ordered, my voice sharp as steel. "Scour the district. Turn over every goddamn stone until you find her. Bring her to me, or don't bother coming back."
The men saluted, their responses a chorus of "Yes, Your Highness" before they scrambled out into the night. Cowards, every last one of them.
When the door slammed shut behind the last of them, the silence returned, oppressive and suffocating. I sheathed my sword with a sharp click and exhaled, running a hand through my hair. She'd gotten away, and that burned more than I cared to admit.
---
The rain had stopped by the time I stepped outside, but the city was still drenched, its cobblestones slick with filth and misery. The lesser district stretched around me, a maze of decrepit buildings and narrow alleys.
It wasn't unfamiliar.
The King had seen to that.
When I was ten summers old, he'd sent me here for the first time. Not as punishment, he claimed, but as a lesson.
"You think the throne is your birthright?" he'd sneered, his eyes cold and unyielding. "It's not. It's something you'll earn, if you survive long enough."
I'd barely understood what he meant at the time, but I'd learned quickly. He'd sent me into the depths of the lesser district with nothing but the clothes on my back and a message I wasn't allowed to open. "Deliver it," he'd said. "And don't come back until you do."
The streets had been a nightmare. I'd been a boy, still soft around the edges, unused to the sharp realities of survival. I'd been chased by thieves, cornered by drunks, nearly gutted by a man twice my size who didn't like the way I looked at him.
But I'd delivered the message.
And when I returned to the castle, bloodied and bruised, my father had simply laughed.
"Pathetic," he'd said, looking me up and down. "But at least you're still breathing."
That was the first of many "lessons." Over the years, he sent me back again and again, each time with a new task, each one darker than the last. I delivered bribes, threats, even poison, though I didn't know it then.
"You'll thank me one day," he'd say, his tone dripping with derision. "When you're strong enough to take what's yours."
But he didn't send Caldan.
My older brother had been the golden child, the perfect heir. While I slogged through the filth of the lesser district, Caldan trained with the finest swordsmen, dined with foreign dignitaries, and basked in the King's approval. He'd never had to fight for scraps, never had to prove his worth.
I hated him for it. And I loved him.
But that love had soured when he died.
The official story was an accident—a tragic fall from the cliffs. I hadn't believed it, even then. There had been whispers of betrayal, of secrets that would shake the kingdom. I didn't know the truth, but I knew this: with Caldan gone, all of my father's attention—the full weight of his expectations—shifted to me.
He didn't stop calling me pathetic.
---
"You're brooding again."
The familiar, grating voice of Cyran Vael shattered the fragile silence, and I bit back the urge to draw my sword. My father's loyal lapdog stepped out from the shadows, his pristine cloak somehow untouched by the filth of the lesser district.
"Cyran," I greeted, my voice dripping with venom. "Come to grace me with your endless wisdom, or did you just get lost on your way back to the King's side?"
His lips curved into a thin, humorless smile. "Charming, as always. I'd ask if you've made any progress, but I can see you're too busy sulking to be productive."
My grip tightened around the hilt of my sword. "Careful, Vael. I'm not in the mood for your shit tonight."
"Clearly," he said dryly, his sharp gray eyes raking over me. "You've made quite the impression on the locals, stomping around like some vengeful god. It's almost poetic—if it weren't so goddamned reckless."
I stepped closer, towering over him, but Cyran didn't flinch. He never did. That was the problem. He treated me like I was still that bruised boy, dragging myself out of the gutter to face my father's scorn.
"This is none of your concern," I said coldly. "Go back to the castle and tell the King his pet has done his duty."
Cyran's smile faded, replaced by the sharp edge of condescension. "You're forgetting your place, Kaelion. You don't command me. I'm here because your little escapades are jeopardizing everything we've worked to maintain."
I barked out a humorless laugh. "We've worked? Don't kid yourself, Cyran. The only thing you've ever worked for is to stay in my father's good graces."
His eyes narrowed, the faintest crack in his polished facade. "And you think this childish vendetta of yours will earn his respect? Chasing a rogue through the filth of the lesser district while the kingdom crumbles around you?"
"Spare me the lecture," I snapped. "You don't know a damn thing about respect. Or loyalty."
"Loyalty?" Cyran's voice rose, sharp and cutting. "You wouldn't know loyalty if it stared you in the face. You're so consumed by your need to prove yourself that you can't see the bigger picture."
"And what the fuck is the bigger picture, Cyran?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Enlighten me, since you seem to think you're the only one with a brain in this kingdom."
"The rebellion, for starters," he said, stepping closer until we were almost nose to nose. "The nobles who are growing restless. The alliances that are teetering on the edge because our Prince can't focus on anything but his bruised ego."
"You think this is about my ego?" I snarled, my anger flaring hot and uncontrollable. "You have no fucking idea what this is about."
"Then explain it to me," Cyran said, his voice low and dangerous. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're dragging us all down with you."
The air between us crackled with tension, neither of us willing to back down. I could see the disdain in his eyes, the barely concealed contempt he'd never bothered to hide.
"Stay out of my way, Cyran," I said finally, my voice a quiet, deadly promise. "I don't need your approval, and I sure as hell don't need your help."
"Fine," he said, his tone icy. "But don't come crying to me when your stubbornness burns this kingdom to the ground."
He turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared into the night. I stood there for a long moment, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a leaden shroud.
But I couldn't afford to think about the rebellion, the nobles, or even my father's expectations.
Not yet.
Because first, I had unfinished business,
And I never let unfinished business go unresolved.