Chapter Sixteen: The King’s Wrath

The royal palace of Valtara stood in eerie silence as dawn broke over the kingdom. The usual hum of servants bustling through its grand halls was absent, replaced by the sharp clatter of armoured boots and the low murmur of voices thick with tension. The air smelled of ink and burning wax, the remnants of hastily written messages sent across the land.

King Edric Valtara sat on his gilded throne, his fingers drumming against the carved armrest. His expression was unreadable, but the flickering torchlight revealed the cold rage simmering in his dark eyes. Before him, the royal council stood in tense silence, waiting for the inevitable storm to break.

A nobleman, dressed in deep crimson robes lined with gold, cleared his throat. "Your Majesty," he began carefully, "the rebellion in Valmora was… more than just an uprising. It was a direct attack on your authority."

King Edric's gaze snapped toward him, and the nobleman flinched.

"More than just an uprising?" The king's voice was dangerously calm. "My soldiers were slaughtered. My people have turned against me. And the one leading this defiance—" he exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the throne's armrest, "—is my daughter."

A heavy silence settled in the chamber.

Lord Renford, the kingdom's war minister, took a measured step forward. He was a seasoned man, his face marked with old scars, his gaze unwavering. "Your Majesty, I do not believe this is a matter of simple rebellion. If it were, our forces would have crushed them easily." He hesitated. "But there are… unsettling reports."

The king's jaw clenched. "Speak plainly, Renford."

The war minister bowed his head slightly before continuing. "The soldiers who survived spoke of shadows coming to life. Of darkness swallowing men whole. They say Seraphina wielded a power not seen in generations."

Murmurs broke out among the council members. Some dismissed the tales as battlefield exaggerations; others exchanged nervous glances.

The king's eyes darkened further. "Magic?" He nearly spat the word.

Renford nodded grimly. "If these accounts are true, then Seraphina is no longer just a traitor. She is a threat—one that cannot be ignored."

King Edric rose from his throne with slow, deliberate movements. The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his fury. "She was always a disgrace," he muttered, mostly to himself. "But I had hoped exile would bury her into irrelevance. Instead, she has chosen to defy me."

The queen, silent until now, finally spoke. "She is still your daughter, Edric." Her voice was softer than the rest, but there was an edge of warning beneath it.

The king's gaze snapped to her, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression—something almost like regret. Then, it was gone, replaced by the icy resolve that had made him a ruler feared across the land.

"She stopped being my daughter the moment she raised a sword against my throne," he said coldly.

A younger nobleman hesitated before stepping forward. "Your Majesty, what would you have us do?"

The king's eyes burned with unrelenting purpose. "We will respond with fire and steel," he declared. "Send word to every outpost, every stronghold. Any village suspected of aiding the rebels will be purged. And as for Seraphina—" his lips curled into something almost a smirk, "I want her head."

The command sent a ripple of dread through the council, but none dared challenge him.

Lord Renford inclined his head. "And who shall carry out this task, my king?"

The answer came without hesitation. "General Varian."

The name alone sent a chill through the room. Varian was not just a soldier; he was a legend—merciless, efficient, and utterly loyal to the crown. If there was anyone who could hunt down Seraphina, it was him.

The council bowed in silent acknowledgement, and the war minister turned to relay the orders.

As the doors to the throne room swung open, a shadowed figure stepped inside—a man clad in dark armour. His presence exuded quiet menace. He knelt before the king, his expression unreadable.

"Your orders, Your Majesty?"

King Edric's smile was devoid of warmth. "Find her. Break her rebellion. And bring me her heart."

Meanwhile…

Far from the palace's grandeur, Seraphina stood on the battlements of a ruined fortress, overlooking the flickering torchlights of her growing army. The rebellion was no longer just whispers and scattered skirmishes. It was real. And it was coming for the throne.

Caius joined her, his gaze unreadable as he leaned against the stone wall. "The king will retaliate," he said. "You know that, don't you?"

Seraphina's fingers curled into fists. "Let him come."

Caius exhaled, his lips twitching into a smirk. "You have no fear, do you?"

She turned to face him, and in her dark eyes, something dangerous burned. "I spent my whole life being hated," she said softly. "Feared. Cast aside. If they want a monster…"

She looked back toward the horizon, where the banners of her rebellion waved defiantly against the night sky.

"Then I will give them one."

The war had begun. And this time, she would not be the one to lose.