Chapter 3: The Game of Men

The hallway stretched endlessly, its high arched ceilings looming overhead. Dim lanterns flickered against the stone walls, casting restless shadows.

Armed guards stood in intervals, hands resting idly on their weapons, their presence was a silent warning.

Before she even stepped inside, a sharp scent curled into her nose.

Blood.

Her eyes skimmed past them, to the man at the center of the room.

There, lounging with a deceptive peace, was him.

Thane.

A porcelain cup balanced between his fingers. With one arm draped over the backrest of a velvet couch, his entire being exuded a careless authority. 

And yet, the room trembled with fear.

His men stood guard next to him.

Men kneeling in submission before him, their foreheads pressed to the floor, their bodies shaking. Desperate pleas filled the silence.

"My Lord, mercy– "

"It wasn't me! I swear–"

A strangled sob choked through.

Elysia barely reacted before a firm hand shoved her downward.

Her knees slammed into the cold marble, the impact jolting through her bones.

A sharp click of the tongue followed.

"This place isn't meant for a woman like you, someone like you ought to understand." the old woman beside her muttered, voice thick with disdain. "A night in his bed doesn't raise your status, girl. You're still nothing but a woman sent to entertain."

Elysia did not answer.

She felt the weight of his gaze settle on her before moving on entirely.

Then with a mere flick of his fingers, his men stepped forward.

The execution began.

A gunshot split the air.

Sharp and final.

Elysia inhaled sharply as something warmth splattered onto her skin. The sickly contrast of heat against the cold marble beneath her knees.

The body beside her collapsed.

Dead before it even hit the floor.

The thick metallic scent of blood flooded the air, clinging to her senses.

The remaining men trembled violently, their sobs swallowed by terror.

She didn't look.

Death held no meaning in front of this man.

Thane leaned back, sipping his tea indifferently. The porcelain cup rested against his lips, the faint wisp of steam curling in the air, unfazed by the life just lost before him.

"My lord! Please, I swear I didn't mean it!" one of the men sobbed, his voice cracking with sheer desperation. "I never touched a single coin! They forced me—"

Thane idly set his cup down. He thoughtfully tapped his fingers against the armrest, leisurely.

"Force?" He barely lifted an eyebrow. "Yet here you are... on your knees before me."

A pause.

"How unfortunate."

The man paled, his body collapsing forward with frantic cries. His hands clawed at the floor before latching onto Thane's suit pants.

"I was loyal! I swear! Spare me–"

Annoyance flickered across Thane's features. A quiet exhale slipped past his lips as if swatting away an insect.

He kicked him off with little effort.

Then, without looking, he lifted a hand in dismissal.

"Clean this up."

The guards moved immediately.

The man screamed as he was dragged away, his cries echoing down the vast hall. Fresh blood smeared across the marble, the remnants of life erased in mere seconds.

Elysia lowered her eyes.

She already knew the rules of this game.

Blood spilled easily in men's court.

Her fingers twitched onto the fabric of her dress.

Thane exhaled, setting his cup down gracefully. 

His gaze drifted toward her.

"You don't seem particularly shaken."

Elysia's fingers curled against her palm.

He rose from his seat, stepping closer.

The weight of his presence was suffocating with intent.

His fingers grasped her chin, tilting her face upward.

Forcing her to meet his gaze.

His golden eyes traced over her, taking in the strands of her hair clinging to her cheek, damp with sweat and something else. The ivory gown she wore was now streaked in red.

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.

"Rest assured," he said, his words slipping out in a quiet murmur. "I don't kill my women."

His thumb swept across her cheek, smearing the blood further as if it amused him.

Elysia's eyes burned.

She felt her throat tightened.

The air between them hung thick, taut with something unspoken.

Slowly, his cold hands slid to the side of her neck. His fingers pressed lightly, just a quiet reminder of the power he didn't need to assert.

He exhaled thoughtfully.

"Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" 

It wasn't a question.

"After all, I owe your father my gratitude," he added.

A gratitude that would be anything but kind.

Then, as if dismissing the moment entirely, he turned away.

With an absent wave of his wrist, he brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve before tossing a glance toward the old woman standing nearby.

"Nancy," he called, his attention had already shifted elsewhere.

The old woman stiffened beside them.

"See to her."

His command was impersonal. Like he was handing off a stray object rather than a living being.

Nancy's lips pressed thin, reluctant but obedient.

She bowed stiffly. "Yes, My lord."

Then she turned to Elysia, eyes sharp with silent warning.

Elysia rose without a word.

The weight of unseen shackles pressed against her limbs as she followed.

The maids rushed forward as soon as she stepped past the threshold, hands reaching, ready to strip her down to whatever dignity she had left.

But dignity meant nothing in this place.

Elysia stiffened, but resistance was useless. Their hands were swift and methodical, scrubbing her raw before draping her in layers of silk. They moved like machines, indifferent to their shivers, and her quiet gasps, only executing the orders given.

By the time they finished, her skin was scrubbed clean, and her body adorned like a doll for display.

She exhaled, steadying herself.

Father...

She had to see him.

She had to confirm the truth with her own eyes.

The last remnants of trust she held in her father were thinning.

She needed to know, had his hand played a part in this?

She was already deep in the storm.

And there was no turning back.