Evil

The room was drenched in blood.

It was everywhere—splattered across the walls, dripping from the bed, pooling onto the floor in thick, dark puddles. The sickening scent of iron filled the air, so strong it clung to her skin, her throat.

Selene took a slow, cautious step forward, but her foot landed in something wet. She looked down. A severed hand lay at her feet, small and delicate. A child's hand.

Her stomach lurched.

The bed—where Hannah should have been—was unrecognizable. Torn fabric, shredded sheets soaked through with blood. The wooden posts were clawed and scratched as if someone—or something—had thrashed violently against them.

And in the middle of the carnage, on the mattress stained so dark it looked black, was a small, lifeless body.

Or what was left of it.

The little girl was in pieces.

Her limbs had been ripped apart at jagged angles, flesh stripped and peeled in places, as if someone had taken their time. Her tiny chest had been carved open, ribs cracked apart like a butchered animal, and in the center of the gaping cavity—

Her heart was missing.

Selene clutched the doorway, bile rising in her throat. She had seen war. She had seen executions. But this… this was pure evil.

A sharp inhale echoed behind her, followed by a deep, strangled growl.

Ronan.

She turned just as he stormed into the room, his large frame filling the space. His golden eyes burned with fury, his expression carved from stone—but when he took in the sight before him, something in him broke.

His breath turned ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. And then—

He roared.

The sound was primal, filled with rage, with agony. The entire castle trembled under its weight.

He moved before anyone could stop him, kicking over furniture, shoving past maids and knights, gripping one of the guards by the collar.

"WHO DID THIS?!" he bellowed, shaking the man so violently the guard nearly choked.

No one answered. The entire corridor was thick with silence, the lingering echo of Ronan's fury bouncing off the stone walls.

Selene swallowed, forcing herself to speak. "The guards at the door—where are they?"

Another knight stepped forward, his face pale. "We—we found them outside the castle gates, Your Majesty. Throats slit."

Ronan's hands curled into fists, his knuckles turning white. His breaths were short, uneven, his entire body shaking.

Selene had seen Ronan angry before. Had seen him kill without hesitation. But this—this was something else.

His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his golden eyes locked onto the small, lifeless body on the bed.

"She called me father," he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Then, as if his body could no longer hold him up, he fell to his knees.

Hannah's blood was everywhere. Soaking the sheets. Staining the stone floor. Seeping into the cracks, as if the castle itself would forever be marked by this night.

Then came hurried footsteps.

Travis burst into the room, his expression grim, jaw clenched. He took a steadying breath, because he knew what he was about to say would break whatever was left of Ronan's restraint.

"My king…" He hesitated. "The prisoner has escaped from the dungeons."

Ronan didn't move. His body swayed slightly as if the words had physically struck him. He remained kneeling, his hands pressing into the cold, blood-soaked floor

Travis continued on, his voice low. "I believe he had help. Seven guards were found dead." A pause, then— "They must have made their way upstairs and… killed the child."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Selene could feel the shift in the air, the tightening of something dark and monstrous inside Ronan. He stared down at the blood pooling around his knees, his expression unreadable.

Then his fingers curled into fists.

A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep within his chest. A sound of grief. Of fury. Of something on the verge of destruction.

The room itself seemed to tremble.

Travis stood rigid, waiting. The knights outside were still, the castle holding its breath.

Then—Ronan moved.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. The blood clinging to his hands, his clothes, his boots—he didn't care. His golden eyes, burning like embers, locked onto Travis.

"Lock down the castle," he commanded, his voice deathly calm.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Gather every knight, every soldier. No one sleeps. We hunt at dawn."

Travis bowed sharply before storming out, already barking orders to the men.

Ronan turned his gaze back to the bed. To Hannah.

And then he walked past Selene without a word, his steps measured, precise.

Selene watched him go, her mind already calculating.

Because she knew—

By sunrise, the entire kingdom would know the wrath of their king.