Chapter 33
1097 Words
King Lodrick stood before the tall windows of his private study, staring down at the castle courtyard like a god looking at his ants.
Below, soldiers trained in neat, bloody formations. Servants scurried between buildings, heads down, terrified to even breathe wrong.
The kingdom moved exactly as he demanded. Under his f*****g thumb.
A sharp knock rattled the heavy wooden door.
"Enter."
A palace official stepped inside, bowing so low his nose nearly touched the floor.
"My King."
Lodrick didn't turn.
"What is it?"
"The reports you requested."
Only then did the king shift his attention.
He turned slowly, his eyes cold and predatory.
The official approached, hands trembling slightly as he handed over several folded parchments.
Lodrick snatched them.
His sharp eyes scanned the contents with ruthless efficiency.
Tax reports.
Supply inventories.
Training updates.
Boring f*****g s**t.
Nothing important.
Then his gaze stopped.
The same name appeared again.
Commander Vaelith.
The king's eyes narrowed, a dark glint appearing in them.
"Still here?"
The official lowered his head, sweating.
"Yes, my King."
Lodrick slammed the parchment onto his desk.
"Days ago, that bastard should have departed. The war preparations are done. The alliances are secured. The troops are ready to march. Yet Vaelith remains."
The king's voice was low, dangerous.
"He's training soldiers. Inspecting defenses. Attending meetings. Always finding another f*****g reason to stay."
Lodrick had ignored it at first.
He thought it was just arrogance.
Now, he wasn't so sure.
And he hated not being sure.
"What else?" Lodrick snapped.
The official hesitated, swallowing hard.
"The rumors continue, Your Majesty."
That finally earned his full, terrifying attention.
"What rumors?"
The official's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The commander and the slave."
Lodrick leaned back in his chair, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face.
"The same slave Princess Lyanna was whining about at breakfast? The one she wants to beat to a pulp?"
"Yes, my King."
For several moments, the room was silent.
Not because Lodrick was surprised.
Because he was thinking.
Carefully.
Methodically.
Like a predator studying prey before the kill.
"What is the girl's name?"
"Elara."
The king repeated it, tasting the word.
"Elara."
He found nothing remarkable about it.
Just another name.
Just another slave.
Another faceless body among hundreds of thousands.
"Yet somehow, Commander Vaelith keeps summoning her. Again. And again. And again."
Lodrick did not believe in coincidences.
He didn't believe in fate.
And he certainly didn't believe powerful men acted without purpose.
Men like Vaelith didn't waste time on useless things.
"What exactly is happening between them?" Lodrick demanded, his voice sharp.
The official lowered his gaze, terrified.
"No one knows, my King."
The answer irritated him immediately.
"No one? You mean to tell me that in my entire palace, with my thousands of spies and guards, no one knows what a commander is doing with a slave in his private chambers?"
"The commander keeps his chambers locked, my King," the official stammered. "The guards are sworn to silence. They speak to no one. The slave... she returns to work afterward. She looks... unchanged. Nobody knows what happens inside. Nobody dares to ask."
Lodrick drummed his fingers against the desk, the sound rhythmic and threatening.
That was what bothered him.
Secrets.
He hated secrets.
Especially inside his own palace.
Especially when they belonged to powerful men who could destroy kingdoms with a word.
Vaelith was not some minor noble looking for a quick f**k in the scullery.
He commanded armies.
Kings respected him.
Enemies feared him.
Men like that did not repeatedly summon slaves for no reason.
They didn't waste their time on pointless romances or childish flings.
At least not in Lodrick's experience.
In his experience, men like Vaelith only wanted one of two things: power or pleasure.
And if it was pleasure, it was a dark, twisted kind that most people couldn't even imagine.
The king rose from his chair slowly, thoughtfully.
The official remained frozen, afraid to breathe.
Lodrick walked toward the window again, looking down at the training grounds.
Far below, soldiers sparred beneath the afternoon sun, the clash of metal ringing out.
Among them stood Vaelith.
Even from this distance, he was impossible to miss.
The commander moved through the training yard like a wolf among dogs.
Confident.
Feared.
Untouchable.
He shouted orders, corrected stances, and moved with a lethal grace that made the other soldiers look like children playing with sticks.
Lodrick's eyes narrowed.
"What does he want from her?"
The question was spoken more to himself than anyone else.
The official remained silent.
Because neither of them knew.
And that uncertainty annoyed the king.
It annoyed him a great deal.
It made his skin crawl to think that something was happening in his castle that he didn't control.
"Continue watching them," Lodrick ordered, his voice calm, almost casual.
But the threat behind it was palpable.
The official immediately bowed.
"Yes, my King."
"I want reports," Lodrick said, turning back to his desk, his eyes gleaming with dark intent. "Every meeting. Every conversation. Every time he looks at her. Every time she enters his room. Every f*****g unusual detail. I want to know what they do in there. I want to know if he's f*****g her, if he's torturing her, if he's planning a rebellion, or if he's just lost his mind. I don't care what it is. I want to know."
The official nodded rapidly.
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Lodrick stared at the training yard, watching Vaelith.
Watching the commander who had remained in his palace far longer than necessary.
Watching the man who was now the center of a mystery that threatened to undermine his authority.
No.
This was not about romance.
Romance was for fools.
For poets.
For young girls dreaming beneath blankets about princes and happy endings.
Powerful men did not act because of love.
They acted because they wanted something.
They acted because they were hungry.
And King Lodrick intended to discover exactly what Commander Vaelith wanted.
Even if he had to tear apart every secret in the palace, torture every servant, and burn every room to the ground to find out.
Outside, a training sword struck a shield with a loud clang.
The sound echoed across the courtyard, harsh and violent.
Below, Vaelith continued instructing soldiers, unaware that the king's attention had finally settled upon him.
Unaware that he was now being hunted.
And in King Lodrick's palace, attention was often the beginning of disaster.
It was the beginning of blood.
And Lodrick was ready to spill a lot of it to get what he wanted.
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