The king's obsession

DEATH WITHIN REACH

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Emily stepped out into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind her. The hallway was dim, lit only by the dying glow of torches, and the air carried that faint metallic scent that always clung to the palace at night. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Inside, she could still hear the soft clink of the king’s spoon against the bowl, then silence. She started to turn away when another sound stopped her: a voice—low, hoarse, and close. It wasn’t the king’s. It came from within the chamber, though the door was now firmly shut.

She froze, straining to listen.

“Too many eyes on her,” the unseen voice said, the words like smoke slipping through the cracks. “She’s not like the others.”

The king’s reply came, quiet but sharp. “She’s nothing. A distraction, nothing more.”

“You keep distractions alive?” the voice murmured. “Unusual, even for you.”

A pause. Then the king’s tone changed—colder, deliberate. “Alive is the easiest way to keep something within reach.”

Emily’s throat tightened. She knew she shouldn’t be there, but her feet wouldn’t move. The silence that followed was heavier than the air itself. Then came a sound she couldn’t place like a deep exhale, but wrong somehow, too low, too soft, as if the room itself were breathing.

When the king spoke again, his voice had softened in a way she had never heard before. “Leave it, Myrr. I’ll decide what she’s worth.”

A faint chill swept under the door, brushing over Emily’s ankles like a draft. She stumbled back, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. She hurried down the corridor, trying not to look over her shoulder, though she felt watched all the same.

Behind her, the door creaked open just enough for a sliver of lamplight to cut across the hall. The king stood in the doorway, eyes darker than before, a shadow stretching long behind him.

For an instant, he looked down the empty corridor where Emily had gone and smiled—not warmly, but knowingly.

Then, to someone—or something—unseen, he said softly, “She heard you, didn’t she?”

A whisper answered, too faint for human words.

His smile deepened. “Good.”

Emily stepped out into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind her. The hallway was dim, lit only by the dying glow of torches, and the air carried that faint metallic scent that always clung to the palace at night. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Inside, she could still hear the soft clink of the king’s spoon against the bowl, then silence. She started to turn away when another sound stopped her: a voice—low, hoarse, and close. It wasn’t the king’s. It came from within the chamber, though the door was now firmly shut.

She froze, straining to listen.

“Too many eyes on her,” the unseen voice said, the words like smoke slipping through the cracks. “She’s not like the others.”

The king’s reply came, quiet but sharp. “She’s nothing. A distraction, nothing more.”

“You keep distractions alive?” the voice murmured. “Unusual, even for you.”

A pause. Then the king’s tone changed—colder, deliberate. “Alive is the easiest way to keep something within reach.”

Emily’s throat tightened. She knew she shouldn’t be there, but her feet wouldn’t move. The silence that followed was heavier than the air itself. Then came a sound she couldn’t place—like a deep exhale, but wrong somehow, too low, too soft, as if the room itself were breathing.

When the king spoke again, his voice had softened in a way she had never heard before. “Leave it, Myrr. I’ll decide what she’s worth.”

A faint chill swept under the door, brushing over Emily’s ankles like a draft. She stumbled back, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. She hurried down the corridor, trying not to look over her shoulder, though she felt watched all the same.

Behind her, the door creaked open just enough for a sliver of lamplight to cut across the hall. The king stood in the doorway, eyes darker than before, a shadow stretching long behind him.

For an instant, he looked down the empty corridor where Emily had gone and smiled—not warmly, but knowingly.

Then, to someone—or something—unseen, he said softly, “She heard you, didn’t she?”

A whisper answered, too faint for human words.

His smile deepened. “Good.”