Price of Possession

Chapter 3:The Unexpected Farewell

The weight of the meeting still hung heavily on Princess Hera as she struggled to find her footing. The tension, the words, and the unspeakable promises left her feeling both exhausted and overwhelmed. It was as if the world around her had shifted, and she had lost all sense of control.

As she stood there, barely able to keep herself upright, Ser Harold rushed to her side, offering his arm for support. "Princess, are you well?" His voice was full of concern, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of distress.

"I... I don't know," Hera whispered, her voice strained. Her heart still pounded from the confrontation with Lord Hellrune—the dark, possessive energy that radiated from him—lingered in her mind.

Ser Harold called to the other knights who had accompanied them, his voice urgent as he instructed them to assist. Princess Hera stood still, the chaos of the moment still swirling in her mind, her body refusing to move as quickly as her thoughts. She felt as if she were caught between two worlds—the one she had known and the one Hellrune was forcing her into.

"Your hand," Lord Hellrune's voice cut through the tension, smooth and low, as he extended his right arm toward her.

Hera blinked, confused, her gaze drawn to his muscled arm. The size and strength of it were undeniable, but it was his calm, commanding presence that held her in place. She couldn't bring herself to reach out, uncertain of what his gesture meant.

"I’m unaccustomed to such gestures," she said softly, still taken aback. "Please excuse this once."

Lord Hellrune didn’t seem to be offended. His lips curved slightly, though there was an unreadable edge to his expression. "You'll get used to it. I’m sure," he replied, his voice steady and confident.

Hera hesitated, but something in his eyes urged her to comply. Slowly, she extended her hand to him, the warmth of his palm sending a strange, unshakable shiver down her spine.

Before she could fully process what was happening, Lord Hellrune moved with terrifying swiftness. One moment, she was standing before him, and the next, she found herself lifted effortlessly off the ground, her body slung over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all. Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to make sense of it. She blinked several times, trying to understand what had just happened.

In one fluid motion, he placed her upon the back of a waiting horse, and Hera barely had time to register the movement before she was seated, her legs unsteady as they dangled from either side of the saddle. Then he opened her hands.

"You’re hurt," Lord Hellrune observed, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something softer in his tone. He gently reached for her hand, examining the blood that had begun to stain her palm from where her nails had dug into her skin in fear.

Hera stiffened, uneasy with the distance between them now being so close. She could feel his gaze upon her as he took her hand, his fingers warm and strangely comforting despite the coldness of his presence. But her mind could not settle—everything felt too strange, too unsettling.

"Thank you for accepting my hand," Lord Hellrune continued, his voice like velvet. He ran his thumb along the edge of her palm, and Hera flinched slightly, her heart racing as his touch lingered.

His next movement shocked her. Without hesitation, he brought her bleeding hand to his mouth and licked the blood away, his eyes never leaving hers as he did so. The intimacy of the action left her breathless, her body frozen as she tried to comprehend the rawness of the moment.

He looked at her, his dark eyes filled with something that made her feel exposed. "Farewell, Princess. We shall meet again."

She barely had time to react before he let go of her hand. Ser Harold and the other knights arrived, their voices muffled as they tried to regroup, but Hera felt as if she were still caught in the strange haze that Lord Hellrune had left her in. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, still sitting calmly on the opposite side of the camp, his presence looming large over the proceedings.

As the knights began to guide her away, she looked over her shoulder, her heart pounding, unsure of what to make of the emotions swirling inside her. She had no words for what had just transpired. The strange sensation of his touch, the fleeting tenderness of his words, and the terror of his presence... they left her utterly conflicted.

What is this? What is happening to me? Hera wondered as they moved forward, her hand still tingling from where he had held it.

Her heart raced with confusion, and her mind grappled with the question that she couldn’t seem to escape: What is Lord Hellrune truly after?

As they continued to ride away, the weight of the moment, of their parting, pressed heavily upon her. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling—there was fear, yes, but there was also something deeper, something that felt dangerously like fascination. As Princess Hera and her knights made their departure, the air around Lord Hellrune seemed to thicken with an unspoken tension. The weight of the meeting lingered in his thoughts, the strange exchange with the princess still echoing in his mind. His gaze followed them for a moment, the sight of their retreating forms offering him an unsettling sense of unfinished business.

The camp grew quieter as they left, but then a voice, sharp and inquisitive, broke the silence.

"A child?" The man who had approached him wore glasses, his expression one of intrigue and skepticism. He appeared without warning, stepping into Lord Hellrune’s personal space as though he had every right to do so. "I thought your goal was to take over Seraphis? Weren’t you trying to avoid bloodshed by proposing instead?" He paused, raising an eyebrow as if the entire situation confused him. "Or was I mistaken?"

Lord Hellrune didn’t flinch. His posture remained unmoving, as if the words were nothing more than a passing breeze. "You are right. I do want Seraphis," he said simply, his voice low and commanding. The man with glasses seemed to consider this for a moment, but the doubt didn’t leave his eyes.

"Then you should retract any compromise regarding the heir," the man continued. "An illegitimate child could be a seed of discord in the future. After all, they have no choice but to accept whatever we demand."

Lord Hellrune shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. His voice remained calm, but it was colder than before. "But she is one of the things I want to possess."

The words hung in the air, the silence that followed heavy and pregnant with meaning. The man, taken aback, stuttered for a moment, clearly shocked by the bluntness of Lord Hellrune’s admission.

"I beg your pardon?" The man blinked in disbelief, taking a step back. "You...you mean you want a woman?" His voice was laced with disbelief, his brow furrowing as if trying to make sense of what he had just heard. "But you’ve been indifferent about women—it's even started absurd rumors about you! A woman you hadn’t properly laid eyes upon until now? But you’re not the type to be swayed by a pretty face! So why all of a sudden?!"

Lord Hellrune’s gaze grew colder still, though a hint of something unfamiliar flickered in his eyes—something complex, impossible to define in a single glance. He remained composed, his voice low but resolute. "This proposal is akin to a raid. It’s not as if I can force her if she’s given her heart to another. And I don’t intend to."

The man’s confusion only deepened, his mind racing to piece together the contradiction before him. "The child doesn’t concern me," Lord Hellrune added, as if the matter was trivial, but the words still hung heavily in the air, pregnant with implications.

The man, who had now stepped back slightly, struggled to make sense of it all. "Why do you speak like you’ve loved her for a long time...? Don’t tell me you’re honestly after the princess’s heart?" He blinked, the absurdity of the situation only increasing. "There’s another reason, right?"

Lord Hellrune’s gaze turned sharp, a flicker of something dangerous lighting his eyes. "I simply intend to take what’s mine. It was always mine to begin with."

The man, still reeling from the strange words, stumbled over his next sentence. "Pardon? You mean...Seraphis?"

The words hit him like a jolt of electricity. What was it that Lord Hellrune meant by that? The idea that Seraphis—this impoverished, seemingly inconsequential kingdom—was "his" already made no sense. He had thought the man was seeking rest after years of battling across fields of war. Why, then, would he turn his eyes to such a destitute land?

The man’s thoughts raced. Could it be related to...something I’ve yet to learn about his past?

Lord Hellrune’s cold voice broke through his musings, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Valrek, shut it. If it’s something you need to know, I’ll tell you. So do not pry." He turned to face the man fully now, his gaze intense, but unreadable.

Valrek, who had been questioning with genuine curiosity, immediately understood the warning in Lord Hellrune’s tone. He realized that he had pushed too far—his curiosity had led him to step into a dangerous realm, one where the rules were different.

True, it wasn’t his place to question the intentions of the man who had led armies to victory, whose name struck fear into the hearts of enemies and allies alike. He knew better than to press too hard.

"As you wish, My lord," he said, his voice carefully neutral as he bowed his head slightly.

Lord Hellrune gave a slight nod, acknowledging Riven’s compliance, before turning his gaze back to the horizon, where Seraphis lay in the distance—a kingdom that, for reasons he had yet to fully explain, held far more significance to him than it ever had to anyone else.

And as the camp grew quiet again, the man with glasses was left with his own questions, unanswered and lingering like a shadow over the battlefield that had only just begun.