The throne room loomed, a cavernous expanse where the ceiling seemed to dissolve into the darkness above, yet it felt as though it were closing in on Aita. The walls, hewn from the same dark stone as the rest of the palace, were adorned with intricate carvings depicting dragons in flight, ancient battles, and the rise of a great dragon king. The detail was so precise that the images seemed to pulse with life, as if the stone itself bore the memories of a bygone era. When the flames from the torches flickered, the dragons appeared to move—wings stretching, claws extending in a frozen ballet of power and destruction.
Massive columns of black obsidian lined the room, glistening in the firelight. Each column was wrapped in gold filigree, spiraling upwards like coiled serpents, leading to a ceiling dominated by more dragon motifs. The columns stood like silent sentinels, marking the path towards the throne, contributing to the overwhelming sense of grandeur and menace.
The floor, a polished expanse of fire, gleamed underfoot, its smooth surface reflecting the flickering flames in eerie, distorted patterns.
The heat was suffocating, pressing down on Aita like a physical weight. Every breath was a struggle, every movement a reminder of the danger she was in.
A deep voice cut through the oppressive silence, sharp and commanding, pulling Aita from her secret observation of the throne room. Anything to keep her mind from giving up. "What's your name?"
Aita flinched, her head snapping up in reflex before she could stop herself. A rough hand struck her cheek, the sound echoing in the chamber. It was Fallon. She felt his strike through every fibre of her being. When she had lost her powers, she had lost her strength, and now she was merely mortal.
"First lesson," the voice growled, a sinister edge to it, "never look into the King's eyes."
Aita's gaze dropped instantly, fear tightening her throat. "Aita," she whispered, hatred curling in her belly as she spoke. She despised him, this monster who ruled with fire and fear. She despised Fallon. She would give anything to see them dead. Anything to kill them.
The man, his presence overwhelming, leaned closer, taking in Aita's every move. Aita badly wanted to look at him. To see if there was recognition in his eyes. To see if there was remorse. To see if she wasn't a complete fool for saving him. She had seen his dragon tattoo. She had felt his powers, yet she saved him. This was all her doing. She caused the destruction of her island, and her family, and herself.
"She will warm my bed tonight," he said, his voice low, dangerous, making Aita's heart skip at the implications even worse when he added, "Take the other one to her cell."
One of the dragons behind him shifted to his human form. Clad only in tight pants with a bare chest, his muscles glistening in the firelight, he stepped forward. He was mesmerizing, but the danger he radiated was palpable. He complied with the command, dragging Elna away.
"No, please!" Elna screamed as he lifted her onto his shoulders.
"Elnaaaaaa!"
"Aita!!!!!"
But their screams did nothing. Elna was taken away, and Aita remained.
The king turned his attention to Fallon, who had remained silent but tense. "You will have a dragon for your quest," the king declared, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder.
Fallon bowed deeply, unable to hide the satisfaction on his face.
"Meiji will hand you one," the king continued. "Return my dragon safely, or your entire pack will be wiped out in fire so hot just the thought of it will turn them to ashes."
Fallon's expression hardened, understanding the gravity of the threat. With a final nod, he left the throne room, leaving Aita to the suffocating heat and her own swirling emotions—pain, anger, grief, and betrayal.
"Your Highness," two women, dressed in long, flowing gowns, entered the throne room, their presence almost regal as they moved gracefully across the stone floor. They bowed as they approached the throne, their eyes flicking briefly to Aita before settling on the king.
"Slave," the king's voice, cold and dismissive, echoed in the chamber, and Aita knew it was directed at her. The word seared her pride, and she bit back the retort that burned on her tongue.
"That's what you are," he spat, as if reading her thoughts.
Aita's fists clenched at her sides. "I am a princess," she hissed, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "The ruler of Glasgow. I saved you. I am a nightwalker."
The king's eyes narrowed, darkening with something between amusement and menace. "Leave us," he ordered the two women as he stepped down from the throne.
They hesitated only a moment before bowing and retreating from the room, leaving Aita alone with the man who had torn her life apart.
The man who had taken Elna to the cage returned, lingering at a distance, his expression unreadable. He was a willing slave, unlike Aita.
Aita's heart pounded in her chest as the king stepped closer, his eyes locked onto hers.
"You betrayed me," she said, her voice soft but dripping with venom.
"Who are you that I shall betray you? You are nothing. You have nothing left," he chuckled darkly, circling her like a predator. "What's that thing you value most? What's the only thing I have not taken from you?"
Aita's breath hitched, panic surging through her. She didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was after. Her hands trembled as she forced herself to stand tall.
"Maybe I should take it," the king mused, his voice casual, but the threat was unmistakable.
"You won't take my innocence," Aita shot back, her voice stronger than she felt. "I am a sworn virgin till death! You will not have me."
The king's lips curled into a cruel smile, his eyes darkening further. "Cypher," he called out, his tone icy, "bring her to my room. If she refuses, sedate her."
There was no emotion in his voice, no hint of the man behind the monster. Aita's blood ran cold, and for the first time, true terror gripped her. She couldn't let this happen, but how could she stop him?