The hall felt frozen in time, the air thick with the metallic tang of freshly spilled blood. The crimson splatter painted the once-immaculate marble floor, and the sight of the headless knight sent a cold shiver down the spines of everyone present. Gasps and whispers of horror echoed around the hall, but all Thorne could hear was the furious pounding of his own heart, his focus honed razor-sharp.
With a flick of his hand, the fallen knight's sword flew into Thorne's grip, as though it belonged there. He didn't hesitate. In one swift, merciless movement, he held the blade to the king's throat, the edge biting dangerously into the royal skin. The king's face twisted in disbelief and rage, but beneath the façade, there was a flicker of fear. The fear of a man who had never been this close to death, who had always believed himself untouchable.
