Nahar followed Solomon through the winding stairs, leaving the darkness of the dungeon behind. Despite the uncertainty surrounding her fate, she felt an inexplicable sense of ease trailing Solomon from behind. His broad shoulders and confident stride seemed to shelter her from harm.
But as they ascended, Nahar's thoughts caught up with her. Fear etched its way onto her face as she recalled the events of moments prior. Solomon, the same man now guiding her to safety, had stood behind her, ready to unleash unspeakable torture.
Her mind recoiled at the thought. Why did she feel safe with him now? Had she misjudged him entirely? The questions swirled, and Nahar's anxiety grew.
As they entered the throne room, Henry and Ariel sat majestically on the throne, their eyes fixed on the approaching pair. Two burly guards stepped forward, grasping Nahar's arms and pinning her to the ground.
A faint moan of pain escaped her lips, the sound slicing through Solomon like a dagger. He winced, taken aback by the unexpected pang in his chest. Why did her pain resonate so deeply within him?
Solomon's gaze narrowed. Was Nahar using some sort of spell to manipulate him? He couldn't shake the feeling that she had woven a subtle enchantment around him.
Determined to uncover the truth, Solomon's resolve hardened. He would question Nahar, unravel the mystery behind her strange hold on him, and ensure she wouldn't deceive him again.
"Secure her," Solomon ordered, his voice firm but controlled.
The guards tightened their grip, holding Nahar fast. Her eyes locked onto Solomon's, a mixture of fear and curiosity swirling within their depths.
Henry and Ariel observed the scene unfolding before them, their expressions unreadable. The throne room hung in silence, awaiting Solomon's next move.
With Nahar firmly in custody, Solomon began his interrogation. "Tell me, Nahar, what sorcery have you cast upon me?" His eyes bored into hers, demanding answers.
Nahar's confusion deepened. What was Solomon talking about? She hadn't cast any spells. But as she searched his face, she saw something there, something that gave her hope.
"I did not cast any spells on you," Nahar declared, her words laced with defiance and disrespect.
Solomon fought the urge to retaliate, his calm demeanor a thin veil over the turmoil brewing within. However, his soldiers didn't share his restraint.
"How dare you speak to our king with such disrespect!" one of them growled, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Solomon raised a hand, forestalling their intervention. "Let her speak." His voice remained even, but his eyes narrowed.
"Why do I feel your pain?" Solomon pressed on, his gaze piercing.
Nahar's confusion deepened. "Sorry, I don't follow," she admitted, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
But deep down, she sensed something – a connection with Solomon that transcended the present. It was as if their paths had crossed in a past life, leaving an indelible mark.
Henry, frustrated by her evasive replies, arose from the throne. His eyes flashed with annoyance.
"You would do well to understand, Nahar," Henry warned, his tone icy. "The only reason you still draw breath is because my brother permits it. If you value your life, you would speak with respect and candor."
Nahar trembled, fear's cold grip wrapping around her heart. Henry's words left no doubt: her life hung precariously in the balance.
She glanced at Solomon, wondering if their mysterious connection would prove her salvation once more. But then she recalled her rude words to him.
"Not after speaking to him rudely," she chided herself, realizing her mistake.
Solomon's expression remained inscrutable, but Nahar detected a flicker of something – empathy, perhaps, or understanding.
"Explain your presence in Zorvath's army," Solomon commanded, his voice firm but controlled.
Nahar swallowed hard, choosing her words with care. "My kingdom, Aethoria, was destroyed when I was just a child," she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Zorvath's army?" Henry's skepticism was palpable. "You expect us to believe you were forced into their ranks?"
Nahar's eyes dropped, her voice laced with a calculated deceit. "Yes, I was taken from my homeland and forced to fight for Zorvath. I had no choice."
But the truth, hidden behind her words, was far more complex. Nahar had willingly fought for the Persian army, fueled by a burning desire for vengeance.
The Persian army had convinced her that Emberhaven, Henry and Solomon's kingdom, was responsible for Aethoria's downfall. That lie had ignited a fire within her, driving her to take up arms against the perceived enemy.
Solomon's gaze never wavered, searching for the truth behind her words. And beneath the surface, their connection simmered, waiting to be acknowledged.
"I see," Solomon said, his tone measured. "And what do you know of Zorvath's intentions?"
Nahar's hesitation was almost imperceptible. "Only that they seek to expand their dominion, conquering all in their path."
She lied, not wanting to reveal the truth about Zorvath being a pawn used by the Persians.
Henry's eyes narrowed. "Conveniently vague, don't you think, brother?"
Solomon's expression remained thoughtful. "Perhaps. But I sense there's more to her story."
As the interrogation continued, Nahar walked a delicate balance between truth and deception, unaware that her fate hung precariously in the balance, tied to the very connection she shared with Solomon.