The grand palace doors loomed before them, their towering height and gilded carvings. Two armored guards pushed them open with a heavy groan, revealing a long corridor bathed in golden light from torches lining the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and aged parchment, this explains the ancient magic that had long protected the palace.
Odi barely noticed. Every step sent sharp waves of pain through her battered body. Her ribs ached, her wrists bore deep bruises from the shackles, and the brand on her shoulder throbbed like a living wound. Still, she held her head high, refusing to show weakness. Beside her, Oliver walked with a self-important strut, while Ben hovered close behind, his worried gaze flicking between her and their surroundings.
They hadn't made it far before a figure stepped out from the shadows, stopping them in their tracks. Heath.
He was striking, almost unnervingly so. Tall and broad-shouldered, his lean frame was wrapped in dark, finely embroidered robes, the fabric shifting like liquid shadows. His high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and piercing emerald eyes could have belonged to a sculpted deity rather than a man of this realm. His hair was the color of raven feathers, tousled yet somehow perfect, and there was a quiet intensity to him that made the air feel heavier.
Oliver was the first to react. The moment his gaze met Heath's, he dropped to one knee, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the marble floor. "The great sorcerer of the kingdom," he crooned, voice dripping with exaggerated reverence. "I have long admired your work, my lord. They say you are the only true wielder of magic, a force unmatched, the guardian of King Darius himself. An honor, an absolute honor, to be in your presence."
Heath barely spared him a glance. His expression remained impassive, bored even, as though he had heard these words a thousand times before and found them lacking every single time. He lifted a gloved hand to his face, rubbing his fingers together as though the very air around Oliver offended him. "Spare me your groveling, filth," he muttered, voice smooth yet laced with venom. "Your words stink as much as you do."
Oliver's smile faltered. He cleared his throat, straightening slightly. "My lord, I only meant…"
Heath raised a single finger, and a sudden gust of wind whooshed through the corridor, knocking Oliver back a step. "Silence. I have neither the patience nor the desire to entertain your nonsense. Your presence here is already an insult to my senses." His gaze flicked to Odi, assessing her with mild curiosity. "And you, you are the one the King has summoned. Why did you bring guests?"
Odi met his stare without flinching. She had seen him before, the one who asked the King to execute her when she was caught at the auction. She had encountered men who wielded fear like a weapon before, and she refused to cower before another. "They came along, they're with me."
Heath arched a dark brow, as if amused by her defiance. "Charming." Then, without another word, he turned on his heel. "Follow me."
As they walked, Heath kept his distance, leading them through the vast halls with an air of cold indifference. Every so often, he would glance over his shoulder, grimacing at Oliver's unwashed state and the trail of dirt he left behind. When they finally reached the grand double doors of the throne room, Heath exhaled sharply and wiped his hands on his robes, as though merely being near Oliver had tainted him.
He placed a hand on the ornate wood, and a pulse of faint blue energy rippled outward. The doors creaked open as though the palace itself obeyed his command.
The throne room was magnificent. Marble columns stretched toward the heavens, their surfaces etched with golden inlays of past rulers. A vast domed ceiling displayed a painted mural of a celestial battle, a story frozen in time. The floor gleamed beneath the torchlight, polished to perfection. And at the far end, upon a throne of darkened steel and ruby accents, sat King Darius.
He was regal even in his silence. Dressed in deep crimson and gold, his presence alone was enough to command the room. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his jawline sharp, but his eyes, those piercing gray eyes, held a depth that spoke of burden and wisdom beyond his years.
Odi stiffened, her heart hammering against her ribs. The last time she had seen him, he had let her go. Now, she stood before him again, broken, bruised, and utterly at his mercy.
Heath stepped aside, gesturing lazily. "Your Majesty, the… guests have arrived."
Darius's gaze flicked over the group, landing on Odi last. Something flashed in his expression, something she couldn't quite decipher. Concern? Recognition? It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual unreadable mask.
"You brought guests" Darius said, sounding disappointed.
"We are no guests, your majesty. We are family" Oliver responded sharply. "My name is Oliver, your majesty. I am from the Urchin Community, and I groomed Odi to be who she is today."
"To be who she is today?" Darius inquired, sounding very curious.
Heath found it amusing and burst out a laugh, this drew attention to him. They all looked at him, Darius still keeping a straight face and seemed upset that Heath found it funny that Oliver thinks he did a great job raising Odi.
"Yes sir, I mean, look at her, she is beautiful, isn't she? Charming, even the almighty wizard said so, right" Oliver turned to Heath who now had a straight face and refused to respond. "She is going to make a great concubine, your majesty."
"What?" Ben spoke out immediately, "I am sorry your majesty, but I think my master here is getting silly thoughts." He turns to Oliver giving him a very disapproving look.
Odi was just sulking in pains, she wished she could have those pain transferred to Oliver that instant. Perhaps she should beg the wizard, Heath to help her with that.