COURTYARD OF THE ROYALS
The courtyard was restless, heavy with whispers that clung like smoke. Banners hung low, their colors dulled beneath the weight of mourning. The air stank faintly of ash and incense, the telltale signs of a funeral being set in motion.
The royal children gathered in uneasy clusters, silks and jewels dimmed by grief. Some muttered prayers; others only stared at the ground, afraid to meet each other's eyes. No one trusted the silence anymore. Not after blood had already soaked palace marble, and the killer still ran loose.
Then the hush broke.
A maiden darted into the courtyard, breath ragged, her sandals scraping stone. The lords turned sharply, expecting her to bow before the emperor's brood, to kneel and deliver her tidings aloud.
But she did not.
Instead, she clutched her skirts tighter and veered, each step hesitant, her gaze darting between the gathered royals as though each might strike her down. Her trembling path ended not at the feet of a prince or princess—
—but at the shadow standing a step behind them.
The crown prince's valet.
She bent low, her lips barely moving as she whispered, a voice only Ryker could hear.
The valet stiffened. Slowly, his gaze slid toward the crown prince.
The maiden's eyes followed, wide and glassy, like a lamb forced to glance at a wolf. Fear clung to her face—raw, choking fear. She wrung her hands as though the very act of speaking had doomed her.
The valet inclined his head once, curt and sharp. Then, with measured steps, he approached his master.
Kaelin did not move.
And the maiden stood frozen where she had been, her hands clasped so tightly the knuckles had gone bone-white, her eyes brimming with a fear she could not voice.
The valet reached Kaelin's side, bending low. His lips brushed close to the crown prince's ear, the words too quiet for any other to catch.
Kaelin's brow furrowed instantly. His frown cut sharp, and the courtyard's whispers faltered as if the air itself dared not move against him.
He rose to his feet in a single, fluid motion. No hesitation. No explanation.
Then, before the gaze of his siblings and the wary lords, the crown prince bowed — a gesture of formality sharp enough to feel like a dismissal.
Without a word, he turned on his heel. His cloak swirled like smoke in his wake as he strode across the courtyard, his valet falling into step beside him. The trembling maiden hurried after, clutching her skirts as though her knees might fail her at any moment.
All three vanished through the archway, their footsteps carrying toward the east wing.
Toward Concubine Auren's chamber.
Emperor Gemma only stared at him until he was out of the courtyard. Then, he ordered his guard:
"Find out what happened."
The doors creaked open to Concubine Auren's chamber. Her maidens huddled by the threshold, tears streaking their faces, their muffled sobs failing to soften the dread thick in the air.
Kaelin's steps carried him inside. His shadow stretched across the chamber floor, followed closely by his valet and the trembling maiden who had brought the word.
By the bed, Concubine Auren sat, her silks disheveled, her hair undone. The light from the single brazier painted her face in hollow hues. In her hand, a slender hairpin glimmered — its sharp end pressed just above the swell of her throat.
When she turned, her lips curved into a smile. A smile too soft, too broken to belong to a mother who had just lost her son.
"Your Highness," she breathed, voice low, worn thin from hours of weeping. "You came."
The hairpin did not waver. Her fingers tightened around it, trembling, but steady in their intent.
Her smile deepened, sad, almost tender.
"I thought… if no one else would follow my child into the dark… then I must."
Kaelin took a slow step forward, his frown carved deep. His voice cut through the charged silence, low and edged.
"Why are you doing this?"
Concubine Auren's hand trembled against her throat, the point of the hairpin biting faintly into her skin. Tears rimmed her eyes, but her smile held.
"I only had one thing… and I lost it. My son was all I had. My breath, my reason. And now—" her voice broke, her chest heaving with a sob, "now there is nothing left. I only wanted… to see you once more, Your Highness."
She shifted as he stepped closer, her back brushing the bedpost. The hairpin pressed harder against her throat.
"Stay back, Your Highness. Don't come closer."
Her tone was desperate but firm, her gaze locked onto him, daring him to move another step.
Kaelin stilled, his gaze fixed on her. He did not move closer, did not reach for the trembling hand clutching the hairpin. He only watched.
Concubine Auren's lips quivered as her eyes softened, wet with tears that would not stop.
"Thank you… for seeing me as more than a vessel, more than a concubine. You—" her voice cracked, "you treated me as human. And for that… I am grateful."
Her fingers tightened on the pin, her breathing ragged.
"Thank you… for being my second son. For giving me, even for a moment, the illusion of family."
She shuddered, her body wracked with quiet sobs. Then, forcing herself upright, her gaze hardened.
"And thank you… for catching the murderer. But, Your Highness—" her tone sharpened like steel wrapped in grief, "I can't bear to stay and watch, so promise me you will find the one behind it. The hand that dared to move against my son, your brother. Promise me… they will suffer."
Her eyes locked onto his, pleading, demanding. The hairpin shook against her throat as though her very resolve depended on his answer.
Kaelin's voice came low, steady, yet it carried like iron across the quiet chamber.
"I promise. Whoever pulled the strings will not hide for long. I will drag them into the light… and when I do, they will suffer more than your son did."
The words, sharp as a blade, seemed to ease her trembling. Concubine Auren's lips curved into a fragile smile, her tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
"Then… I can rest."
Her grip on the pin loosened, but not fully. She tilted her head back, gaze fixed on him as though memorizing his face. Then, she chuckled softly.
"I'm sorry… I can't make you buns again." Her laugh was broken, half a sob. "If I am born again, my wish… is to meet you again, my prince."
Her voice wavered, yet her eyes were clear as glass when she whispered:
"But for now… I have to go to my son."
She pressed the hairpin harder against her throat, smile trembling but resolute.
"Bury me… with my son."
Kaelin's jaw tightened as her final words fell like stones in the silence.
For the briefest moment, his gaze lingered on her — on the fragile smile that did not belong to a woman about to die, but to a mother already gone.
Then, without a word, he turned. His cloak whispered against the floor as he strode to the door, his valet shadowing him.
Behind him, the maidens' muffled sobs trembled through the air.
The last thing he heard, before the chamber door shut, was the faint crack of a breath drawn sharp — and the wet, final sound of a life leaving.
The silence that followed was heavier than grief itself.
Kaelin did not look back.
NEXT DAY — ROYAL BURIAL TOMB
The courtyard was drenched in mourning cloth. Black banners fluttered weakly in the breeze, veils of incense smoke drifting like ghosts through the air.
The lords of Tenebria gathered in silence, their usual grandeur dimmed by ash and shadow.
The royal family stood apart. The Emperor, stone-faced, bore his crown as though it weighed thrice its worth. His surviving children stood in a fractured line: Viktor rigid as iron, Astrid with lips pressed pale, Flynn shifting uneasily, Kaelin unreadable at the center, the younger ones stiff with fear. The first and second princesses were absent, being tended in emergency care.
The sky over Tenebria was heavy with ash-grey clouds, as if the heavens themselves had lowered to watch. The courtyard had been transformed into a field of mourning — pyres raised in a solemn row, each draped in black silk embroidered with silver threads of the royal crest.
The Third Prince, Orion.
The Fourth Prince, Aiden.
Concubine Auren.
The Eighth Prince, Arin.
The Eighth Prince's mother, who had taken her own life before dawn.
The bells tolled — one, two, three, each strike rolling like thunder over the silent court.
Every house of power was present. The witches cloaked in black vines, warlocks painting ash across their foreheads, the sorcerers chanting low prayers. Familiar tamers knelt with their beasts at heel, and even the masked emissaries of the Void pressed close, their silence heavy.
The herald's voice rang out over the silence:
"Before us lie those whose blood was royal, whose names are etched in the marrow of Tenebria itself. They were sons, mothers, roots of the empire — bound by vow, and struck down by treachery. Their oaths are ended, their chains broken. We return them now to ash and spirit, to light and to silence."
The pyres were set aflame one after the other. Smoke curled high, carrying with it the cries of mourners.
The mothers of the fallen tore their veils, wailing. Courtiers bowed their heads, but their whispers never stopped.
"Three princes dead…"
"The empire bleeds its heirs."
"If the Oath Kin themselves are not safe, who among us is?"
"The Fifth Prince clung unto life, I heard."
"He has a strong will to live."
The Emperor raised a hand, silencing even the whispers. He spoke afterwards, his tone authoritative.
"Know this — the enemy hides among us, cloaked by oath and shadow. But the blood of kings does not fall unavenged. I will scour the marrow of this land, stone by stone, vow by vow. Until the hand that struck my sons is broken."
The crowd echoed, "May it be so!" though fear coiled beneath every word.
As the flames roared higher, the princes and princesses stood like statues, each bearing the weight of survival.
Kaelin, the crown prince, did not take his eyes off the fire. His valet stood behind him, sword at his hip, shadow-still. In the blaze reflected in his eyes, something glimmered — not mourning, but promise.
A vow unspoken, yet sharp as any blade: this will not end here.
TBC...