"Take him out of here and lock him up. This is treason. Anyone who harms the heir to the throne is to be sentenced to death."
The words echoed relentlessly in Randall's ears, each syllable a hammer striking the fragile walls of his heart. Treason. Death. The verdict of the queen, delivered without mercy, without thought. His limbs trembled as the guards grabbed his arms, dragging him from the throne room.
He tried to glance at his father, desperate for a sign, a hint of defiance. But King Aldric's face was blank, unreadable, eyes clouded with something he couldn't decipher. Betrayal. That was all Randall could see. Betrayal in the man who had given him life yet could not protect him from the cruelty of the world,or the cruelty of the queen.
Betrayal.
Life had betrayed him..
His mother betrayed him by dying and leaving him all alone.
His father's betrayal was what stung him even more than a bee's Sting.
It seemed to seep into the very stones of the palace, pressing against him as he was marched down narrow corridors and thrown into the dungeon. The iron door clanged shut, and the echo reverberated through his chest like a death knell. Darkness swallowed him, cold and damp, mingling with the scent of mold and despair.
Randall sank to the stone floor, knees drawn to his chest. The whispers came then, soft and venomous, slipping through the gaps in the dungeon walls like smoke.
"It's no surprise. He'd do this…"
"What would you expect from the son of a prostitute?"
"This was long to be expected…"
The words wrapped around his mind, squeezing tighter with every passing second. Even in his anger, he couldn't stop the memories of his mother flooding in,her face, her warmth, the faint scent of jasmine she had carried. She was gone, taken from him by death, leaving him alone in a world that had always rejected him.
Tears came then, for the first time in a very long while. They slid freely down his face, hot and bitter, leaving streaks on dirt-smeared cheeks. Randall's heart ached,not from the bruises of Torbert's fists or the sting of Noria's kicks, but from the betrayal that cut deeper than any blade.
"By tomorrow," he whispered to the shadows, voice hoarse, trembling, "I'll be free… free to join her… free to leave this world behind."
He imagined the embrace of his mother, the soft comfort of a voice that had never scolded, never shamed him. The dungeon walls seemed to shrink around him, suffocating, pressing him toward a final, desperate surrender.
But the fire in him,the spark that had never been extinguished despite a lifetime of scorn,flickered stubbornly. He clenched his fists, blood pumping with a mix of fear and defiance. The shadows of the dungeon could hold him physically, but they could not touch the fury growing in his heart, the resolve forming in the depths of his soul.
****
Far above, in the throne room, King Aldric sat, or rather, did not sit. He paced relentlessly, boots echoing against the polished stone. His hands tugged at the edges of his tunic, knuckles white with tension. His gaze kept drifting to the empty space where his son had once stood, and a hollow ache settled in his chest.
He had faced death. He had fought in battles where men screamed and shields shattered, where swords bit flesh and men fell lifeless in the mud,yet he couldn't stand up to his wife.
Nothing had ever made him feel so small, so impotent, as watching Randall condemned without lifting a finger.
What kind of king am I? Aldric thought bitterly. What kind of father allows his own blood to be sentenced to death for something so… insignificant?
He stopped in the center of the hall, jaw tight, the weight of shame pressing on him like armor too heavy to bear. The queen's words still rang in his ears, triumphant and cruel:
"I want the bastard's head."
And he had done nothing.
King Aldric's jaw tightened as he watched the court obey his wife's decree. His heart ached for Randall, but every fiber of his being feared Noria's wrath.
One wrong word, one gesture against her, and the court, the guards, perhaps even the kingdom itself, would turn. The whole kingdom had begun to warm themselves again towards him after he had a bastard son and now to see him defending that bastard against the heir to the throne, might just bring in a mutiny or the gods forbid, bloodshed. Glandow detested infidelity and illegitimate heirs. He wanted to shout, to defend his son, but his voice caught in his throat. The weight of kingship and marriage ,of duty and fear,held him silent.
Aldric's heart ached. He could not reconcile the love he felt for his son with the fear he had carried all these years, the fear of Noria's wrath, the fear of challenging a queen who ruled him more than he ruled her. He had been a warrior once, but now he realized that courage in battle was meaningless without courage in life, in family.
His gaze drifted toward the dungeon, toward the iron door that held his firstborn like an animal. He saw the shadows moving within, felt the weight of Randall's despair through the stone and silence. Something primal stirred in him,the desire to correct this wrong, to protect the boy who was not only his son but the first heir of his blood, the one who carried the spark of the kingdom in his veins.
He moved toward the fire-touch, the torch he carried, and then toward the stairs that led to the dungeons. Every step echoed with determination and fear. This is what a father must do, he reminded himself. This is what a king must do, beyond fear and beyond politics.
****
The dungeon was cold, the air thick with dust and mildew. The iron bars were slick with damp, and the torches in the hallway flickered, casting jagged shadows along the walls. Randall heard the footsteps first, slow and deliberate. He tensed instinctively, unsure whether they belonged to the guards coming to deliver the final verdict,or his father, at last.
"Who's there?" he called, voice raw from crying.
The footsteps stopped. Silence fell, only the drip of water from the ceiling echoing in the darkness.
Then a key rattled in the lock. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, the torchlight illuminating a familiar face.
King Aldric.
Randall's chest tightened. He wanted to run forward, to collapse into his father's arms, but shame and fear rooted him to the ground.
"My son," Aldric said, voice low but steady, carrying the weight of years and unspoken love. "Do not speak. Stand."
Randall obeyed, wiping tears hastily from his cheeks. The king approached, eyes searching his face, lips pressed in a thin line.
"I… I could not," Aldric whispered, almost to himself, "I could not face her. I could not…"
Randall's gaze flickered, confusion mingling with hurt.
"You are my blood," the king continued, voice firmer now, catching Randall off guard. "My firstborn. Bastard or not, the blood of Glandow runs through your veins. And no queen, no law, no fear… shall take that from you."
Randall's throat tightened. He had never heard words like these. Never from his father, never in his life. His body ached from the dungeon's floor and the weight of despair, but a spark ignited in his chest.
The king bent, unlocking the heavy chains that bound Randall's wrists. "Rise," he commanded. "Rise, and leave this place. Never return. If you do, Noria's vengeance will not spare you. But for now… you are free."
Randall staggered to his feet, heart pounding, disbelief making his legs feel unsteady.
"Father… I…"
Aldric held up a hand, cutting him off. "No words, son. Only this: find your place in the world. Seek joy, seek strength, seek honor. You are mine. The gods keep you. And remember… you are destined for more than this palace, more than any crown or insult. You are the son of Glandow, and the world will not forget you."
Tears blurred Randall's vision again, but this time, they were not only for sorrow. They were for relief, for love, for a faint glimmer of hope he had not felt in years.
He stepped into the corridor, torchlight flickering over his features, and the heavy iron door slammed behind him. He was no longer a prisoner. He was no longer a pawn.
And as he emerged into the cold night air, Randall felt something he had not felt in a long time: the taste of freedom, bitter and sharp, yet exhilarating.
The stars above seemed to stretch infinitely, unjudging, indifferent, and alive. The world beyond the walls of Glandow stretched before him, vast, untamed, dangerous. And for the first time, Randall felt that he could face it.
He would leave this life of shadows, insults, and fear behind. He would hunt, he would fight, he would learn. He would rise.
And one day… the whispers of betrayal, the sting of his mother's absence, the cruelty of a queen… all of it would be repaid. Not in petty vengeance, but in hard work, in mastery, in doing the right thing.
He took a deep breath, the chill of the night biting at his lungs, and stepped forward. The path ahead was uncertain, wild, and dangerous,but it was his.