Chapter 109: The Queen
They did not listen to him, no matter how many times he tried. He pleaded, he explained, but instead of hearing him they struck him with their boots. When he begged once more they seized his hands and legs, binding him and hanging him against the wall like a doll. After that, there was nothing left but the slow, merciless arrival of pain.
A pain, a muscle-sickening pain, an agonizing pain, an inescapable pain, an unbearable pain. Hundreds, no, thousands of merciless skin-cutting strikes from the whip landed again and again on his back, his legs, his chest, his abdomen, his torso, until his whole body became nothing but a trembling canvas for their hatred and cruelty. At first, he cried quietly, unable to stop the tears no matter how hard he tried. The pain was too much for him to endure even for a little moment, and he had no strength left to hold it inside. Every passing second brought another strike, another blow, another tearing of his skin, as though they were taking some kind of revenge for a sin he could not even remember, perhaps a sin from a past life that he could not defend himself against.
Eventually, blood began to drip from his body where the whip had cut deep enough to open him. When they grew tired of tormenting him, they released him and threw him aside like a ragdoll. He stayed crouched and still because even moving felt impossible. As time passed, the pain inside his flesh grew more unbearable, until at times he felt as though dying would be a relief. But he could not die. He could not let himself. He had to wait for her. He had to wait for her to come.
Why had she not come yet? She should have visited him. She should have been here. Or perhaps she thought he was some kind of thief. Perhaps someone had poisoned her mind against him. But she trusted him. She always trusted him. She would never think such a thing. She would never.
At some point, they brought him something they called food, but it was nothing more than a half piece of something rotten and unrecognizable. He could not even tell what it was. His hands shook as he stared at it, and in the end, he managed only to sip a little water. What else could he do except cry and cry and cry? There was nothing else to do but cry. Nothing else left for him at all. And what about tomorrow? Would they hit him like this again? Would there ever be an end to it?
Suddenly, as his mind drifted into its darkest corners, he remembered the terrifying feeling buried deep in his heart, the one he had tried to push away. His hands trembled, his body trembled, even his whole being trembled because he was afraid. He was so terribly afraid of tomorrow. He could not sleep no matter how exhausted he was. How could he sleep when his whole being hurt like this, when his stomach growled with hunger that clawed at him and yet there was nothing to eat, nothing to quiet it? Throughout the day they gave him only a half-torn piece of bread, already spoiled. It still lay near him until finally he forced himself to take it and push it down his throat just to stay alive a little longer. Life here was miserable, so miserable, and he was afraid.
The next day came, and they hung him on the wall again. The sound of the whip striking his skin echoed through the silent prison, bouncing off the stone walls. He was afraid, terrified, and still waiting for her to come, but she did not. At the end of it, he was alone again, forcing himself to eat a little, forcing himself to drink a little, wondering how a person could still remain alive like this. Was it even possible? Was it ever meant to be possible?
The next day came again, and still there was nothing but pain. Nothing but pain, nothing but pain, unbearable pain. He still waited for her, but no one came. He was still so hungry, but at least today they gave him something more to eat. He swallowed whatever rotten things they threw at him because hunger left no choice. He was terrified still, but now his eyes had begun to dull.
Another day came and passed in the same way, with nothing but pain.
Another day.
Another day.
Another day.
And still no one came to see him. His wife did not come at all. His mind turned in circles, asking what she was doing, why she was not coming to save him.
Now only pain remained, because the terror had drained away. He was not terrified anymore. It was as though he had already begun to grow accustomed to this wretched pain.
Another week passed, and then another, and then another, and still nothing came to him at all. Still, she did not come. She did not even come to see how he was doing. The thought began to creep in, had she abandoned him in this place? Had she left him in this hell? Had she? But she loved him. She would not do that. She would not.
His eyes had grown dull, lifeless, hopeless. He no longer feared anything. Now he found himself almost waiting for them to hit him again because his mind was slipping, his thoughts no longer whole. Perhaps he had already begun to lose himself. He had even started to forget how pain felt. It was like a distant memory. He did not even know how he was still standing and walking when his leg had been broken by those bastards. But did it matter anymore? He could not feel pain anymore. He was accustomed to it now.
His eyes were dull, lifeless, hopeless. He was not waiting for anyone and did not want anything. He had nothing left, with Eska abandoning him. If somehow he managed to get away, he would find her and ask her why she did it. Although he was not sure if he would ever get out of this hell. Now, he was certain that no one would come to see him anymore.
Or so he thought.
One night, while he was sleeping, he felt as though someone was whispering his name softly. At first, he thought he was only imagining things, perhaps some remnant of a dream clinging to his mind, but when he slowly opened his eyes he realized he was wrong. Outside the prison cell stood a figure cloaked entirely in black, the dim light of the corridor hiding any trace of a face or any clear shape of who or what the person might be.
He forced himself to rise even though his whole body ached and screamed in pain, and as he dragged himself forward to the cold iron bars, his trembling hands gripping them tightly, he asked in a weak, uncertain voice, "W-who are you?"
The person tilted their head slightly, the movement almost unnatural in its slowness, and then replied in a strange tone that did not seem to belong to a man or a woman, "I am… Queen."
Caelum blinked several times, his dry lips parting as he whispered to himself, "Huh? What an unusual name…"
It seemed to him that the person standing there might be a woman judging from the faint curve of her silhouette beneath the cloak, but that detail did not matter to him at all, what mattered was the strange fact that she had come here at such an hour, when the entire prison slept, when even the guards were lost in their own dreams.
Then the woman spoke again, her voice carrying a low chuckle that seemed to echo faintly in the stillness of the corridor, "Indeed. But the name of mine is not the matter behind my reason for coming here tonight."
Caelum drew in a slow breath and let it out as a sigh, his brows knitting together, "So, why exactly have you come here? To talk to me? I don't even remember meeting someone like you at any time in my life."
The woman's voice came soft and even, "Actually, that is not true. You have seen me a few times at least. No matter how large the town of Velhart may seem, it is still small enough for paths to cross. We passed each other many times but at those moments neither of us knew who the other truly was."
Caelum tilted his head slightly, struggling to grasp what she meant, his mind already heavy with exhaustion and pain, but before he could form a question she spoke again.
"How are your days passing in the prison, Caelum?"
Caelum's fingers curled tightly around the bars before he forced himself to calm down enough to answer, "Can't you see it yourself? Look at me. My body, my spirit, everything they have done to me. I am living in hell. I can barely walk, barely breathe. I wished I was dead already."
The woman stood in silence for a moment, only her breathing audible beneath the hood, and then she tilted her head once more, her voice softer now, "I see… I suppose I was wrong about your current state even more than I imagined. But do you know who you should blame for this? Not me, not them. You should blame your wife because I saw her enjoying herself outside. I truly thought you would be fine in here, but now I see… what a disrespectful wife you have."
Caelum's lips trembled and for a moment no sound came from him, then his fists clenched tighter until the knuckles whitened and he asked in a low somber tone, "What do you mean she was having fun? I am in here drowning in my own blood. She must have been desperately trying to get me out of here."
The woman released a deep sigh, "How can you be sure of that? Has she ever come to you? Has she ever looked at you with her own eyes to see what you have become? Has she?"
Caelum slowly shook his head, his expression strange, his eyes unfocused as though he was fighting to hold on to something slipping from his grasp.
The woman fell quiet again, her voice dropping even lower as she continued, "Oh, yes, and I almost forgot to mention what kind of fun your wife is having. I could hardly bring myself to even speak those words aloud. How shameful it is."
Caelum's chest rose and fell as he fought to keep his mind steady, his voice shaking with anger as he replied, "What kind of fun are you speaking of exactly?"
The woman paused before answering, "Ah, you know… having fun with another man while you are trapped in this place, waiting for her to release you from this hell. Is that not shameful? Do you not think so?"
Caelum felt as though his entire world had begun to crumble, the cold iron of the bars biting into his palms as he gritted his teeth and glared at the figure before him, his voice rising despite himself, "How dare you say such things? She would never do that, never in her life. You are lying. She would never. I know her more than I know myself. She loves me. She would never betray me. Wait… are you trying to make me hate her? You are, aren't you? I don't want to hear another word from you."
The woman's chuckle returned, quiet and almost tender, "Did I not mention it… she was having fun with the very knight who arrested you. Oh, how forgetful of me… truly."
Caelum's knuckles turned bone white as his fists trembled even harder, and he spat toward her, his voice a raw snarl, "Don't lie to me, you bitch. You are trying to make me hate her but you will never succeed. I trust her. I know she would never. She would never. She would never ever do that."
Without answering his murmured words the woman slowly raised her hand and opened her palm. There, resting in her pale palm, was a strange orb glowing faintly in the darkness. But it was not the glow that made Caelum's breath catch; it was the image reflected within it.
His eyes widened and he felt them sting with sudden tears. Inside the orb he could see Eska. He did not know how it was possible but he could see her and she was naked. Why was she naked? Why?
And then he saw her kiss the man, the very knight who had arrested him, and then… and then what followed made his whole body tremble so violently he could hardly remain standing. He could not bear to watch his wife lying with another man.
Without thinking he squeezed his eyes shut and shouted, "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! I can't… I can't take it anymore. I said stop it. Please…"
His tears spilled freely now, sliding down his face to the cold stones below. He fell to his knees, his fingers loosening from the bars, his shoulders shaking. In that single moment whatever shred of hope had remained in him vanished completely.
How could Eska have betrayed him? Why did she betray him? Why did she? How could she lie with another man while she had a husband, how exactly?
The woman sat as well and, smiling in a tone that pretended sweetness while hiding something else, said, "Now you can trust me, can't you? And would you please call me Queen instead of bitch? If you do, I will be pleased. You see, I truly hate when people address me so insidiously, and worst of all I care only about my men, unlike someone else. Since I have showed you the truth, I suppose it is time I explained myself. The reason I came here is to give you good news: first of all, to make it clear, I will indeed make you break free from this hell, and I will grant you true power which you can use to kill anyone you want; in return you will work for me from now on. After all, you must give something to receive something, do you not think so? So, ah, dear Caelum, what will be your choice?"
Caelum looked at her a long moment, and without thinking he answered in a voice edged with something dark and ugly, "I will take your offer. Break me out of this hell. I will kill that bastard knight, and then I will kill my bitch as well."
The woman tilted her head and replied, "I am glad you have chosen me. You will not regret your decision. Remember, you did not choose any kingdom's queen; instead you chose the best of them all... you chose the Queen of—"
Before he could hear the rest, his eyes widened because she was now standing inside the prison beside him instead of outside. He was not imagining things. Then how had she suddenly come into the prison without him even noticing? Also, how the hell had she come in without breaking the bars? What exactly was she?
But before he could think more, her hand rose to his lips, brushing them softly. Her hands were so soft. Then he saw a glimpse of her face.
She was beautiful.
She was so gorgeous she seemed worthy to be called a queen. She was alluring, breathtaking, exquisite, appealing, mesmerizing, irresistible and seductive. She was everything a man could want. Even a single look at her might fulfill a man's desires. It was hard to explain in just a few words. His heart skipped wildly and his whole face flushed from that single glimpse of her beauty.
But in the next moment he fell asleep.
When he woke, she was already gone, and he could not remember what had happened after that or what she had done to him. He felt something different within him. He was overflowing with power. He was not mistaken. Though his wounds remained visible, his sense of pain had vanished as if someone had turned it off, and for a brief, gleaming moment he felt as good as new.
He had not forgotten his wife or what she had done, and he had not forgotten that bastard. Each time he looked at the wall before him he saw again the image that had played in the orb. Each time he clenched his fists and battered the stone with blows that blurred into one another until he lost count. He did not know how many times he had struck the wall because every strike served the single, unchanging purpose that beat like a drum in his chest. He would kill the bastard and he would kill the bitch when he was released. That intention had become the plan that held him together.
When he was finally released and met Eska, something that might have been pity or tenderness flickered and died inside him, leaving only a hard, incandescent hatred. For a moment he wanted to kill her on the spot, but he could not. He tried to calm himself, but it was impossible. When she began to lie, he boiled over, losing whatever restraint he had managed to keep. Though he could not bring himself to end her life, he tore into her honor instead, dragging her across the road and ripping her clothes in front of the watching crowd. He cared nothing whether the people were shocked or indifferent because killing her had not been possible and breaking her was the next best thing. Afterward he left with a small, bitter regret that he had not finished the deed with his own hands, a regret that tasted like failure.
Many other things happened after that. Now here he was, standing in combat against a terrifying woman whom he had never imagined would be, and yet none of it altered the bargain that had been struck. The Queen had fulfilled her part, released him from prison and even given him the perfect chances to kill Eska. Now it remained for him to fulfill his part, to bind himself to her and serve, which meant he could not die now. Not yet.
Though there was blood on his hand, the blow he had taken was not fatal, so he forced himself to steady his breathing and turned to face the woman behind him. He was stunned.
The woman had already sheathed her sword and now regarded him with those cold, blue, gleaming eyes as if she thought he could no longer fight.
She was wrong, and he intended to prove her wrong.
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After cutting his side deliberately, though not deep enough to kill him, Seraphina finally turned away and slowly sheathed her sword. She had already realized there was no longer any need to keep using her blade; that single strike had been more than enough to make her point. Besides, even if she continued, she knew he would still manage to block or deflect most of her attacks anyway.
As Caelum turned his face toward her, perhaps intending to say something, Seraphina suddenly dashed forward, her gloved fingers curling into a tight fist as she prepared to strike his mud-stained face. However, before her punch could land, he tilted his head aside at the last possible moment, and in that same instant his wrist moved, his sword flashing through the air in a wide arc that aimed to slice across her abdomen.
"Not fast enough…"
With that thought she bent backward, her motion fluid and precise, as the blade's tip passed before her by no more than a hair's breadth, cutting through nothing but the air. The size of his sword, she realized, had saved her; had it been a longsword instead, it might have cut through even the steel of her armor. But it was not, it was only of medium length, and that difference was what spared her from a fatal blow.
Seraphina regained her balance almost instantly, her body moving as if it had remembered how to fight before her mind did. Even without her sword in hand, her movements grew faster, sharper, as if the weight of the weapon had been holding her back all along. She still could not understand how he had managed to dodge her earlier attacks, how he had reacted so precisely at the last moment, but she was not going to let that happen again. If she could not break his defenses by strength, then she would overwhelm him through speed. Even if he could read her attacks, it would mean nothing if his body failed to keep up.
Drawing upon her lightning magic, Seraphina's speed surged. A faint hum filled the air as light flickered around her limbs, and before Caelum could even turn to face her, her fist met his cheek with a sound like thunder splitting the air. The impact sent him rolling through the air, and in the next moment he crashed into a wall of mud, the same wall he had created earlier. His armor seemed to absorb some of the blow, sparing him from worse injury, but his helm cracked apart, revealing his bruised and bloodied face beneath.
He was just about to regain his footing when Seraphina moved again. Lightning flared around her body, coiling like living flame, making her seem less like a human and more like a silhouette of pure light. Before he could even hit the ground, she appeared in front of him once more and drove her boot into his abdomen with brutal force.
The wall behind him shattered, his armor cracked like brittle clay, and his body shot backward before slamming into a nearby tree so hard that the trunk itself trembled. The armor fell apart completely, and he spat blood as violent coughs racked his chest. For a moment, it seemed he could hardly breathe, yet he still tried to lift himself up. A few leaves drifted down before his eyes, and when his vision cleared, his pupils widened.
The falling leaves had been cut apart, and through them appeared Seraphina, her form wreathed in light, her shadow flickering through the storm of her own magic. Before he could even blink, she seized him by the collar, her eyes burning with blue fire, and with a single powerful motion she struck his abdomen again, sending him flying through the air once more.
But even before he could hit the ground, she was already there. Her leg came crashing into his chest with a resounding thud that made it seem as though his ribs might shatter from the force. He fell, coughing blood, and staggered upward again in desperation, only for her next kick to twist through the air and strike his shoulder, sending him spinning away once more.
Then, Seraphina took a deep breath. Her figure seemed to glow even brighter, the sparks around her thickening until they painted the air with streaks of blinding light. The world slowed, sound faded, and for a heartbeat, it felt as though time itself bent around her. She gritted her teeth and launched forward, reaching his suspended form in less than a blink, her fists pounding against him again and again, so many times that even she lost count of how many blows she had delivered.
At last, his body fell limply to the ground, rolling a few times before coming to a stop. He did not move, not even to lift a hand, and the thought of standing again seemed beyond him. Blood ran down his face, his armor shattered, his clothes torn and soaked in red, his body bruised beyond recognition.
Seraphina stood a short distance away, breathing heavily. Her face had grown pale, beads of sweat slid down her cheeks, and her arms trembled slightly from exhaustion. Every muscle in her body ached; even her fists throbbed from the countless punches she had thrown. Yet none of it mattered. What mattered was that she had finally done it, after all the struggle, after every exchange, she had defeated him at last.
Moving with an exhausted body, Seraphina finally began to feel something close to relief as the cold night wind brushed against her face, carrying away the heat of battle that still lingered on her skin. Her hair danced with the passing air, loose strands swaying freely as if rejoicing for her, and for a moment she allowed herself to breathe, her steps steady but heavy as she walked forward until she came to a stop before Caelum's battered form.
He struggled faintly, his fingers twitching against the muddy ground as if trying to lift himself, but in the end all he could manage was a hoarse whisper that escaped his lips, "I... I surrender."
Seraphina's eyes, still sharp despite the weariness shadowing them, moved over his broken figure. When she finally spoke, her voice carried no warmth, only the cold edge of disdain. "I thought you wanted to break me in bed, judging by your confidence earlier. But who would have thought the same man would be lying here now, unable to even stand, surrendering without resistance?"
Caelum said nothing. He only stared up at her with a strange expression, something unreadable yet faintly human beneath the exhaustion and pain.
Seraphina slowly clenched her hand into a fist, her gaze narrowing once more as she said, "You see, Caelum... even though I don't always appear that way, I'm actually quite a cultural woman, or at least that's how my mother raised me. Throughout my childhood, she taught me many things that she believed every proper woman should know. What can I say, it's in my blood after all."
Her tone softened for a brief moment, almost thoughtful, before turning cold again. "Among those lessons, my mother also taught me how to deal with men who desire nothing more than to have me in their bed. Luckily for me, no man has ever dared to say it aloud, not even my... well, never mind. So, as you can imagine, I've never had the opportunity to test the lessons my precious mother gave me."
She paused then, the corner of her lips curling into a faint, almost mischievous grin that did not reach her eyes. "And of course, I've always been a dutiful daughter. I've always listened to my mother's words. So, this time... it won't be any different either. You'd better prepare yourself."
The quiet night, which until now had been filled only with the whisper of the wind and the soft rustling of leaves, suddenly broke into a sound far less gentle. A desperate, guttural cry rose through the darkness, the kind born of both pain and disbelief, as sparks of lightning burst through the air, illuminating the muddy ground in erratic flashes. The dim light of the night retreated beneath the brilliance of her magic, leaving behind only the shadow of violence and the echo of suffering.
And when the storm finally began to fade, Seraphina stood amidst the settling air, her breathing steady once more. Her mind felt strangely calm, her anger finally quieted. Perhaps, she thought, it was better this way. Because if it had been her friend who captured him instead, he would have been dragged into the prison, chained, and tortured endlessly for days.
At least now, things had ended quickly.
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(Chapter Ended)
To be continued...