Pain.
Ronan groaned, his throat dry, his head pounding with every beat of his heart. Pain pulsed through him in vicious waves, coiling through his chest, his limbs, his spine.
He tried to move.
A mistake.
Chains rattled above and below him—tight, iron restraints that held his wrists overhead and his ankles below, stretching him into an X. His feet barely touched the cold stone floor, his weight dangling helplessly.
Then the real agony hit.
A searing, blinding pain erupted in his chest as he shifted. Like fire. Like a blade twisting inside him.
He cried out sharply, his breath catching.
Something was wrong. Something was in him.
His body trembled. Sweat slicked his brow despite the cold.
He blinked through the dark, trying to see—anything. But it was pitch black, like he'd been swallowed whole by night itself.
Where was he? Were any of his men alive?
Was Bluelight?
"Ooh… you're awake."
He heard a voice..he forced his head up.
It was the witch. Melisse.
"I actually thought you had died this time," she purred. "Your breathing was so shallow… I could have sworn it was your last. But no. You're awake. Aren't you just full of surprises."
One by one, lanterns lining the jagged stone walls flickered to life, casting a golden glow across the chamber.
Ronan squinted at the sudden light.
It wasn't a room—it was a cave. A vast, hollowed space, the ceiling high and uneven. A rough table sat in the center, lined with wicked tools. Some stained. Some still dripping.
The chains binding him gleamed in the lanternlight. His arms were chained above, metal biting into his wrists. His legs were shackled to the floor.
But none of that compared to what he saw next.
His gaze dropped to his chest.
A massive iron spear had been driven clean through him, the dull end protruding from his back. His breath hitched just looking at it. The wound burned like hell—raw and deep.
He wanted to scream, but clenched his jaw instead, locking the pain behind grit and fury.
Melisse approached slowly, her red eyes glowing like twin coals, her cloak trailing behind her like smoke.
"Aren't you special," she whispered, brushing a line down his jaw with a cold fingertip. "I've tried everything—poison, fire, steel. And still, you breathe. Still, you live. What are you?"
Ronan said nothing.
Behind her, another voice echoed through the cavern.
"The bloody King who won't die!"
Ronan turned his head slowly. His eyes meeting the prisoner who he should have killed.
The man stepped into view, eyes gleaming with hatred, his grin wild.
"Yes, Klaus, we know," Melisse said absently.
Klaus didn't care. He was already laughing—howling like a madman. "You have nothing, Your Majesty!" he spat. "Nothing to live for. Your men? Slaughtered. Your kingdom? Crumbling. Your legacy? Dead with you!"
He drew a sword, the blade humming as it left its sheath.
"So die already!"
With a roar, he plunged it into Ronan's chest—right through the heart.
Blood poured, hot and dark, spilling down Ronan's torso in a slow, horrifying rush.
Ronan gasped. His body arched in agony.
But… he didn't die.
He wheezed and Shuddered.
But his eyes still burned gold.
Melisse took a step back, her expression shifting from amusement to fascination.
"…He's still alive," she murmured.
She moved closer again, staring deep into his eyes as if searching for something.
Blood began to seep from the corners of Ronan's eyes, a slow red trail sliding down his cheek. His vision blurred. Pain and darkness threatening to consume him entirely.
"We should inform your brother," Melisse murmured, her voice husky with both curiosity and caution. "This could pose an issue for us."
"No." Klaus's voice cut through the air, sharp and decisive. "We tell my brother nothing. To everyone else, Ronan Dain is dead. The kingdom is open for conquering."
Melisse arched a brow, but didn't move. "And if he escapes?"
"He won't," Klaus said, stepping toward her. "Because you, my love, will sit here until you figure out a way to kill him."
Her eyes flashed red with anger. "I don't take orders from you, Klaus," she warned, her voice low and dangerous. "And if your brother finds out we didn't kill him... well… you know what he'll do to us."
Klaus's jaw tensed at the mention of his brother. But then—he smiled.
He slowly walked over to Melisse closing the distance between them. His hand lifted to stroke her cheek, fingers grazing along her jaw. Melisse didn't flinch, but her breath caught—just barely.
"He will never find out," Klaus whispered, his mouth now brushing hers, the words a dark promise on her lips. "This will remain between the two of us."
Their eyes locked—hers alight with fire, his with obsession.