Two armored fists slammed down on Aldric's shoulders, driving him to his knees before the gilded throne. His jaw struck the marble floor with a crack, and he spat a thick glob of blood between his teeth. It painted the white stone red. The knights flanking him—both dressed in polished green-plated armor bearing the crest of House Halden—tightened their grip on his arms, steel gauntlets pressing into bone. He could feel the numb throb of torn muscle along his ribs, one eye already swollen shut. But he laughed.
Even through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the hush that fell over the throne room. Golden chandeliers burned above, their candlelight flickering against velvet banners and tapestries, but Aldric only looked at one thing.
The girl.
She stood at the right side of the dais, her slender hand cradled gently in another man's grasp. Seraphina. Her silver-blonde hair, spun like silk, cascaded in waves over a soft blue gown embroidered with stars. Her gaze was distant—turned away from the bloodied figure kneeling just meters from her. She wouldn't even look at him. Not once. Not even now.
The man beside her was everything Aldric had once been praised as: tall, noble, shining with divine purpose. His golden hair fell in immaculate curls around a chiseled, boyish face, his lips drawn into a faint smile. The armor he wore gleamed like a holy relic, etched with symbols of the Lightfather, polished until it glared. The Hero. The Kingdom's beloved savior.
The usurper.
Aldric laughed again, thick and ragged—more blood splattered the marble. He turned his bruised face toward them and grinned wide enough to show his cracked teeth. "Heh… Holding her hand already, Hero? Maybe she'll even let you—"
A gauntleted fist crashed into his gut, stealing the breath from his lungs. Another followed, brutal and sudden, square across his mouth. He tasted copper, bone, humiliation. His head jerked forward and sagged. But he didn't stop smiling.
"Silence."The voice came from above. Cold. Final.
King Edrian IV rose slowly from his throne, robed in black and gold. His crown glinted with rubies, heavy with authority. Deep lines marked his face, carved by age and reign, but his eyes were hard and unflinching—steel beneath frost.
The herald beside him, a shriveled man with parchment skin and white ceremonial robes, unrolled a scroll that stretched to the floor. He cleared his throat, voice echoing across the marble hall.
"Aldric Kael Vaugren, firstborn of Duke Malrec Vaugren, former commander of the Ivory Flame, you stand here accused and condemned. The crimes laid upon you are not whispered rumors, but truths forged by blood and witness: the murder of Lord Hallen and his sons, trafficking of the lesser folk to slavers beyond the border, the sacrilege of temple desecration, forced bindings, the torture of civilians, conspiracy to assassinate Princess Seraphina—"
Aldric let out a bark of laughter.
"—attempted pacts with the Demon King, and the willful betrayal of the Crown."
The words rolled on. Like a song of rot, each note blackened the room a little more. Every minister, every noble in the hall, listened in stiff silence. Some glared. Some shifted uneasily. None looked surprised.
When the herald fell silent, King Edrian stepped forward, voice booming now for all to hear.
"Some crimes are beyond pardon. Some actions—beyond death. What Aldric Vaugren has done cannot be washed away by a blade or noose. He sought to become a monster among men… and succeeded. But we will not grant him martyrdom. No."
The king raised one hand.
"Let it be known, by my word and the will of the throne, that Aldric Kael Vaugren is hereby stripped of title, land, and bloodright. He is to be banished beyond the reach of man—to the cursed Wastes of Theral, where the sun itself turns away. Let him rot where monsters roam, where even gods have forsaken."
Gasps rippled through the chamber. The knights tightened their grip on Aldric's arms, but he snarled, twisting against them, teeth bared like a hound.
"Cowards!" he roared, spitting more blood on the floor. "You think this is justice? I bled for this kingdom! I burned for it! And this is what I get? For what? For being stronger than that golden bastard beside you?"
He locked eyes with the king, laughter rising again—unhinged, triumphant.
"I'll come back, Edrian. I swear it on the grave of every fool in this room. I'll tear down your fucking gates, sit my arse on your precious throne and piss on your crown while your people burn!"
Another punch slammed into his gut. A second broke his nose. His head slumped. Blood ran freely now from his mouth and nostrils. His breaths came shallow. Then—nothing.
The king watched impassively. "He's gone mad," he said coldly. "Throw him into the black sands before sunset."
As the knights began dragging Aldric's unconscious body from the chamber, King Edrian turned back to the golden-haired man and the girl beside him.
"My lord Hero," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "we owe you more than thanks. You saved Lady Seraphina from the clutches of that… demon. If it is your wish, let this day not be remembered for punishment and disgrace, but for something far brighter."
He turned to the courtiers. "Let this day be a celebration. If the Lady Seraphina will accept, I propose we wed them here and now—before the gods and the realm—so this hall may echo not with a traitor's curses, but with joy."
********
Aldric woke to the taste of dried blood and iron in his mouth. His vision pulsed red, every heartbeat sending knives through his skull. Bruises mapped his body like a painter gone mad—raw flesh beneath torn rags, bone grinding against bone with every twitch. His wrists were bound in thick iron cuffs, rusted but unyielding. Even breathing hurt.
He didn't remember how many times he'd been beaten. How many fists, boots, or cudgels had been used to silence him between the throne room and the cage. It was a blur of pain and darkness—screams, his own or others', lost in the haze. But through it all, one memory burned clearer than the rest:
The bastard king giving his daughter to that golden-haired wretch. A marriage proposal in the very breath after sentencing him to die like an animal.
Dancing to the same song, Aldric thought bitterly. That's all Edrian ever did. First around me, then around him. It made no difference. The king bent to power like a whore bends to coin. He'd once promised Aldric the world. A throne of his own. A crown carved in conquest. Then came the Hero, all light and purity, with his gods-damned sword falling from the sky like some divine mockery.
If it had landed in my hands...He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding against metal.If it had been me—
He would've killed the Demon King. No doubt. No help. No divine guidance. Just strength. Real strength. Not the kind handed down by fate, but earned. Taken.
The carriage creaked beneath him, groaning with every bump. The wood was rotted, planks held together by splinters and rusted nails. The stench inside was worse than any dungeon—sweat, vomit, piss, decay. He shifted slightly, the iron cuffs biting into raw skin, and only then noticed the others beside him.
Two men. If they could still be called that.
One of them was little more than bones in rags, eyes sunken so deep it looked like his soul had already crawled out. The other wheezed with every breath, skin stretched thin over sharp ribs, face twisted in permanent terror. Neither of them moved when Aldric stirred. They stared straight ahead like broken dogs.
He stared at them for a long moment. Then laughed.
It was a dry, rasping thing, torn from lungs that barely worked. But it was laughter. Real, bitter, echoing.
"So this is it," he muttered, voice hoarse. "The great Aldric Vaugren, sharing a coffin on wheels with walking corpses."
He laughed harder, the sound echoing hollowly through the wooden shell.
"Not even fit for execution. Not worth a blade. Tossed into the trash heap with rats and maggots. No… not even rats. You two aren't people. You're animals. No, that's wrong—I'm the one caged with you."
Aldric's eyes burned. Fury and madness blended. The idea of dying here, slowly, nameless, beside this filth? No. Never.
He roared and surged to his feet, muscles screaming in protest. The carriage tilted violently as he slammed his shoulder into the side panel. Wood cracked. Another slam—and the hinges tore loose. He burst through the carriage door like a storm, ragged and bloodied, crashing into the dirt road below.
His body bounced off the earth, blood smearing the stones, but he rose before his own scream ended. He stumbled upright, spine arched like a beast, and yanked his arms apart—veins bulging, iron grinding.
Nothing. The cuffs held.
Damn it!
He slammed his wrists against a nearby rock. Again. And again. Until skin peeled and bone throbbed. But still the chains held. His breath came ragged, snarled from his throat like a wounded predator. He had planned it—tear off the cuffs, slaughter the guards, steal their weapons, disappear. But—
There were no guards.
No driver.
No escort.
Just the horses.
Four of them. Sickly things with more ribs than muscle, dragging the rotting carriage forward across a dead road, their heads swaying low as if begging to collapse. They didn't even flinch when he escaped. No whip urged them on. No reins guided them. Just instinct and despair moving the carcass of a prison forward.
Aldric stood there, panting, wrists bleeding, chest rising with every ragged gasp. He looked down at the shackles again.
He wasn't dead yet.And he wasn't going to die in this coffin.