The cellar door exploded inward with a thunderous crack, sending splinters of ancient oak flying across the stone floor. Sera instinctively raised her arms to shield her face, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The stench of rotting flesh and damp earth flooded the chamber, so thick she could taste it on her tongue.
But no attack came.
Instead, an eerie silence settled over the cellar, broken only by the steady drip of wine from a broken cask and Kaelan's ragged breathing behind her. When Sera dared to lower her arms, the sight before her made the blood freeze in her veins.
The creatures—once villagers, now twisted mockeries of human form with limbs bent at impossible angles and skin stretched taut over protruding bones—were kneeling. Their hollow-eyed gazes, milky white and unseeing, were fixed not on Varian's drawn sword, but on her.
The largest creature, a man whose jaw hung slack from a broken hinge, dragged its mangled body forward with a wet, scraping sound. Black ichor dripped from its mouth as it spoke:
"Val...tar...is..."
Each syllable was an agony, forced through ruined vocal cords, yet the name rang through the cellar with unnatural clarity. Sera's breath hitched. That name—her name—shouldn't be known to these corrupted souls.
Varian's grip on her wrist tightened to the point of pain, his scars pulsing an eerie blue beneath his rolled-up sleeves. The light wasn't the steady glow from before, but a frantic flickering, like a candle fighting against the wind.
"Fascinating," he murmured, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on her inner wrist. The contrast between his clinical tone and the intimate gesture sent conflicting shivers down Sera's spine. "It appears my curse has developed... preferences."
Kaelan staggered back, his boots slipping in the spilled wine now pooling across the flagstones. Fresh blood bloomed across his bandaged shoulder, the stain spreading like ink on parchment. "What dark magic is this?"
The creature's head snapped toward the sound of his voice, its nostrils flaring. "Taint...ed...one..."
Varian moved with the lethal grace of a striking viper. His dagger flashed in the dim torchlight, and the creature's head hit the ground with a wet thump. The body remained upright for a terrifying heartbeat before collapsing in on itself, the bones audibly cracking as they settled into their final positions.
Yet the other creatures didn't react. Didn't attack. They remained perfectly still, their foreheads pressed to the cold stone in unmistakable supplication.
"We're leaving." Varian's voice carried the weight of a command carved in stone. When Sera didn't immediately obey, he yanked her forward with enough force to make her stumble against his chest. The heat of him, the scent of steel and something darker—something primal—wrapped around her like a second skin.
Kaelan blocked their path, his sword trembling in his uninjured hand. "You can't just—"
"Watch me." Varian didn't break stride. When Kaelan refused to move, he slammed his shoulder into the wounded man with enough force to send him crashing into a row of wine casks. The wood splintered on impact, releasing a flood of dark liquid that swirled with Kaelan's blood as it spread across the floor.
The cellar air grew thick with the cloying sweetness of spoiled wine and the metallic tang of blood as they emerged into the courtyard. Dawn's pale light did little to dispel the smoke still curling from the burning village, the gray tendrils mixing with the morning fog clinging to the palace walls like grasping fingers.
Sera wrenched her arm free, the skin beneath Varian's grip already bruising. "What did it mean?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended, edged with equal parts fear and fury. "Why did they bow to me?"
Varian turned slowly, the rising sun painting his sharp features in gold and shadow. For a long moment, he simply studied her—his gaze tracing the curve of her throat, the rapid flutter of her pulse, the way her hands clenched at her sides. When he finally spoke, his voice was dangerously soft.
"You truly don't know, do you?" He closed the distance between them in two strides, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered: "Your ancestors didn't just fight the Dainthars, princess. They created us. And now..." His fingers brushed the base of her throat, right above the frantic beat of her pulse. "...the monster recognizes its maker."
A horn blast shattered the moment—sharp, urgent, coming from the northern gate.
Varian's head snapped up, his body tensing like a drawn bowstring. "Right on time."
Sera followed his gaze to where dozens of torches flickered along the outer walls, their light reflecting off polished armor and drawn swords. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on stone grew louder with each passing second.
The priestess's warning slithered through her mind: The northern lords grow restless.
As if summoned by the thought, a new sound cut through the morning air—the unmistakable jingle of spurs and the creak of leather saddles as a contingent of armored riders entered the courtyard. At their head rode a man with silver-streaked hair and a cloak of wolf pelts, his cold eyes scanning the scene before landing squarely on Sera.
Varian's hand found the small of her back, his touch burning through the thin fabric of her dress. "Time to meet your admirers, little queen." His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Try not to look so terrified. It ruins the effect."