The sky over Astapura was no longer blue; it had transformed into a suffocating blanket of soot. Beneath the burning horizon, the screams of thousands who had lost their homes merged with the thundering hooves of Valerion's army. Inside the palace, the silence felt even more deadly.
Princess Elara stood frozen behind a massive pillar in the Hall of Majesty. Her trembling hands gripped the cold marble carvings until her fingers turned white—the only anchor keeping her from collapsing. The air in the hall was heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smell of burning silk curtains. Before her eyes, the long history of her nation was being violently torn apart.
She did not cry. Her eyes were now fixed on the figure of a man walking with measured steps through pools of blood toward her father's throne.
Emperor Kaelen of Valerion.
The man wore no heavy ceremonial robes or glittering crown. He wore only functional black armor, scuffed in places—proof that he led from the front lines. At his waist, the sword Nightfall hung sheathed, though the tip of its scabbard still dripped with the last remnants of Astapura's loyal guards. Each of his footsteps left red prints on the white floor, an assertion of who now owned this place.
"You built too many schools and temples, Alaric," Kaelen's voice shattered the hall's silence. His voice was low, yet it echoed off the high domed ceiling. "The world doesn't need prayers. The world needs orders."
King Alaric, now appearing merely as a shadow of the mighty man Elara once knew, knelt with labored breathing. A gaping wound in his chest leaked blood that soaked his golden robes. He coughed, spitting thick crimson fluid before looking up.
"You're nothing but a butcher, Kaelen," the King's voice was hoarse, yet contained the stubborn remnants of dignity. "You can have this land, you can burn its libraries, but you will never possess its soul."
Kaelen stopped exactly one step before the King. He bent slightly, gazing at the old man without hatred, without anger, and most terrifyingly—without a shred of empathy. His look was that of a clerk erasing a number no longer useful.
"Souls are the gods' business, Alaric. I have no time for things that cannot be counted," Kaelen drew a short dagger from his waist with an almost lazy motion. "I'm only interested in the keys to your granaries and maps of your harbors."
Without warning, without farewell, Kaelen moved his hand. An efficient, practiced motion—a single thrust straight to the heart. King Alaric had no time to scream. His body jerked once, his eyes widening in an empty stare, before finally collapsing. The sound of his body hitting the marble floor rang like a mountain crumbling in Elara's ears.
Elara covered her own mouth. Her breath caught in her throat, feeling like swallowing hot coals. She wanted to scream, wanted to rush at the man in black with a dagger in hand, but the cold logic in her head whispered louder: Be silent. If you die now, Astapura is truly finished.
"Come out from there," Kaelen said suddenly. He didn't turn toward the pillar where Elara hid. He was busy wiping his blade with a piece of white silk cloth he'd taken from the nearest offering table. "Your breathing is too loud for someone who wants to stay alive."
Elara froze. For several seconds, she considered running, but she knew Valerion's archers were likely already aiming at her from the balcony shadows. Slowly, she released her grip on the pillar and stepped forward.
She stood tall in the center of the ruined hall, surrounded by the corpses of guards who had known her since childhood. She stared directly into the eyes of the man who had just stolen her world. Kaelen turned slowly. For a moment, the world seemed to stop spinning. There was only the sound of flames devouring curtains between them.
Kaelen observed Elara from head to toe. His gaze was sharp, dissecting every expression on the girl's face.
"Princess Elara," Kaelen spoke her name as if reading an asset list. "I was told you were the brain behind this kingdom's irrigation system and trade diplomacy. The information I received says you're intelligent. I expected to meet a boring old scholar, not a girl in a dress dirtied by ash."
"And I expected to meet an Emperor," Elara replied. Her voice did not waver. Cold, sharp as a blade's edge. "Not a bandit who needs thousands of soldiers just to kill one helpless old man."
A Valerion commander standing near the door half-drew his sword. "Watch your tongue, Prisoner! You stand before the ruler of this continent!"
Kaelen raised one hand without turning, a small gesture that instantly silenced his subordinate. He instead stepped closer to Elara, shortening the distance until she could smell metal, horse dust, and death from the man's body. Kaelen stopped exactly one step before her. His towering frame created a dark shadow that seemed to swallow Elara's figure.
"Prisoner?" Kaelen curved a thin smile that didn't reach his dark eyes. "Only a fool would imprison a valuable asset. Do you know how much gold I'd have to pay to rebuild the bureaucratic system I just destroyed here? I need someone who knows how this land works."
"I will not help you build anything," Elara hissed, her hands clenched at her sides.
"You will," Kaelen extended his hand, grasping Elara's chin with an irresistible motion. He forced the girl's face upward so their eyes were level. "Because if you don't, the remainder of your people currently cowering in the city square will pay the price for your arrogance. You're intelligent, Elara. You know which trade is more advantageous. Your one life for thousands of theirs. Isn't that simple mathematics?"
Elara felt rage burning behind her chest, a fire that wanted to explode and claw at the face of the man before her. However, when she looked into Kaelen's eyes, she found only emptiness—a mirror reflecting her own despair. This man could not be fought with anger or tears. This man understood only one language: power.
Elara drew a long breath, swallowing all her grief and vengeance into the deepest trench of her heart. She freed herself from Kaelen's grasp with a slow but firm motion.
"Very well," Elara said. "Take me to Valerion."
Kaelen appeared slightly surprised. Just briefly, a small crease on his forehead before he returned to his flat expression. He seemingly hadn't expected a princess whose nation had just been destroyed could make such a cold decision in seconds. "Good. I like people who know when they've lost. It saves a lot of time."
Kaelen turned away, his black cloak billowing as he signaled his troops to escort Elara. "Make sure she doesn't touch any weapons. But give her a proper carriage. She is a guest of the empire now."
As the soldiers dragged her past her father's cooling body, Elara didn't look back. She couldn't look behind, or the fortress she'd just built in her head would crumble. She kept staring at Kaelen's back as he walked arrogantly ahead of her.
I have not lost, Elara's inner voice sounded like a blood oath. I'm merely changing battlefields. You want me to be your asset, Kaelen? I will become the most valuable asset, one that enters the heart of your power, learns every one of your weaknesses, and someday... I will bring down the entire foundation of your empire from within your own throne.
That night, beneath the dying embers in Astapura, Princess Elara boarded the carriage that would take her to the enemy capital. She sat in the carriage's darkness, staring at her hands still stained with her father's blood. Starting today, she was no longer a princess. She was an infiltrator, a player in a deadly political game, and she would not stop until the Emperor lost everything he loved—just as that man had done to her.