Page 68 of Wings of Shadow
“But your greatest crime,” I continue, my tone sharpening, “was against Clarissa Draken.”
At that, he lifts his head, his eyes wide with something like regret. It means nothing to me.
“You leaked information about her movements. You compromised her safety.” I lean forward, my fury barely leashed. “You planned to have her taken. Used. Bargained away like some pawn in your pathetic attempt at diplomacy.”
His mouth opens—whether to plead or to lie, I do not know. I do not care.
“You knew what she meant to me.” My voice is barely above a whisper now, but it cuts sharper than any blade. “And still, you sold her out.”
His breath hitches. “Kaisner, please.” The words come raw, desperate. “I never meant for her to be harmed. I was only trying to end this war.”
I exhale slowly, measured, staring down at the man I once trusted. Rage settles over me like a storm rolling in, dark and inevitable.
“By betraying me?” the question is hushed, lethal. “By offering up the life of the only person I cannot afford to lose?”
Marcus flinches as if struck. His shoulders sag, the fault of his choices pressing down on him like a man drowning under the tide. “I was wrong,” he whispers. “I see that now. But please, Kaisner, for the sake of our history?—”
“There is no history,” I cut him off, my tone edged with finality. “Not anymore.”
A bitter silence stretches between us. For a fleeting moment, I consider mercy. I think of the battles we fought together, the blood spilled, the victories we toasted with fire and steel. Once, he was my brother-in-arms. Once, I might have forgiven him.
But Marcus made his choice. And now, he will answer for it.
“Betrayal is an art, Marcus,” I murmur, the sound smooth as glass. “But so is retribution. And I? I am an artist of the highest order.”
I take a step closer, watching as realization dawns in his eyes—the cold, sick understanding that there is no escape from what comes next.
“Did you truly think I wouldn’t find out?” My tone turns almost amused, though there’s no humor in the air between us.
I crouch before him, my gaze locking onto his, unflinching. “Your greatest sin wasn’t betraying me.” My voice drops to a whisper. “It was believing I’d let you survive it.”
I rise, then give a slow nod to my guards. One steps forward, a blade gleaming in the dim light.
Marcus’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps. He struggles against his bindings, his pleas turning into incoherent cries of desperation.
I do not look away. Because this is the burden of leadership. These are the choices that define a king.
The blade falls.
His screams are brief.
Silence follows.
I straighten, my expression unreadable. Around me, my men shift, uneasy in the wake of what they have witnessed. I let them sit with it. Let them understand the lesson woven into Marcus’s demise.
When I finally speak, my tone is quiet, but it carries through the chamber with the force of a decree.
“Let this be a warning.” I meet the gaze of each man in the room. “Treason will not be tolerated. And any threat against Clarissa Draken will be met with the full might of the Drachenstein clan.”
I pause, allowing the words to settle, allowing the air to hum with their finality.
“Treue ist nicht verhandelbar,” I state coolly. Loyalty is not negotiable.
With that, I turn, striding from the chamber without a backward glance.
My heart is heavy. My hands are stained.
But Clarissa is safe.
