Page 23 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
Disbelief slices through me, sharp as the dagger resting at my side. I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “Are you telling me I do not know what transpires in my own maze. I would know if I changed anything.” My words bite, dripping with contempt.
“But I have seen it with my own eyes!” he protests, his voice a trembling whisper, fear flooding his gaze. “Walls are shifting. Creatures from other quadrants roam freely. There is unrest in the maze.”
Unease slithers down my spine, coiling tight. Abruptly, I stand, the chair screeching against the stone floor, the noise echoing through the hall.. Gripping my staff, I summon the swirling image of Brielle from the crystal ball nestled in its hilt. Wisps of fog curl away, revealing her figure, alone and vulnerable, in a maze of statues. My heart sinks, heavy as a stone. Where is Grom?
“Brielle,” I breathe, anguish flooding my veins. Her fear is palpable, etched into her delicate features and the realization that she is in the Abyssal Quadrant has me grinding my teeth. How did she end up in the East?
“How did this happen?” I roar, my voice booming through the chamber, The warden flinches, shrinking back as if my anger is a physical force.
“We were hoping you could enlighten us, my king,” he murmurs, the tremor in his voice betraying his fear.
My glare cuts through the thick fog of frustration as Brielle’s image flickers, then vanishes. Fury surges, hot and relentless, churning inside me. Someone is fucking with my maze; blocking me from pulling up the image of her. With a snarl, I slam my arm across the table, shattering plates and goblets, their crash reverberating through the room in a violent crescendo of chaos.
“Go to her!” I command the crow, my voice low and fierce, as the bird caws in understanding. I drop a dagger—sharp, obsidian, and glinting like the very darkness of the maze—onto the table. The crow seizes it in its beak and flaps out the open window.
“Get me a meeting with the lords immediately,” I bark at the warden, my heart pounding with urgency, as I stride past him, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears. “I want to know what the fuck is happening in my maze.”
As I storm from the room, anger and rage fuels every step, each stride driving me closer to the encroaching threat that looms over my realm. I cannot allow unrest to fester, nor can I permit harm to come to Brielle.
“Someone find Grom,” I command over my shoulder, urgency lacing my voice like a sharpened blade.
Once I am out of the warden's sight, a wave of seething anger crashes over me, so intense it feels like fire coursing through my veins. I reach for the crystal ball again, desperation clawing at my throat. As I concentrate, the fog swirls within the orb, thick and impenetrable, obscuring Brielle's image. It’s as if something or someone is blocking me. Frustration coils tightly in my chest, a serpent of rage that constricts with every heartbeat. My fists clench, nails biting into my palms, as I struggle to rein in the fury the has me wanting to storm out and find her myself.
My breath hitches, and I feel the weight of the world bearing down on my shoulders, a suffocating reminder of my responsibilities. I can’t let anyone see me falter; I am the Maze King, the architect of this realm, and I cannot allow fear to seep into my demeanor.
I finally reach my quarters and sit on the edge of my bed, head cradled in my hands, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. Each inhale is a battle against the growing tide of anger and helplessness that threatens to consume me. What is happening?
The thought of Brielle lost in the East quadrant gnaws at my insides, The East quadrant is a treacherous place; a death trap for someone as unprepared as Brielle. Just the thought sends shivers racing through my limbs, making them tremble. I’m the King, I shouldn’t be trembling like this but worry and anger press against everything in me.
This wasn’t the plan. I wasn’t supposed to lose control. I wasn’t supposed to send her to her death like some helpless lamb, wandering straight into the jaws of whatever nightmare awaits her in that pit of hell. My teeth grind together, Whoever did this, whoever dared to twist my maze behind my back, I’ll make them wish they were never born.
I can see it now: their blood coating my hands, their screams echoing through these walls as I rip them apart, piece by miserable piece. And I’ll enjoy it. Oh, I’ll savor every moment of making them understand exactly who they’ve fucked with. The Maze King isn’t just a title; it’s a death sentence for anyone stupid enough to test me. I’ll paint the walls with their blood, let their bones rot in the darkest corner of my realm as a warning. No one touches my maze. No one touchesher.
My body quakes, but no longer with fear, with a raw, seething hunger for vengeance. I’ll carve their names into the stone, make them a permanent reminder that I am not to be crossed. They think they’ve outmaneuvered me? I’ll show them what realpower looks like. Hours pass by and with each one I lose more and more of the control I’m barely hanging on to. I keep having to go into my room to calm down like some child. I can’t let anyone see how deeply this is troubling me.
With each step I take, the anger burns like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. I storm out of my room and into the throne room, where the air hangs thick with tension. Henry, the fool, lies quiet in his cage, probably calculating ways to further infuriate me. I don’t have time for his petty games today. If he so much as utters a word, I will end him myself, and I won’t wait for Brielle to witness his demise.
Lost in thought, I barely notice when one of my staff enters, clearing his throat like he’s about to deliver the most important news in the world. “My king, the lords are arriving.”
“Bring them here,” I bark, my voice low and dangerous. I usually meet with them in the grand meeting room, but today, I want them to stand before me on my throne—let them feel the weight of my authority pressing down on them.
They shuffle in, Lord Thacket the first to enter. He glances around as if expecting a chair to be pulled out for him. “No,” I growl, “you will stand.” He crosses his arms, trying to project authority despite the clear discomfort radiating from him.
Next is Lord Varek, confusion etched on his face as he takes in the scene, but he quickly straightens when he meets my glare. Finally, Nyria strolls in as if she has all the time in the world, a carefree smirk plastered across her lips. I instruct them to stand before me as I gaze down from my throne, a predator surveying his prey.
“Who do you answer to?” I demand, my voice dripping with menace. They exchange confused glances, unsure of what to say.
“Speak when you are spoken to,” I bark, cutting through the silence.
“You, my king,” they mumble in unison, their voices barely above whispers. I pause, letting the tension build, savoring the moment.
“So why am I being told there are changes in my maze?” I question, the words curling like smoke in the air.
Silence hangs heavy between us, and I can see the panic starting to flicker in their eyes. I stand up, stalking toward them, my presence looming like a storm cloud. “I put you in charge of your quadrants because you understood that I am king,” I say slowly, letting each word drip with disdain. “But it appears someone has let the fraction of power I allowed them to wield go straight to their heads.”
Varak’s face pales, but he finds the courage to speak up. “What is the meaning of this? I have made no changes.”
I stop in front of him, glaring down as if I could burn a hole straight through him with my rage. “You have lost control of your quadrants. You have shown that you are nothing but failures.”
