Page 35 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
I straightened up, towering over him as he cowered. His silence was the only response I needed.
"You better hope she’s still alive, Henry," I added, "Because the second she’s not...you’re no longer any use to me. And then, I’ll be free of you too."
The air between us hung heavy with his unspoken dread. Perfect.
If Brielle is in the North, then that’s where I will go. As I storm through the halls, fury tightening every muscle in my body, a deeper rage festers beneath the surface; betrayal. It grips me tighter than any gauntlet ever could, choking me with the weight of it. Valak. Lord of the Abyssal Quadrant. He served under my father, stood beside me when I took the throne. And now he’s gone behind my back, stabbing deep with the sharpest blade; treachery.
For what? What could Nyria have promised him that would make him turn on everything? She’s always been a snake, slithering in the shadows, constantly undermining me. But Valak… I never saw it coming. My father trusted him. I trusted him. That kind of betrayal—that cuts deeper than any sword.
Nyria. That hatefulLadyof the North, always biting at my heels like a rabid dog. She never cared about loyalty, only power. She’s ruthless in her leadership, heartless even, constantly ruling the people of her quadrant with fear. I've reprimanded her more times than I can count for the way she runs her territory—cruel, without honor. Not that I’m some saint; no king can be. Nice makes you weak, and weakness gets you killed. But I’ve never been like her. She rules with a coldness that could freeze even the flames of the abyss.
And now she thinks she can take my crown? Control the maze? My maze. The thought of it makes my blood boil. If Nyria takes the throne, the maze would rot under her rule. It wouldn’t be a place of balance, of trials—it would become a twisted labyrinth of suffering, a weapon she’d wield for her own sick gain. That can’t happen. I won’t let it.
But what’s her end game? What is she really after? She knows I’ll never bend to her, never kneel. Even if she got control of the maze, I’d hunt her to the ends of every realm if it meant stopping her. So what does she want? Is it power? Revenge? Or is she trying to eliminate Brielle because she knows... she knows what she means to me.
The armor is heavy as I gear up , but it feels right—cold metal biting into my skin, tightening around me like a second layer of hardened rage. I strap each piece on with precision, the clink of steel echoing through the chamber like a war drum in my chest. My breath comes in harsh, controlled bursts as I fasten the last plate, locking it into place with enough force that the metal grates. The weight of the armor is nothing compared to the heaviness of my intent.
"Gather my men," I bark at the nearest staff, my voice like a crack of thunder. "We march North."
The staff scurries, sensing my rage.. I barely register them. My mind is a storm of violent thoughts, of blood and bones—of her. Brielle. Her name pulses through me like a heartbeat, the only thing that keeps me from slipping into complete madness. I reach for my sword, the hilt cold and familiar in my grip. The blade whispers against its sheath as I draw it, the steel glinting like an unspoken promise of death.
"Nyria's bones will join Valak's in the dirt." The words spill from my lips, dark and venomous, each syllable dripping with the kind of malice that can't be undone. I’ll scatter their ashes across the North if I must, paint the stones red with their blood until there’s no trace of their treachery left.
My men gather, their faces hard with the anticipation of what’s to come. They feel it too—the rage, the hunger for violence. And they know that once we ride out, there will be no mercy.
I will bring Brielle to me.
And Nyria? She will beg for a death that I will not give her until every piece of her has been shattered, until her bones are nothing but dust at my feet.
fifteen
Brielle
I wake up slowly, the cold seeping into my skin, making everything feel sluggish. My head pounds, and it’s dark, so dark that, for a second, I think I’m still dreaming. But no, the walls… they seem wet, slick with something I don’t want to think about. I push myself up, my arms trembling under my weight. Where the hell am I?
A voice cuts through the silence, low and raspy. "I'd go back to sleep if I were you."
Villina.
I squint toward the sound, my eyes barely adjusting to the darkness. Across from me, I see her, standing. She’s in a cell just like mine, bound to the wall, her head hanging heavy.
"Villina?" My voice comes out a shaky whisper, still hoarse from... I don’t even know what. "What have they done to you? Are you okay?"
She lifts her head slowly, her lips pulling into a weak, almost sarcastic smile. "You wake up in a cell, a prisoner, and you're asking me if I’m okay. Yeah, I’m fine. Just hanging around."
Her words, meant to be a joke, fall flat. My stomach churns. This is bad—really bad.
"Where are we?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can feel the panic creeping in.
"You, my friend, are now the prisoner of the bitch of the North, Nyria," Villina says with a sigh, her voice dripping with disdain. "She rules over this quadrant. A real nightmare. And I'm not gonna sugarcoat it—this is serious trouble. Nyria’s brutal. No one stays in the North for long. They either die at her hands or get smart and run to another quadrant. She and her shadows take pride in being nightmares.”
I feel a tremor start in my fingers and work its way up my arms. My whole body is shaking, and I can’t stop it. “What are we supposed to do? Why did she take us?”
Before Villina can answer, a heavy door at the end of the hall creaks open, the sound sending a cold chill down my spine. Then the echo of heels. Each step is deliberate, echoing like a countdown to something horrible.
And then... her voice. Cold. Slithering.
"Well, well, well... finally awake, are we? Now I can feast my eyes on the mighty Brielle."
