Chapter 397: Chapter 397: Keep them apart
The hallway was still vibrating with the echo of that voice. The torches flickered wildly; dust swirled down from the cracked ceiling. And then, through the haze of smoke and blood, he appeared.
Kian.
The king’s steps were slow, deliberate, and heavy enough to make the floor tremble. The torchlight caught the sharp planes of his face, the wet sheen of his hair, and the faint, unnatural glow still flickering under his skin from earlier.
He looked like something carved out of storm and shadow—beautiful and terrifying all at once.
Neither Asael nor Luca moved. Both were back in their human forms now, half-dressed, half-broken, blood running down their arms and staining the stone at their feet. The silence stretched, a noose tightening.
Kian stopped in front of them. His gaze swept the wreckage—the cracked walls, the scorched torchlight, the streaks of blood—and then finally landed on them. His eyes were no longer the calm blue of their king. They were too bright. Too alive.
"What," he said softly, dangerously, "is going on here?"
No one answered.
His tone wasn’t loud, but the air around him felt like it might shatter. Even the flames on the torches seemed to shrink away from the weight of his presence.
Luca was the first to move—barely. He lowered his head, blood dripping from his jaw, his breathing still harsh. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice tight, forced into control, "there was a misunderstanding—"
Kian’s eyes flicked to him, and the wolf went silent.
"Misunderstanding?" the king repeated. He took one step forward, and both men instinctively stiffened. "Is that what you call this? A misunderstanding that left half my hallway destroyed?"
Neither spoke. The only sound was the soft drip of blood onto the floor.
Kian’s gaze shifted between them, sharp and calculating. "I should tear the truth out of you both right here," he said coldly. "But something tells me even then, I wouldn’t get it."
Asael finally lifted his head, jaw clenched, eyes still golden from the transformation. "My king, with all due respect—"
Kian cut him off, his voice snapping like a whip. "Do not speak of respect while standing in the middle of my palace, soaked in each other’s blood."
He stepped closer. The air grew hotter. Asael felt the heat against his skin—his king’s power slipping, leaking into the world again. The markings along Kian’s arms flickered faintly, blue light pulsing with his heartbeat.
Luca’s eyes narrowed slightly, not at Kian but at the glow. He noticed it—the same unnatural light he’d seen before in the great hall. Something was wrong with their king. Deeply wrong. But this was not the time to say it.
Kian’s gaze lingered on Asael longer than it should have, and his voice dropped, soft but dangerous. "You were supposed to be by my side tonight. And instead I find you here—hiding in the shadows, clawing at each other like feral beasts."
Asael said nothing. His silence was an answer in itself.
Luca straightened slightly, the defiance in him too wild to fully hide. "Your Majesty," he began, "I was simply trying to protect—"
"Protect who?" Kian’s voice sliced through the air like thunder. His head turned sharply toward Luca, eyes narrowing. "Who are you protecting, Luca?"
The wolf froze. He hadn’t meant to say that much.
Asael’s hand twitched at his side, jaw tightening. He knew what Kian was hearing—what he was starting to suspect.
Kian’s gaze bounced between them again. He could feel it—there was something unspoken between his two most trusted men. Something dangerous. Something personal.
He took another step forward. "You both forget," he said, voice dropping lower, "I can smell lies."
Neither breathed.
For a long, suffocating moment, Kian said nothing else. He simply stood there, the glow from his markings casting faint light across his face. His expression was unreadable—part fury, part exhaustion, part something no one could name.
Then, slowly, he exhaled. "You will tell me the truth," he said. "Tomorrow."
Luca blinked. "Your Majesty—"
"Silence," Kian snapped. "I am done looking at either of you tonight."
He turned away, but not before he threw a final command over his shoulder. "Guards!"
The sound of hurried feet came almost immediately—bare soles and claws slapping against the stone, the faint rattle of spears carried by nervous hands. The guards froze when they reached the hall. They saw the blood splattered across the walls, claw marks gouged deep into the pillars, and their king standing there like something risen from a storm—power radiating from him, wild and cold.
No one dared speak.
Kian didn’t look at them as he spoke. "Take them both," he ordered, his voice flat and dangerous. "Keep them apart. No words. No contact. At sunrise, I decide what happens next."
"Yes, my king," the guards murmured, their voices unsteady as they approached the two warriors with caution. The smell of blood filled the air—thick, metallic, and heavy with dominance.
As they moved forward, Kian stopped once more at the threshold. His head turned slightly, his eyes cold and sharp as steel.
"If either of you are hiding something from me..." his voice dropped to a near-growl, "...you will not live long enough to regret it."
He left without another word, his footsteps fading into the dark corridor beyond.
Behind him, the guards hesitated before touching either Asael or Luca. The tension between them was still crackling, like the fight might erupt again the second Kian’s presence vanished.
Luca watched the king disappear down the hall, blood still trickling down his jaw. His heart was pounding—not just from the fight, but from the realization that Kian had noticed.
Asael didn’t look at him. His face was blank, his breathing steady, but his hands were shaking.
They had both just lied to their king.
And both of them knew — if Kian ever realized how far they’d let emotion cloud judgment, how their pride made them beasts inside his palace — he’d strip them of rank before the next sunrise.