The Throned Crown

The sword in Aelric's hand felt like an iron brand, its cold steel burning against his palm. The bound man knelt before him, his chest heaving with labored breaths, his eyes filled with desperate pleas.

Every instinct in Aelric's body screamed at him to find a way out. To deflect. To stall. But Cassiel's piercing gaze held him captive, the weight of expectation pressing down like a blade against his throat.

"Do it, General," Cassiel said, his voice calm but carrying a cruel edge. "Or would you rather I question your convictions?"

Aelric's mind raced. If he refused, he'd expose himself. Cassiel would strip him bare, and his carefully woven disguise would crumble. But if he followed through, he'd cross a line he swore he wouldn't—sacrificing the last shred of his humanity for the sake of revenge.

Damn you, Cassiel.

Aelric took a slow, deliberate breath, masking the war raging within him. His hand tightened on the hilt of the sword as he stepped forward, every movement a calculated display of control.

The kneeling man's lips quivered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please…"

The plea was like a dagger to Aelric's chest. He couldn't falter now. Not with Cassiel watching.

"Silence," Aelric growled, his tone sharp, as much for the prisoner as for himself. He couldn't afford sympathy. Not here. Not now.

Cassiel tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Well?"

Aelric raised the sword, his eyes locked on the prisoner's. For a moment, time seemed to freeze, the world narrowing to this single, terrible choice.

Then he struck.

The blade didn't find flesh.

Aelric pivoted at the last second, slamming the hilt of the sword into the side of the prisoner's head. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious but alive.

Gasps rippled through the watching soldiers, their shock palpable. Aelric turned, his expression cold and resolute as he faced Cassiel.

"Your Highness," he said, his voice steady, "death is too swift for a traitor. Let him live and face justice. Public execution will send a stronger message."

The clearing fell silent, the tension thick enough to choke. Cassiel's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark and unreadable passing over his face.

"And if he escapes?" Cassiel asked, his tone laced with quiet menace.

"He won't," Aelric replied, his gaze unwavering. "I'll see to it myself."

For a long moment, Cassiel simply stared at him, the storm in his eyes threatening to break. Then, to Aelric's surprise, the prince's lips curled into a faint, chilling smile.

"Interesting," Cassiel murmured.

He turned away, his voice carrying over his shoulder. "Very well, General. Have him bound and delivered to the dungeons. I expect to see his execution personally… and I'll hold you responsible if it doesn't happen."

"Yes, Your Highness," Aelric said, inclining his head.

Cassiel mounted his horse, his movements fluid and regal. Before riding off, he glanced back at Aelric, his gaze piercing.

"Next time, General," Cassiel said, his voice low, "don't hesitate. I won't be as forgiving."

With that, he spurred his stallion forward, disappearing into the forest.

Aelric exhaled slowly, his grip on the sword loosening. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to appear calm as the soldiers moved to retrieve the unconscious prisoner.

He had gambled—and barely survived.

But as he mounted his own horse, following the others back to the palace, he couldn't shake the feeling that Cassiel had seen through his ploy.

You're playing with fire, a voice in his mind warned.

And Cassiel Altheon wasn't a man to let games go unpunished.

Later That Night

Aelric stood in the dim glow of his chambers, staring at the blade resting on the table before him. It was clean now, wiped free of blood or dirt. Yet the weight of what had happened in the clearing lingered.

The memory of Cassiel's piercing gaze wouldn't leave him.

"He knew," Aelric muttered to himself, his jaw tightening. "He had to know."

But if Cassiel suspected him, why not act? Why give him another chance?

Unless…

A knock at the door shattered his thoughts. Aelric's hand went instinctively to his dagger as he crossed the room and opened the door.

A young servant stood there, trembling as she handed him a folded piece of parchment. "From His Highness," she whispered before scurrying away.

Aelric closed the door and unfolded the note, his eyes scanning the sharp, elegant handwriting.

General Thorne,

Loyalty is a fragile thing, easily tested. But loyalty proved through fire? That is what earns trust.

Tomorrow, you'll join me on the hunt. Be ready.

—Cassiel

Aelric's stomach twisted as he crumpled the note in his fist. The hunt wasn't just a game—it was a test.

And if he failed this time, there would be no second chances.