The torches lining the obsidian walls of the Grand Hall flickered, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits. The murmurs of nobles filled the vast chamber, voices hushed but heavy with anticipation.
Among them, two servants huddled near the cold stone, their faces pale under the harsh glow. One whispered Prince Kaelith's punishments are unlike any other. Ruthless, yet strange. No one ever leaves his chambers the same.
The other shivered. I heard the King's son doesn't need to force himself on anyone. They say his gaze alone bends wills. Like he claims their very souls.
From the opposite side of the hall, a sharp laugh cut through the whispers. Venith, Mira's closest confidante, shook her head with a mix of scorn and pity.
Prince Kaelith can be mine, Mira declared boldly, eyes burning with defiance as she met Venith's gaze. "I've broken the rules nine times this year just to lie beside Prince.
He's commanding so utterly manly. Maybe if I keep defying, I'll be more than a maid. I'll be the princess. And when Kaelith ascends the throne, I'll be queen.
Venith's sneer deepened. You're a fool. Do you forget you're nothing but a maid here?
How dare you look the prince in the eyes after punishment? You're shameless.
Before Mira could reply, the great doors to the hall swung open. A hush fell over the crowd.
Prince Kaelith stepped forward, every inch the noble heir cloaked in gold and shadow, his eyes sweeping over the gathered crowd like a storm. The weight of his presence silenced all doubts.
He was the storm before the calm, the law before mercy.
And tonight, the kingdom would once again witness a judgment.
In the midst of judgment, whispers spread like wildfire through the Grand Hall, murmurs passing from lip to lip until they reached the King's ears.
A group of new villagers had just arrived at the city gates strangers from the wilds seeking entry into the heart of the kingdom.
The nobles shifted uneasily, their eyes flicking between the newcomers and the throne, curious yet cautious.
King Aldric, seated high above them on his obsidian throne, raised a commanding hand, halting the whispers instantly. "Bring forth the finest among these strangers," he ordered, his voice cutting through the chamber like a blade.
From the line of newcomers, a young man stepped forward a figure tall and strong, his posture unwavering. His eyes met the King's without reluctance, steady and unafraid.
"What is your name?" the King demanded.
Hale Eryndor, the young man answered clearly, his voice steady and resolute.
Good, King Aldric nodded approvingly. You have chosen to enter the Zarethrone Kingdom at a most precarious time right amid judgment.
The crowd hushed as the King's gaze sharpened, the weight of his words settling heavily over the hall. "This man before you has sinned under our law," the King declared.
Will you accept to punish him or you will turn back to your village and forget this Kingdom?
Without a flicker of doubt, Hale's voice rang out. "I am ready." At the King's command.
A gilded bed was rolled into the center of the hall, its frame shining like captured sunlight, the sheets as red as freshly spilled blood. The nobles leaned in, their breaths held in anticipation.
What followed was unlike any punishment they had ever witnessed.
Hale was different. Strong, commanding his every movement precise and confident. The other young man cried out in shock and pleasure, the raw intensity of the encounter stirring the spectators.
It was not mere discipline, it was a fierce and intoxicating display of power and pleasure intertwined.
Seated on a nearby chair, Prince Kaelith's eyes never left Hale.
There was something magnetic about the newcomer a raw force that seemed to draw the prince in, holding his gaze with an intensity that surprised even him.
When the ordeal ended, the King rose, his expression unreadable but impressed.
"Welcome to the Zarethrone Kingdom, Hale Eryndor," he proclaimed. "Tell me are you as skilled with a sword as you are in…
Hale met the King's gaze without delay. "Yes, Your Majesty."
King Aldric's lips curved into a rare smile. Then you shall remain close to the prince. I favor a wise and capable man by his side.
Prince Kaelith looked at his father with a mixture of disbelief and reluctant acceptance. Though the command unsettled him, defying the King was never an option.
After selecting Hale as the prince's servant, the King stood tall before the court and declared, There shall be a grand celebration tonight in honor of the new villagers who have joined our kingdom.
A ripple of cautious cheer followed.
You may all leave now but return at dusk for the festivities.
Hale Eryndor, the King said, his tone shifting, deepening. "You follow the prince." The command was final.
Prince Kaelith turned without a word, his golden cloak whispering behind him like silk dragged across a blade. Hale moved quickly, slipping behind him, quiet as a shadow. His heart beat loudly, but his footsteps were light.
At the prince's right side walked Sir Elion a loyal blade, a polished noble, and Kaelith's closest companion. His voice was laced with doubt, low and sharp like a dagger in the dark.
"Your Highness," Elion muttered, leaning close. How can the King trust a stranger?
Just because he pleasured well before the court. And now he assigns him as your servant.
Kaelith did not flinch. His face was indistinct, lips unmoving for a beat too long.
Then, finally, with a voice as cold and refined as steel, he answered, Who am I to disobey the King?
Behind them, Hale followed silently his bare chest cloaked now in borrowed fabric, but his presence still raw, still radiating something unshaped. His eyes flicked between the noble halls and the quiet man before him.
Prince Kaelith did not look back once.
He could feel Hale behind him like a breath on the back of his neck, warm and uninvited.
They walked through the winding corridor of stone and firelight, the prince's boots silent against polished marble while Hale trailed a step behind, eyes lowered in quiet respect.
Then, without turning, Prince Kaelith spoke his voice low, smooth, and commanding.
"Do you have family among those villagers?"
Hale blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he should speak.
"Yes, Your Highness," he replied, his voice steady. I came with my father. He's an old blacksmith.
Kaelith slowed his pace, finally glancing over his shoulder.
A blacksmith, he murmured. Then you've known strength since you were a boy.
"I was taught to swing a hammer before I could write my own name," Hale answered with a faint, humble smile.
The prince's lips curved slightly not quite a smile, but close enough. Good, Kaelith said.
They continued walking, the firelight painting.
After they had crossed several stone-lined corridors and passed through arched courtyards lit by flickering torchlight, the Prince came to a halt before the grand doors of his private chambers.
He turned slightly, his voice calm but firm. "Elion, show him where he'll be staying."
Sir Elion gave a short nod. As you command, Your Highness.
Without another word, Prince Kaelith entered his chamber, the royal guard silently following behind and shutting the doors with a low thud.
Hale bowed his head slightly in respect. I'll see you at the celebration, Your Highness.
There was no reply, only the soft echo of boots fading within the room.
Elion gave Hale a long, unreadable look before motioning with his head. Come. You'll be quartered in the servant's wing.