The air around the palace gates crackled with fury.
Hundreds of citizens had gathered, their faces twisted in anger and grief. Smoke still lingered in the distance where their market stalls and goods had been reduced to ash in the recent fire. They pressed against the iron gates, shouting and waving fists at the line of armored knights standing watch.
"Bring us King Erik!" one man bellowed, hurling a rotten cabbage that splattered against a knight's shield.
"We demand answers!" another cried. "Why is that demon still breathing while our livelihoods burn? Stop hiding behind these walls like cowards!"
The crowd surged forward. Shouts turned into shoves. A woman screamed as someone pushed too hard. In the chaos, a young man lunged at one of the knights. The knight shoved him back roughly. That single spark was all it took.
Panic rippled through the mob. Knights drew their swords, but the sheer weight of the crowd overwhelmed them. In a desperate attempt to contain the riot, the guards retreated inside the gates. The moment the heavy iron doors cracked open, the people poured through like a flood.
They spilled into the grand courtyard of Thornhold Palace, hundreds of furious voices echoing off the stone walls.
---
Inside the throne room, Prince Ivar lounged on his father's ornate throne, fingers drumming lazily on the gilded armrest. The heavy doors burst open and a breathless knight stumbled in, armor clanking.
"My lord!" the knight gasped, dropping to one knee. "The people… they've broken through the palace gates. They're heading straight for the courtyard!"
Ivar shot upright. "What?"
He rose swiftly, cloak swirling behind him. "Send every available knight! Secure the castle. Do not let a single one of them touch these walls!"
Dorian, the royal advisor, stepped forward with measured calm. "My king… be cautious. You cannot afford to alienate the people. Without their support, your claim to the throne will be ridiculed. Boldr would become the obvious choice in their eyes."
Ivar paused, hand resting on his chin. His jaw tightened. After a long moment, he exhaled sharply.
"You leave me no choice."
He strode toward the doors. "Let's go."
---
In the courtyard, knights had already formed a tight perimeter around the angry crowd, swords drawn and shields raised. From the upper balcony, Prince Ivar emerged, stepping into view like a king stepping onto a stage. All eyes turned to him instantly. The shouting died down into a tense, uneasy murmur.
One burly man stepped forward as the voice of the people, his voice booming across the courtyard.
"We demand an audience with King Erik, my prince!"
Ivar's expression remained cold and regal. He raised a hand for silence.
"The crown bears grave news," he announced, his voice carrying with practiced authority. "King Erik the Humble… is dead."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Several women covered their mouths in shock. A heavy silence fell.
"By birthright," Ivar continued, "the throne passes to me—his firstborn son. I will be king, and I vow to be greater than my father ever was. With your support and patience, I will make Thornhold stronger than ever before. Our enemies will be crushed. No one will dare threaten our walls again."
He spread his arms in a gesture of benevolence.
"Your well-being is my highest concern. I have heard your complaints. Your destroyed stalls and goods will be replaced, and the one responsible for the fire will answer for his crimes."
A few voices rose uncertainly at first. "All hail King Ivar!" someone shouted. Others quickly joined in, the chant growing louder, fueled by a mix of fear, hope, and relief.
"All hail King Ivar!"
Ivar allowed himself a small, satisfied smile before turning on his heel and disappearing back into the palace.
---
Deep beneath the castle, in the cold, damp dungeons, Dot sat chained against the stone wall. Three days of captivity had left him weary, but his eyes still burned with defiance.
The cell door creaked open. A knight stood in the doorway.
"The prince will see you now."
---
Back in the throne room, Prince Ivar looked down at the prisoner with open disgust.
"So you're the freak," he sneered.
Dot slowly lifted his head, his gaze steady and unblinking.
"How long has he been locked up?" Ivar asked, turning to Dorian.
"Three days now, sire."
The prince, popping grapes into his mouth, let out a mocking laugh. "Has he always looked this disgusting?"
"Where are my friends?" Dot demanded, his voice low but firm.
Ivar's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Friends? You mean the princess and the others? I'm still deciding what to do with her. Perhaps I'll send her head to her father, Sweyn Forkbeard, as a gift."
Dot's chains rattled violently as fury surged through him. The knights behind him struggled to hold the long chains taut.
Ivar leaned forward, clearly enjoying the reaction. "Count yourself lucky, demon. You'll get to watch as I kill your friends and claim Greenwood for myself."
Dot took a threatening step forward. The knights stumbled, barely managing to restrain him. Ivar flinched slightly and quickly sat back on the throne.
"Guards! Detain this beast!" he barked, his voice cracking with a hint of fear.
At that moment, the large doors at the far end of the throne room swung open. A middle-aged man entered, accompanied by Sylric.
"Long time no see, Dot," Sylric said with a faint smile.
Dot turned, his expression shifting from rage to cautious relief. His shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
"What are you doing here?" Ivar snapped.
The middle-aged man spoke with calm authority. "No way to speak to the Kingsguard, Your Highness. As of now, Sylric here is under my command. And so is this man—Dot. Your grip on them is finished."
Dot blinked in surprise, remembering the secret visit Sylric had made to his cell days earlier.
"How's Yiva?" Dot asked quickly.
"I have no idea where she is right now," Sylric admitted, "but I still have hope she's somewhere in Thornhold."
Dot clenched his jaw. "What's the plan?"
"Stay low," Sylric replied quietly. "Trust me. Fighting your way out won't work. Violence from an outsider here will only make things worse."
The guards moved forward and began unlocking Dot's cuffs. Ivar watched with barely contained fury.
"Wait!" the prince cut in sharply. "How long do you think you can keep this up? Boldr hasn't shown his face since his brother's death. No one is coming to save you. Your only option now is to leave this kingdom. Forget about rescuing the princess—she belongs to me now."
Dot finally spoke, his voice calm but laced with defiance.
"Too bad. I was planning to beat you senseless after I save Yiva."
Sylric shot him a warning glance, but it was too late.
Ivar's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Is that so?"
Before anyone could respond, a figure emerged from behind the throne.
"Hello, sister," Ivar said smoothly, turning toward her.
Astrid stepped into the light, her gaze fixed on Dot.
"My sister has told me quite a lot about you… demon."
Dot's eyes widened in shock.
Somewhere near the main gates of Thornhold, Garon dismounted from his horse, sweat and dust clinging to his cloak. He led the animal to a stone well, drawing water into a bowl so it could drink.
He stared toward the towering walls of the palace in the distance, his expression hard with determination.
"Wait for me, sis," he whispered. "I'm coming."
End of Chapter 36