Vane didn't look up. He remained slumped in the dirt, a pathetic heap of stained robes and shattered brilliance. The man who had spoken so clinically about "refining life" was now nothing more than a cowering ghost.
The old man's hand trembled as he maintained his grip on Vane's hair, forcing the scholar to face the woman and child he had effectively orphaned.
"You were the martyr," the old man hissed, his voice cracking with decades of stored grief. "We told stories of your bravery. We told Diana her father was a hero who died resisting the Council's corruption. And all this time... you were their architect?"
Elara finally pulled back from Diana, her face a mask of wet soot and raw agony. She didn't look like the fierce warrior who had threatened them in the woods; she looked like someone who had just watched her entire world burn for the second time.
"Elara... you don't understand... the progress... I was doing it to ensure a future where we wouldn't have to hide anymore..."
"By turning people into this?" Elara gestured wildly at the thousand hollow-eyed workers standing behind Asarmose. "By treating your own blood like a cattle?"
Alistair stepped closer to Asarmose, his shoulder brushing the Prince's. The shock had passed, replaced by a cold, kingly fury. "Asarmose," he muttered under his breath, "we aren't just in a labor camp anymore. We're in the middle of a blood feud."
Asarmose didn't look at him. He was watching Diana, the girl who had clung to him for warmth, now staring at the "scholar" with a look of profound, silent horror. The regret he had felt earlier deepened, settling into a heavy stone in his chest. He had woken these people up to this reality.
"I know," Asarmose replied, his voice regaining its sharp, icy composure.
He stepped forward, his black eyes fixing on the old man. "The garrison is coming. If you want to settle your family matters, do it on the move. We have a thousand people who need a forest to hide in, and a scholar who still needs to explain exactly how to reverse the 'smoke' he released."
Alistair reached down and hauled Vane up by his collar once more, his gaze cutting through the scholar like a blade. "He's right. Move. Now."
The old man nodded, wiping a hand across his eyes. He signaled to his group, and they began the Herculean task of funneling the dazed workers into the dense brush.
As they moved, Alistair kept his grip tight on Vane, walking just behind Elara. He watched her back—stiff, proud, and shaking. He looked at Asarmose, who walked with a dignified grace despite his exhaustion, still keeping a protective eye on Diana.
"Where are we headed?" Alistair asked, his voice steady despite the weight of the man on his shoulder.
"To our camp," Elara said, her voice still a little shaky as she kept her daughter close. "We have a shelter for those who wanted to be free from the system—those damned aristocrats and that selfish, no good king of theirs."
Asarmose smiled a little, his eyes shimmering with a wicked delight. He turned his head slightly, throwing a mocking, sidelong glance at Alistair. The irony was delicious, and he made sure the King felt every bit of it.
Alistair's jaw tightened.
He felt the sting of her words more than he cared to admit, but he kept his "Kael" mask firmly in place. To the rebels, he was just a strong-armed laborer, but to Asarmose, he was a King being insulted to his face while carrying a traitor through the mud.
"Selfish, is he?" Alistair rumbled, his tone neutral but dangerous."Worse than selfish," the old man added, stepping over a thick root as they delved deeper into the forest. "He sits on a throne of ignorance while the Council turns his borders into a graveyard. He probably doesn't even know this place exists—or he'd have sent his 'godly' knights to burn it down by now."
Asarmose let out a soft, musical hum of agreement, leaning toward Alistair as they walked. "It must be heavy," he whispered, his voice dripping with silken sarcasm. "The weight of all that... nobility."
Alistair shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "Keep talking, 'Aris', and I'll drop this sack of filth on your feet and let you carry him the rest of the way."
As they climbed a steep, rocky ridge, the vegetation became so thick it seemed impassable. But with a practiced hand, the old man moved a heavy curtain of moss, revealing a narrow crevice in the stone.
"In here," Elara commanded. "And keep that man quiet. If the others see his face before we've reached the inner chamber, I won't be able to stop them from tearing him apart."
They stepped into a vast, hidden cavern illuminated by glowing lichen and scattered lanterns.
Elara's people quietly watched vane, like a bunch of wolves ready to tear him to shreds
Alistair set Vane down roughly in the center of the cave, his eyes scanning the crowd. He realized then that keeping the King's identity secret was the least of his worries—keeping Vane alive long enough to get answers was going to be the real challenge