Alexandra's voice echoed through the room, bouncing off dusty shelves and rattling portraits on the wall.
"What? Father what?"
William, sprawled on the floor amidst a disarray of discarded books, flung one towards her in frustration. "I just told you, Lex! Have you gone deaf? He threw him out - that damned-"
Alexandra cut him off, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Oh God, Will, stop. I heard you the first time." She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the tide of nausea that threatened to swamp her.
William scowled, bewildered by her reaction. "Then why the-"
"That's enough," Victor declared, his voice deceptively calm, the quiet weight of his authority shutting up the teenagers bickering.
The air hissed with tension as Victor's gaze, heavy as a stone, swept across the room. Alexandra's defiant retort died on her lips, replaced by a nervous swallow. William, usually quick with a counterpunch, slumped back down on the floor, eyes looking up at the ceiling. In that silent exchange, the power dynamic between the three siblings was laid bare.
“What father did was wrong but it doesn’t mean we can question him, especially you two,” Victor continued as he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled over his brow.
Minutes ticked by, the silence only broken by the crackling fire. Finally, Alexandra's voice pierced the quiet.
“Just because we can’t say anything doesn’t mean that you, of all people, stay quiet.”
Alexandra spoke quietly, looking over at Victor, who just shook his head in response. “Drop it, Alexandra. It won’t be of any use,” he muttered, seemingly lost in thought, his jaw clenched with unspoken frustration. Alexandra let out a low groan, her eyes shifting to William sprawled on the floor. “Why are you even on the floor in the first place?”
“Because,” William mumbled.
“Because what?”
“Just because.”
“Victor, Will’s being a little bitch again.”
Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, standing up from his chair. “Not a single moment of peace in this goddamn household.”
A mischievous glint sparked in Alexandra's eyes. “Can a whole castle even be categorised as a household?”
Victor shot her a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Alexandra?”
“Yes, Victor?”
“Shut up.”
↣↢↣↢↣↢↣↢↣↢↣↢
Cold sweat beaded on Archer's brow as the clock chimed midnight. It wasn't the darkness that gnawed at him, but the gnawing silence, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing in the cavernous dungeon.
A guttural shriek ripped through the stillness, shattering the fragile peace Archer had carved out in the dungeon's oppressive gloom. Bloodcurdling laughter followed, sending shivers down his spine.
Archer's calloused hands, used to gripping a sword, now felt foreign, bound tightly by cold iron chains to the ceiling. The weight of his defiance to the king still sat heavy in his chest, slowly eating away at his consciousness, forcing him into a state of fear.
Another shriek, closer this time, clawed its way through the darkness, followed by a sickening thud. A cold wind passed through the dungeon, carrying with it the stench of damp earth and something metallic... blood? His stomach churned.
Suddenly, the sound of the metal door opening broke the silence. Panic seized him, squeezing the air from his lungs. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed down the corridor, growing closer by the second. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable, but the heavy clanging stopped just outside his field of vision.
A low, guttural chuckle vibrated through the air, sending goosebumps erupting across his skin.
“Well, well, well," a raspy voice rasped, slithering across the stone floor. "Look who decided to stay awake for the grand finale."
Archer flinched as the speaker stepped into the cell. His eyes flew open, locking onto the figure standing mere inches away.
A man, presumably in his mid-twenties stood there menacingly, black hair falling over his dark, grey eyes. A cruel smirk snaked its way across his lips, mocking Archer as he towered over him with his tall and bulky frame. The scar tracing a jagged line across his right eye showed under the dim light of the dungeon, making him look even more dangerous. His voice, like gravel grinding against bone, sent shivers down Archer’s spine.
"I know who you are," the man hissed, his voice a sibilant whisper. "The fool who dared question the king's wisdom. And now, you get to witness the consequences."
He gestured towards the shadows beyond the man's reach, and Archer's blood ran cold. There, lying crumpled on the floor, was another prisoner, still and lifeless. ‘How did I not notice this before?’, Archer thought to himself.
And in the man's hand, glinting wickedly in the dim light, was a bloodstained dagger. “This," the man said, dragging the word out with sadistic pleasure, "is what happens to those who defy the king." He raised the dagger high, its tip aimed at Archer's throat, and a single, chilling thought echoed in Archer's mind: ‘This is it. This is how it ends.’
As his eyelids fluttered shut, Archer suddenly felt the musky smell of leather and woodsmoke invade his senses. Upon opening his eyes, he saw the man a few inches away from his face, his sharp features illuminated by the dim light. Up close, he looked devilishly handsome, a dangerous allure hanging in the air. Archer felt his cheeks burning, not just from the proximity of the man, but from the unwelcome turn his thoughts were taking.
The man's smirk widened, grey eyes raking over Archer's face, lingering on his lips a moment too long. Archer's blush deepened as the man ran his tongue over his lips, sending a shiver down Archer's spine.
“But on second thought, you’re a pretty little thing,” the man rasped. “Shame I have to kill you.”
His blade, glinting silver in the firelight, danced down Archer's cheek, tracing a chilling path to his throat.
“Any last words, pretty boy?”
Archer's heart hammered against his ribs, but before he could find his voice, a jarring crash erupted from outside the cell. A figure, cloaked in shadow and mystery, stormed in, sword blazing like a beacon in the dim light. The woman's identity remained hidden behind a veil, yet her unwavering brown eyes, the only visible part of her face, held a steely glint.
“Step away,” she commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding. The man's gaze flickered to her, a playful chuckle escaping his lips.
“No, I don’t think I will sweetheart.” His eyes went over to Archer. “Besides, he’s too pretty to be left alone.”
Archer's throat constricted, his heartbeat a frantic drum solo against his ribs. What was this unfamiliar flutter in his stomach? And why, he cursed under his breath, was he still blushing?
The woman's grip tightened on her sword. "You leave him be, or face the consequences."
His answer was a chilling laugh, echoing in the confines of the cell. "Consequences? My darling, I thrive on them."
In the blink of an eye, the room was engulfed in an unnatural black smoke, thick and choking, its tendrils reaching for their lungs like icy fingers. Archer coughed, eyes stinging, vision blurring. The world dissolved into a suffocating vortex of darkness.
When the smoke finally cleared, leaving behind a stinging residue in its wake, the man's jaw clenched tight, fury blazing in his eyes.
He was alone.
Both Archer and the woman were gone.
