The silence in the chamber was suffocating. Kongpob sat alone, his mind a storm of conflicted thoughts and impossible decisions. His uncle's order reverberated in his mind-kill Arthit before the Shifter council arrived. The ultimatum came as clear and brutal as a blade to the heart. But no matter how many scenarios he considered, each path led to one inevitable end: his own death.
Arthit's voice had been calm as he left Kongpob alone, telling him to get some rest, his tone carrying a warmth that Kongpob almost envied. "I'll be just outside," he'd said, standing by the door with an assuring nod. "If you need anything, just call."
Kongpob had nodded, feigning a strength he didn't feel, and watched as the door closed softly behind Arthit. Now, in the dark hours past midnight, Kongpob lay on his back, staring into the blackness of the ceiling, his chest heavy with despair.
The problem was unsolvable. Even if he obeyed his uncle's command and killed Arthit, it would only buy him a moment's safety.
Arthit was beloved by the grizzly warriors. His death would be swiftly avenged, and Kongpob would be ripped apart before the Shifter council could even reach the palace grounds.
And if he somehow managed to escape their wrath, his uncle would likely spread the tale himself, painting Kongpob as the pitiable prince who defended his honor, forced into killing an unworthy Rasina commander. It would spare Kongpob's reputation only in the smallest, most desolate way-and it wouldn't change the outcome. He would still be marked for death, his honor and life collateral in the King's plan.
The King had caught him in Arthit's chambers, he was taking it as direct challenge to his decision to wed Kong to General Reinir. Kong had borrowed breaths left.
He clenched his fists, the futility of it all crashing down on him. This was never about him. His uncle had plotted everything meticulously; Kongpob was just the sacrifice needed to make his larger ambitions come to life. No matter which way Kongpob chose, the result was the same.
An answer whispered in his mind-a terrible, beautiful simplicity. If he took his own life, if he died by his own hand, there would be no satisfaction left for his uncle. His attendants, Tew and Aim, would be spared. Arthit was clever and strong, with enough loyalty from his men to see through his uncle's traps and leave unharmed. With Kongpob dead, his uncle would lose any further reason to target them.
The choice felt both painful and liberating. Kongpob moved quietly, his limbs heavy as he slid from the bed. He crossed to the small desk where Arthit had kept the sheathed weapons, taking out the dagger the commander kept strapped by his side, he eyed the carved beauty.
Its weight was cool and final in his hand. He glanced around, looking for paper, something to leave behind, but found nothing. Desperate, he bit his lip and took a deep breath. He made a shallow cut on his finger, feeling the sting of pain as blood pooled from the small wound.
Slowly, he knelt by the edge of the bed and, with shaky fingers, used his blood to trace the words he wanted them to find, on the stone walls. "I am tired of this life. No one is to be held accountable for my decision to end it . Honour my dying wish - free the Rasina commander and let my attendants and phi Arin (nanny) be the free citizens ( they will not be slaves now but free citizens )..."
The simple act of writing brought a strange calm over him. He took a final, deep breath, and prepared himself, holding the dagger to his throat, the sharp edge biting into his skin. Tears streamed down his face as he steadied himself, his hand trembling.
................
Arthit was trying to sleep , but the bitter , throat clawing stench from omega due to his fear gripped heart ; stole his sleep.
