The Siege of Shadows: Book one

Tooth and Blood (32)*

The grand dining hall was nothing less than opulent, gilded edges to every fixture, high vaulted ceilings where chandeliers dripped with crystals like frozen tears. It was a place of excess, where every piece of food seemed designed to remind the nobles of their superiority over the lower classes. But it all felt like a grotesque spectacle, an arena where power was displayed, flaunted, and perverted.

Kael stood at the doorway like a shadow, his black armor gleaming coldly in the flickering firelight. His crimson gaze fixed on me the moment I entered, and I could feel the weight of his stare like an iron chain around my chest. He didn't move as I walked toward him, every step in my gown feeling like an echo in the silence between us.

"Kitten," his voice, a low growl, slid through the air like poison, carrying no affection. It was an order. Always an order.

The nobles murmured among themselves as I was led to the seat at Kael's side, positioned just far enough from the King's gaze. The food was brought out in waves, but I barely noticed it. The whole room seemed a blur of gold and opulence, the laughter and clinking goblets only serving to disgust me further. My eyes were fixed on Kael, sitting rigid, his posture like that of a puppet—a puppet whose strings were pulled taut by the cruel hand of the Seelie King.

The first course came: roasted meats, perfectly crisped, glistening under the flickering candlelight. As a platter of blood-red steaks was set in front of Kael, the King's voice rang out, thick with malice. "Theros," he spat the word like a curse, but there was no disguising the amusement in his tone. "You are always so silent. Perhaps you prefer to eat like the beast you are?"

I saw Kael's jaw tighten, but he didn't answer. He didn't dare. His helmet—always that accursed, iron monstrosity—remained fixed on his head, never removed, never questioned. His bloodshot eyes flickered to the food in front of him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something—anger, humiliation?—before he obeyed the King's cruel command.

The King's sneer twisted further. "No utensils for you, Theros. Your mother taught you better. Eat. Like the beast you are."

I felt bile rise in my throat at the sheer cruelty of his words. But it wasn't just the King's mockery that turned my stomach. It was the way Kael moved—his fingers, long and sharp, trembling just slightly as he grasped the bloodied meat. The rawness of it, the dripping red liquid staining his fingers as he shoved the meat into the slit of his helmet, it was like watching a man lose his humanity piece by piece.

Kael didn't flinch, didn't flounder. He ate the raw meat. Each bite seemed to tear at something inside him, but he kept his head down, biting, chewing through the sickening slop of flesh. His face remained stoic, though his body stiffened with each gulp. The blood, thick and dark, ran down his chin, staining the iron of his helmet, dripping onto the stone floor below. His hands—those hands that had once been capable of such delicate precision—now looked like those of an animal, smeared with blood, dirtied by the King's grotesque game.

The laughter around the table was deafening. It echoed in my ears, a vile symphony of self-satisfied aristocrats, all too eager to join in the humiliation of a knight who had once commanded armies. And as I watched Kael, I saw the rage boil in his eyes, though he hid it beneath the mask of obedience.

"Look at him, everyone!" the King laughed. "The beast eats like a dog."

The words cut through me like a knife, and a raw, bitter anger surged up in my chest. How dare he? How dare they treat him like this? The mighty warrior—broken, diminished by the King's whims—was forced to degrade himself just to be seen as obedient.

But I couldn't just sit there. I couldn't.

Without thinking, I slammed my hand onto the table, the sound of it echoing through the hall. I locked eyes with the King, my voice trembling with fury. "You filthy bastard!"