The Dark Trinity

Chapter 15

The grand halls of the palace bustled with an air of expectation, a stark contrast to the chaos simmering beneath its gilded surface. Malcolm sat upon his high-backed chair in his private chambers, his sharp gaze fixed on the goblet of wine in his hand. His thoughts, however, were not on the rich taste of the wine.

A knock interrupted his musings. 

“Enter,” Malcolm barked. 

The door creaked open, and a maid timidly stepped inside, her head bowed. “My lord, you summoned me?” 

“Make sure the entire palace knows of the grand celebration tonight,” Malcolm ordered, his voice cold and commanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers steepled under his chin. “I want banners hanging from every tower, music echoing through the halls, and feasts fit for a kingdom. Nothing less.”

The maid bowed low, stammering his reply. “Yes, my lord. It will be done as you say.” 

“And,” Malcolm added, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “Ensure the bride and groom are ready." His lips twisted into a cruel smile.

“Yes, my lord,” the maid stammered.

“Good.” Malcolm leaned back, waving his hand in dismissal. The servant scurried out of the room, leaving Malcolm alone with his thoughts. 

For a moment, his mask slipped. His stomach churned uncomfortably, a sensation he couldn’t quite explain. Giving Amelia mto Viktor had seemed like the perfect solution but the decision left a bitter taste.

Malcolm clenched his fists, pushing the unease aside. He didn’t have the luxury of doubt.

-----

In the solitude of his chambers, Viktor stood before a tall mirror, adjusting the ceremonial sash draped across his chest. His expression was grim, his jaw set in a way that spoke of barely contained fury. His thoughts were not on the impending marriage but on the South—his domain, his army, and the traitor lurking among his men.

Two servants fussed over his attire. The ceremonial tunic they draped over his broad shoulders was dark and heavy, the fabric embroidered with silver patterns of wolves and swords. The cut emphasized his rugged frame, the deep neckline exposing the jagged scar that ran from his collarbone to the base of his throat. 

“Hold still, my lord,” one servant muttered, fastening the clasp of his belt. 

“Will that be all, my lord?” one servant asked hesitantly, stepping back to admire their work. 

Viktor gave a curt nod, and the servants hurried out, leaving him alone. 

Almost alone. 

“You’re taking another wife.” 

The voice was soft yet accusing, cutting through the silence like a dagger. Viktor turned his head slightly, his expression impassive as his eyes landed on the woman sitting on the edge of his bed. 

She was beautiful in a sharp, calculating way, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders and her lips set in a slight pout. She wasn’t crying or pleading; she never would.

Viktor said nothing, turning back to the mirror and adjusting the heavy belt at his waist. 

Sofia rose gracefully, her movements deliberate as she approached him. “You didn’t think to tell me?” she asked, her voice dripping with sweetness. 

Still, he remained silent.

Her eyes narrowed, but she kept her tone even. “Who is she?” 

Viktor ignored her again, his focus on the blade resting on the table nearby.