The Dark Trinity

Chapter 21

The grand hall of the court was a cacophony of voices as advisors, lords, and generals argued over war strategies and troop movements. Seated at the head of the long oak table, Malcolm sat, He rested his chin on his hand, bored but attentive, as the discussions unfolded

"Lord Malcolm, our forces in the south need reinforcements. The rebellion is growing," one advisor pressed, his voice tinged with urgency. 

Malcolm’s lips curved into a slow, humorless smile. "If they cannot hold the south with the men they have, perhaps they are unfit to command.", he said smoothly, waving his hand dismissively. 

Another lord leaned forward, a sheen of sweat on his brow. "But, my lord, the rebels have gained allies—" 

The heavy doors of the courtroom groaned open, drawing the attention of the court members. Viktor entered, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. His tunic was stained with blood, the dark patches still wet and glistening under the dim torchlight. Strands of his hair clung to his face, damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. 

The nobles seated around the grand oak table exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. It wasn’t the first time Viktor had appeared in such a state, and they had learned long ago to hold their tongues.

Malcolm, however, didn't spare him a glance, his fingers tapping against the table as he addressed the room. "Continue," he ordered, his voice laced with disinterest.

Viktor moved to his seat. His boots left faint smears of blood on the polished floor. When he reached his chair, he removed his gloves and tossed them onto the table with a careless flick of his wrist. 

The court members shifted uncomfortably in their seats but said nothing as Viktor sat down beside Malcolm. His presence was a storm waiting to break.

The meeting commenced, with the nobles discussing matters of trade, border disputes, and the kingdom's fragile alliances.

"As I was saying," Malcolm drawled. "Replace the southern commanders. If they fail again, their heads will adorn the gates." 

As the discussions wore on, Viktor remained stoic, his face a mask of indifference. The court members, sensing his mood, hurried through their points, eager to be done with the meeting.

One general cleared his throat. "And what of the northern border, my lord? We've received reports of—" 

A courtier, younger than most and too eager to prove himself, interrupted. "My lord, before we proceed, may we address a... lingering concern?" 

Malcolm’s brow arched, his sharp eyes locking onto the man. "Speak, then, if you must."

The young man shifted nervously, his gaze flickering to Viktor. "It concerns Lord Viktor's... new wife. The lady has not been seen since their wedding. She has duties as the second wife of the Hand, yet she remains confined to her chambers. Shouldn't she—"

The man’s voice faltered under Viktor's icy stare. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the courtier visibly trembling. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his blood-streaked face impassive, yet his presence was suffocating. 

"Continue," Viktor said quietly, his voice low and lethal. 

The courtier swallowed hard, glancing at Malcolm for support. Malcolm, however, remained motionless, his expression unreadable. 

"I—uh—I only meant that, as a wife of the Hand, she should—"

"Enough." Viktor's voice was sharp, cutting through the man's stammering. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table.