Chapter 9: Blood Beneath the Gold
Two months had passed since the wedding bells echoed through the Southern Bastion's chapel. The sound of steel had dulled, replaced—at least for now—by softer murmurs of peace. But peace was never a permanent guest in the halls of the Kingdom.
The chapter opened under a veil of dawnlight as Serana stood on the veranda of their shared quarters, the morning breeze playing with her auburn hair. The sky stretched wide and violet, the last stars clinging stubbornly to the edge of day. Her fingers trembled around the folded parchment in her hand—an alchemist's seal waxed on the corner.
"Elias," she called, her voice breathless.
He emerged from the washroom, toweling his damp hair, his tunic loose. "What is it?"
She handed him the parchment. "I went to the infirmary yesterday. I wanted to be sure."
He opened it, eyes moving across the ink.
A pause.
Then—
"You're pregnant?" he whispered, voice barely catching up to the weight of the words.
A nod. Tears threatened her smile.
He dropped the towel and crossed the room in three strides, lifting her into his arms with a stunned laugh. "We're having a child?"
Serana laughed through her tears. "Yes. We are."
That moment lingered like a captured spell—weightless and glowing. But like all spells, it broke.
A knock at the door. A royal summons.
The castle stood like a monument to triumph and secrets alike. Black marble stairs curled upward toward the Grand Hall, lined with crimson banners etched in golden serpents. The walls shimmered faintly with enchantments—wards, likely, to deter spying eyes. Light poured in through arched stained glass windows, tinting the floor in hues of blood and sapphire.
Elias walked in silence, flanked by two ceremonial knights. His boots echoed against the obsidian stone.
The Throne Room awaited.
Pillars carved with historical battles rose into the high dome above, where a mural of the Kingdom's founding covered the ceiling. The throne itself sat on a dais of seven steps, forged from darksteel, veined with glowing lines of aetherium. The King sat there.
King Thalor.
Clad in a robe of woven midnight blue, trimmed with white fox fur. Gold circlets adorned each finger. His crown was simple but ancient—dark iron inlaid with burning amber. His eyes, however, were the most remarkable: an unnatural gold, like coins melted into fire.
"Knight Elias," he greeted, his voice deep and smooth.
Elias knelt. "Your Majesty."
"I summoned you because a threat has emerged near the Dreval Hollow. Bandit clans. Rebel cells. Choose your term."
Elias rose slowly. "My wife is pregnant. I cannot leave her alone."
A moment of silence.
Then—
"Congratulations!" the king's tone shifted instantly, smile wide, eyes gleaming too bright. "A child? A blessing to the Kingdom."
Elias watched carefully.
"Come," the king said, rising and beckoning Elias toward the side chamber—a private room draped in blue velvet and gold-lined bookcases. The door sealed behind them with a whisper.
They sat.
"You're a valuable asset, Elias. One of my finest."
Elias didn't respond immediately.
"I want to retire," he said finally.
The king's smile faltered. "Retire?"
"I want my child to live a normal life," Elias said. "My hands are stained with blood. Whether the cause was just or not, I've killed. All who live by the sword… will fall by it."
Thalor's laugh was soft. And dangerous.
"You think such a life is truly possible? Normalcy? For you?"
"I don't know," Elias said. "But I'm going to try."
The king leaned forward. "Very well. I won't stop you. But come back to see me… in two weeks. We'll have one last discussion."
Elias left the castle with the weight of the king's final look heavy on his mind.
That evening, the Southern Bastion lit up with music and laughter. A group of knights—old friends and new—had thrown a celebration in honor of Serana's pregnancy. Banners of crimson and violet danced in the wind. The main courtyard had been decorated with enchanted lanterns floating midair like drifting stars.
Wooden tables overflowed with roast fowl, honey-baked yams, and mead poured from shimmering crystal jugs. Serana wore a flowing silver robe embroidered with orange lilies, a gift from one of the mage-knights. Elias stood beside her in a relaxed tunic, dark green with gold embroidery.
Toasts were made. Songs sung.
Among the crowd stood Caelus.
A knight of recent prestige. Tall, raven-haired, clad in stark gray armor with a red sash. His face bore the charm of loyalty, but his eyes… Elias couldn't place it, but something about them was always calculating.
Caelus approached late into the night, holding two cups of spiced wine. "To the father-to-be," he said, offering one.
Elias smiled and clinked cups. "Didn't think you were the celebrating type."
Caelus shrugged. "People love to pretend peace lasts. Why not indulge the illusion?"
"That's grim," Serana said, raising a brow.
Caelus grinned. "Grim is honest. But don't worry. Tonight's for joy."
He wandered off.
Serana leaned in. "I don't like him."
Elias nodded. "Neither do I."
But they said nothing more of it that night.
As the party faded, and the firelight burned low, Elias looked up at the sky. The stars above the Bastion were fewer tonight. And for the first time in years, he wasn't sure if he was walking into peace—or toward a new war.
All he knew was that something had shifted.
The King's eyes. Caelus's words. The chill that hadn't left since he stepped out of that throne room.
The Kingdom had not forgotten him.
And it would not let go so easily.