The throne room of Aeloria was quiet, but King Mathew's thoughts were not.
He sat upon the high seat carved of silverwood and lionstone, staring into the stained-glass windows that bathed the room in fractured color. The great hall—once a place of honor, where his brother had laughed and ruled with pride—now felt more like a cavern of ghosts. The whispers of the courtiers. The echo of his brother's voice. The presence of her.
Selena.
It had been weeks since she vanished.
Weeks of silence. Weeks of failure.
Despite dispatching scouts, hunters, and mages to scour the kingdom's edges, not a single trace of her had been found. No sign of Arya. No sign of Luther. Nothing but rumors and the ever-growing whispers of doubt in the corners of the castle.
He clenched his jaw.
Luther.
That name burned in his mind more than any other. He had trusted the young paladin once. Raised him high. Welcomed him to the inner circle of Aeloria's court. And now, the boy had betrayed him. Helped his brother's widow escape. Helped his Selena escape.
He would never forgive that.
Never forgive anyone.
He stood suddenly, pacing in the light of the sunbeams cutting through stained glass. There was a hollow ache in his chest that would not leave him. It wasn't just anger. It was fear. A deep, gnawing fear that everything he had taken would slip from his grasp.
The people still praised him—for now. He smiled when they cheered, rewarded those who pleased him. Lavished gold, land, and title on any who caught the scent of his favor.
But that was the game now.
Loyalty bought. Mistakes punished. Ruthlessly.
That was how a true king ruled. He had learned that from watching his father. He had ignored that truth for too long while his brother wore the crown.
Markas had ruled with love. And he had died with love.
Mathew would rule with fear—and live forever.
A shadow flickered near the dais. The doors at the far end of the throne room creaked open, the echo long and slow.
A figure stepped inside, cloaked in gray and dust.
Mathew turned, his fingers curling around the armrest of the throne like talons.
The messenger knelt immediately, sweat glistening on his forehead. "My king… I bring word."
Mathew's heart leapt—but his face remained still.
The room held its breath.
"Speak," Mathew commanded, his voice smooth as ice.
The messenger swallowed.
"We… we have found something. A trail. Signs that they entered the Forbidden Forest."
Mathew's knuckles whitened.
"At last…"
He stepped down from the dais, his cloak trailing like shadow behind him.
"Send word to Captain Hadrin. Tell him to double the trackers. I want them alive—but barely."
He leaned in, voice cold as steel.
"Especially Luther. I want his death to echo through the mountains."
The messenger nodded and rose, vanishing as quickly as he came.
Mathew returned to his throne, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
He would find them.
He would find her.
And this time, there would be no escape.