Kingsbane

Chapter 1

The scent of wine and sweat clung to the stone walls like rot. Somewhere behind the silk-curtained windows of the royal quarters, laughter spilled from drunken lips—too loose, too loud.

Kaelen crouched in shadow.

His cloak, damp with sea salt and tension, hung heavy over his shoulders as he pressed his back to the cool stone archway. His fingers, calloused and cracked from weeks of travel, tightened around the hilt of the hidden blade tucked beneath the folds. He could still feel the rhythm of the guards’ boots marching past, echoing like a war drum in his chest.

This was it.

Not for glory. Not for vengeance alone.

For her. For him.

Kaelen breathed in slowly. The scent of incense still lingered from the king’s earlier pleasures, he had dismissed the girls moments ago, too drunk to know the difference between loyalty and lust. It was the moment they had planned for, the gap between indulgence and sleep. The informant had kept his word.

He slipped down the corridor like a ghost.

The guards stationed outside the royal door were gone—bribed, threatened, or traitors. It didn’t matter now. The heavy oak creaked as he pushed it open. His heart pounded, not with fear, but with something colder. Finality.

The king looked up from his wine, confusion flickering across his features, then recognition.

“Kaelen?”

There was no time for words. No time for the rage clawing up Kaelen’s throat, for the years of betrayal and abandonment. He moved, fast and silent, and drove the blade home.

The king’s gasp gurgled in his throat, blood staining his nightclothes like wine on snow. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t merciful. But it was done.

Kaelen didn’t have time to wipe the blood from the blade.

The moment the dagger tore through warm flesh, he felt it, not victory, not relief. Just silence. A silence too loud to be safe.

King Dacre let out a wet, gurgled breath, eyes wide with something between disbelief and rage. His hands clawed at his chest, blood blooming fast through silk and skin. He tried to sit up but failed. A garbled sound escaped him as he slumped backward.

Kaelen admired the sight with a slight smirk forming on his face. Funny how even the king was just flesh and bone. Fragile. Easy to tear.

The king tried to say something, but all that came out was a whimper. Kaelen moved closer, pushing his ear forward with his bloody hand, tormenting him.

Kaelen’s smirk turned into a smile as he let out a laugh. He was so captured by the moment that he didn’t hear the sob behind him, not even the heavy steps as a guard ran toward him.

In a blink, Kaelen crashed down onto the cold stone floor, a heavy weight holding him down. He blinked, trying to regain focus, but failed as the metallic taste overwhelmed him. He reached for his dagger, but his arms were pinned behind his back with a force he’d never faced before.

As he continued to struggle against the man pinning him down, he could hear footsteps over the ringing in his ears. He stopped, just for a moment, to listen.

“Get the healers! Now!”

His vision slowly began to clear. He could see steel boots filling the room from beneath the wooden bedframe.

As his senses returned, he felt the chaos coming. His heart pounded in time with the throbbing in his head.

“Take him to the chambers. Remember, he’s more valuable alive right now,” a voice commanded, louder than the panic.

The weight on Kaelen’s back disappeared, and he was yanked from the ground. He didn’t even have time to regain his balance before being dragged away. He stumbled, and as he looked up, his face flushed.

In the doorway stood one of the girls who had left the room before he snuck in. She looked at him, almost flinching at the sight. Her small body shook, her shoulders rising and falling quickly as she gasped for air between sobs. She was barely dressed, just a thin white piece of linen covered her, and it was soaked across her chest from tears.

Kaelen couldn’t help but feel furious that his three-month plan had crumbled because of a worthless prostitute.

As he was dragged, he dug his heels into the stone, trying to resist. He needed to see the king. He needed to know if he’d failed but he couldn’t. He was too weak. The unarmored guard carried him effortlessly by the arms.

Kaelen looked around and saw an opportunity to grab the sword of a guard focused on the king.

He gathered all the strength he had left and pushed forward, hoping to leap far enough to reach it. With effort, he broke free of the restraint, but stumbled and failed to grab the sword in time.

The armed guard noticed immediately. He turned and struck Kaelen with an iron-covered fist.

The guard swore, but Kaelen didn’t comprehend the words, he was already limp on the floor.

He lay there for a while, his face and hands stained not only with the king’s blood, but his own. The guard stood nearby, waiting to ensure Kaelen was subdued.

The sight was almost comedic: the muscular guard in his nighttime attire glaring down with impatience at a motionless man.

Kaelen remained as still as a tomb. Unconscious. Overwhelmed by impact and distress.