The throne room felt colder now. Emptier. Less like starlight, more like judgment.
The king stood alone. His expression unreadable.
"I never caught your name, boy," he said.
"Lif Ellis, Your Majesty. From Velchant—what's left of it."
"Velchant," the king repeated. "A burned village, if I recall."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Lif replied. "I suppose… you know it well."
Silence.
Then, the king stepped forward, eyes dark.
"What did you do to my daughter?"
Lif blinked. "I don't understand?—"
"Don't play dumb!" the king snapped. "Liora has never taken to anyone. And you carry an Elven blade."
The guards yanked back Lif's hood.
Human.
The king's face twisted.
"You thought I wouldn't notice? A human—here? With her?"
"I never hurt her!" Lif said. "She was captured—slave dealers. I saved her!"
"Lies!" the king roared. "You used her. Played on her kindness. Snuck into my court. And now what? Wait until we sleep, then rob us blind? Like the rest of your kind."
"I would never!" Lif shouted.
The king raised his hand.
Swords unsheathed.
Then—pain.
Steel drove into his shoulders. His legs.
Lif screamed. Hot, blinding pain.
In her chambers, Liora stirred.
But did not wake.
A guard raised his sword for the final blow.
"No," the king said, voice like ice. "Not yet. Lock him up. Let him rot."
The dungeon was cold and wet. Mold climbed the walls. Chains bit into Lif's skin as he hung, limp and bleeding.
His blood pooled below him.
He gritted his teeth, barely able to think.
Why did I try to help?
Why didn't I just go with Rael and Sela?
Why the hell did I think an elf could see me as anything but a threat?
And worst of all—
Why the hell do I care?
The cell door slammed shut, and darkness swallowed him whole