Page 70 of Witch’s Ruin

The moment the portcullis opened, Rixon stormed the palace. He’d had hours to think, to consider, to draw several very obvious conclusions. He went straight to his father’s chambers.

The sun hadn’t quite crested the horizon, and many of the corridors were still dark. Servants rushed about, preparing for the day. They shot him wary glances as he passed, covered in tunnel muck, a hard look on his face.

He reached the two guards at his father’s door. They stepped before it, hands tight on their spears. “Your High—”

“Step aside,” he growled, keeping his voice low.

“Your father is still readying for the—”

Faster than they could blink, he pulled a Nebrine blade , taking the left guard by his tunic, pressing the sharp edge against his throat. The guard’s face paled. The other shifted uncomfortably, lifting his spear, uncertain. “If you don’t step the fuck aside right now, I will cut your fucking throat, take the key from your ring, and open it myself.”

The guard’s throat bobbed. He gave a shaky nod. Rixon released him. The guard’s hands trembled as he fussed with his ring, then slipped the key into the lock, opening the door that led to the king’s private apartments.

He gave the guards a final look then strode inside. He’d only been in here the one time since his return, with Mina. “Aleksander,” his father said, pushing away from the dining table, away from his breakfast. The king’s attendants glanced between them, wary. “A little early for a visit, don’t you think?”

“Where is she?!” he roared, striding across the room. “You sent me on a fucking wild goose chase last night so you could get your claws in her. If you so much as put a scratch on her skin, so help me, I will rip your fucking throat out.”

He ignored the gasps.

The king did not. “Leave us,” he said to his attendants. They gathered their papers and supplies, leaving their breakfast discarded, and rushed from the room.

“Where is she?” he said again, hand clenched on the hilt of his blade. “What did you do to her?”

“Relax. She’s here. Unharmed—mostly. A little angry, obviously.”

A muscle above his eye began to twitch. “Where the fuck is she?” he said again, taking a step forward.

“I put her somewhere safe. Somewhere no one can touch her, least of all you.”

“I will tear this fucking palace apart—”

“And yet, you still won’t find her.” It was a bluff–had to be. His father liked playing games.

“Now, we’re going to need to work on that temper of yours, boy. A good king doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, no matter the cost. We have a great deal of work to do in a very short—”

His vision went red. He closed the distance between them, dragging his father by the tunic, slamming him against the wall. The point of his blade came to rest at the base of his father’s throat. He could only think of one thing. How badly he wanted to drive the blade through that soft flesh and out the other side.

“I hated you as a child,” he growled, the words rushing out before he could stop them. Words that were long overdue. Words he finally had the courage to say. “All I ever wanted was your approval, your acceptance. All I ever got were harsh reprimands. Nothing was ever good enough for you. But I was weak. Instead of letting it go, I tried harder and harder, until finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and left. I have spent the last fifteen years running from you, but no more. I would love nothing more than to kill you.”

“Really, Aleksander. We both know you haven’t got it in you. You never did.”

“If you do not tell me where she is, I will drive this blade straight through your throat.”

The king huffed. “Then you will never find her.”

“Then I will torture the information from you,” he roared.

The door behind him burst open. The king’s guards strode in, spears raised, awaiting orders. “Leave us,” the king barked. “And see that no one enters. Kill them if they try.”

Both guards left.

“That,” Rixon said, “was a mistake.” He wrapped his fingers around his father’s throat, pulled the blade back, and drove it into his father’s shoulder instead, careful to avoid a lethal blow. The king grunted, eyes going wide. That look of surprise was the sweetest revenge he’d ever felt.

“You didn’t think I’d do it, did you?” he growled. “Now, tell me where she is?!”

The king’s mouth worked, opening and closing. He removed the blade, ignoring the sound it made, and drove it into his father’s thigh, next. This time, the king made a strangled grunt, laced with pain.

“I will keep going,” he warned. “I will do what I’ve imagined doing for years. I will make you suffer.”