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Killian swiftly positioned himself between the two men, his broad frame serving as a barrier. He spoke in a measured tone, attempting to defuse the escalating confrontation. “Ryke, not here. This is not how the leaders of a kingdom behave.”
The man, Ryke, seethed as his eyes shifted from King Midas to Killian. “My cousin is missing, and where were you?” His words were punctuated by a low growl. “Weren’t you supposed to have been guarding him?”
Killian’s expression hardened. “I was put in charge of guarding his army, not the prince.”
“Then you’re no good here,” Ryke snapped with unbridled frustration.
Killian’s gaze darkened, his attention shifting to a woman with long, dark hair seated in the front row. “Lexa, take him away before I forget who he’s related to.”
Lexa rose from her seat at once and reached for Ryke. “Honey, please. Let’s take a walk outside.”
Ryke ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “If he’s somewhere drinking from that blazing flower again, I swear to the heavens, Lexa, I will kill him with my bare hands.”
Aurora’s mind raced. Tristan couldn’t have consumed the sundrop flower. He had no reason to return to the Dreamworld, not anymore.
“I know, honey.” Lexa’s voice was soothing as she pulled Ryke away with her. But then she gave Killian a panicked look over her shoulder and mouthed, “Find him.”
Killian turned his gaze toward King Midas, his voice a low rumble. “I’m going to ask one last time: where is the prince?”
Midas’ chest puffed out in regal defiance, yet beneath his veneer, something flickered in his eyes. “And I am going to repeat one last time: I have no knowledge of his whereabouts.”
Killian leaned in, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “If I discover that you did something to the prince, I will personally detach your head from your body. Is that clear?”
Midas’ nostrils flared, his regal façade slipping as frustration seeped through. “The only reason I’m still standing here is because I am a man of my word. But make no mistake, if the prince doesn’t show, our alliance is over, and I won’t stop until his entire kingdom becomes mine.”
Killian stepped back, his gaze sweeping the guards surrounding them. “Send out a search team to find the prince. Now.”
Aurora’s back pressed against the pillar, her mind racing. Her father’s guilt-ridden expression was not lost on her, but as he exchanged words with one of his counselors, his puzzlement seemed genuine. Her gaze flickered toward the scene, piecing together fragments of information.
And then it struck her—a name whispered in the back of her mind. A figure that would instantly benefit from Tristan’s disappearance. From Tristan’s death.
Rumpelstiltskin.
TRISTAN
Acloth covered Tristan’s head, blinding his sight and plunging him into a disorienting void. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, restraining any attempts at freedom. The rough texture of a wooden chair beneath him sent a jolt of apprehension through his veins. The air was thick with the musty scent of rust and mildew.
Abruptly, a hand seized the cloth that blinded him, unveiling the scene with a swift motion. Torchlight flickered against damp stone walls, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters. The dungeon was hot and humid, constricting his breath.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the Prince of the Shores.” Rumple’s voice echoed in the damp space, his words laced with a sinister amusement. He emerged from the shadows, his figure materializing just outside the iron bars. “We meet yet again.”
Tristan’s jaw clenched as he met Rumple’s gaze, his eyes burning with defiance. “I’ve always known you would come for my crown,” he retorted. “But I never pegged you as a coward.”
A dark chuckle reverberated through the cell as Rumple sauntered closer. The torchlight danced upon his face, highlighting the malicious glint in his eyes. “I am not a coward. I am, however, impatient. You see, I’m in desperate need of a kingdom, and I just can’t wait any longer.”
“So, this is it? You’re going to end my life to take my throne?” Tristan’s voice rang with a challenge, his spine straightening as he stared down his captor.
Rumple’s lips curled into a twisted smile. “Don’t be so morose, Tristan.” He leaned against the bars. “No one’s life needs to end tonight. All you have to do is change the terms of our deal, and you’ll be free to go.”
“To what, exactly?” Tristan asked skeptically.
Rumple’s smirk deepened. “Announce me as your new king at the coronation ball.”
For a fleeting second, Tristan almost believed Rumple was joking. “You can’t be serious,” he scoffed. “You want me to hand over my kingdom without a fight? What kind of king do you think I am?”
Rumple’s eyes gleamed with a twisted mirth. “You are not a king. You are nothing but a mere shadow of your father. And it’s time for your kingdom to have a real ruler at its reins.”
Tristan cocked his head, amused. “If I was truly in my father’s shadow, I wouldn’t have made an alliance of peace with King Midas,” he reasoned. “Now, perhaps you haven’t given much thought to this but handing over my throne would dissolve that alliance. Without it, Midas will resume his attacks, and you’ll be left without a kingdom. And truth be told, you are no match for him.”
