Constantine's POV
Wielders. Humans born with the ability to borrow magic from the earth itself. It ran in bloodlines—passed down from parent to child like the color of one's eyes or the shape of one's jaw. Only those with the right blood could tap into the ancient power that thrummed beneath the soil, the rivers, the roots of mountains.
And like all things tied to blood, there was a hierarchy.
Lesser Wielders could sense enchantments, trace lineages, feel the pulse of magic in objects and places. Stronger ones could manipulate the elements, bend the will of weaker minds, heal wounds that should have been fatal.
But the rarest. The most powerful.
They were called Morguine.
Constantine had heard the word whispered in dark corners for centuries. A myth, most believed. A fairy tale to frighten children and entertain drunks in taverns.
And yet this Romulo—this filthy, half-starved man in chains—had looked at Constantine and seen something no one else had.
But his face betrayed nothing. He met Romulo's stare with the same flat indifference he had perfected over the years when Vanriche kept him in the dusty old place he called Constantine's room.
"The cold has driven him mad," Constantine said. His voice came out steady. Bored, even. "Shall I silence him, Your Grace?"
Romulo chuckled softly. "No need for that. I have said all I wish to say." He leaned back against the cell wall, arms crossing over his chest. "For now."
The Rex exhaled through his nose. "Enough riddles."
Silence hung in the cold air. The Rex stared at Romulo for a long moment, then shook his head.
"Seventeen Wielders," he murmured. His voice was quieter now. Heavier. "Seventeen, and still we are no closer."
He turned away from the cell, his gaze settling on Constantine. Something shifted in his expression—the weariness giving way to a flicker of approval.
"Though I suppose not all news is disappointing. I received word of your success in eliminating the raiders from the west." He paused. "Impressive work."
Constantine inclined his head. "I only did what was necessary, Your Grace."
"Necessary or not, it was efficient. Brutal, even." The Rex's eyes lingered on him. "Lord Vanriche was not exaggerating when he recommended you. He said you were one of his best rangers, and I see now he spoke true. It was fortunate he could spare you to lead our patrols at Fort Freyir."
"I serve at your pleasure, Your Grace."
The Rex nodded, but the approval in his face didn't last. He turned back to Romulo, and the weariness returned—settling into the lines of his face like an old friend.
"Seventeen Wielders," he said again, almost to himself. "Seventeen, and not one of them useful."
Romulo raised an eyebrow. "Useful for what, exactly?"
The Rex didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer to the bars, studying Romulo the way one might study a horse before deciding whether to buy or butcher it.
"You know why we hunt your kind," he said finally. "Why we drag you from the roads and the forests and the hovels you hide in."
Romulo narrowed his eyes. "Enlighten me. Perhaps in exchange for my freedom, I could give you the information you seek."
"Careful, Your Grace," Benedict warned. "We don't know what lies he could conjure."
The Rex raised a hand, silencing him. He studied Romulo for a long moment, then a wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"We came all the way down here," he said. "We might as well chitchat, am I right, lad?"
Romulo blinked. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't that.
The Rex's smile faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by something harder. "Our scholars have uncovered whispers in old texts. Recipes for weapons that could turn the tide of any war." His voice dropped lower. "Weapons stronger than anything forged by mortal hands. But the texts are incomplete. Fragments. Riddles."
Romulo's expression didn't change, but something in his posture stilled. "And you believe Wielders can fill in the gaps."
"I know you can." The Rex stepped closer to the bars. "The ingredients. The real ones. Not the nonsense peddled by alchemists and charlatans."
"What sort of ingredients?"
The Rex held his gaze. "It's something rare. Something…sacred."
Silence stretched between them.
Romulo's eyes widened. "Sacred creatures."
The Rex smiled. "Beings of myth and legend. Creatures most believe to be long extinct." His eyes bore into Romulo's. "But you know better, don't you? You know where to find them."
Romulo's gaze slid to Constantine.
Held there.
"Perhaps I do," Romulo said softly. His voice had lost its playful edge. Wariness crept into his eyes—the first crack in his composure. "Perhaps one stands closer than you think."
Constantine's fist clenched at his side.
The Rex went still. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his weathered face.
"Well, well." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "It seems we finally have ourselves a real one."
Romulo's expression flickered. The smugness that had carried him through the interrogation faltered, replaced by something that looked dangerously close to regret. He had said too much. Revealed too much. And now he couldn't take it back.
"Nothing, Your Grace." Romulo's voice came out quieter now. His eyes darted to Constantine, then away. "Just the ramblings of a madman. Isn't that right, Ranger?"
But the damage was done.
Constantine's jaw tightened. The hunger writhed in his gut, screaming at him to reach through the bars and silence this man before he uttered another word. To wrap his fingers around that throat and squeeze until the knowing look in those eyes went dark forever.
But he didn't move. Didn't speak.
He simply stared back at Romulo with a calm he did not feel, the weight of centuries pressing down on his shoulders.
The Rex clapped his hands together, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Seventeen Wielders, and not one of them knew a damned thing about the sacred creatures. Not one." He turned to Constantine, eyes bright with something that had been absent for a long time.
Hope.
"But this one?" The Rex gestured toward Romulo. "This one knows. I can see it in his face."
Romulo said nothing. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
"Benedict." The Rex's voice hardened. "Double the guard on this cell. No one speaks to him without my permission. No one."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And find him better accommodations. I want him alive and cooperative." The Rex cast one last look at Romulo. "We have much to discuss, you and I."
Romulo's hands trembled against his crossed arms. He hid it quickly, but not quickly enough.
As they climbed the stairs, Constantine felt Romulo's gaze burning into his back. Desperate now. Fearful.
He didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
The Wielder knew what he was. And in his foolish attempt to unsettle Constantine, he had sealed his own fate.
Now the Rex would never let him go.
And Constantine would have to decide what to do about the one man in this kingdom who could expose him for the monster he truly was.