In the high council chamber, the air was suffocatingly heavy. Cedric sat upon the golden throne, his glowing eyes scanning the ranks of dressed-up nobles who stood shivering beneath his gaze.
"I hear whispers," Cedric began, his deep voice carrying a dark, dangerous power that rattled the stained-glass windows. "I hear that certain lords and ladies of this court find amusement in my son's pain. I hear that some of you dare speak of a 'failed marriage' as if Prince Adrian committed a crime, rather than surviving a brutal tragedy."
Duke Reinhardt shifted uncomfortably in the front row.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Duke Reinhardt offered a smooth, practiced bow. "The court merely mourns the unfortunate turn of events in the Eastern Continent. Naturally, the nobility worries for the imperial family's standing—"
"Silence!" Cedric slammed his palm on the armrest of his throne. The sudden burst of imperial aura sent a sharp shockwave through the hall, forcing several lower-ranking nobles to drop straight to their knees.
"If I hear a single noble, lord, or servant repeating those vile rumors again," Cedric warned, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure fury, "I will not simply strip away your titles. I will seize your lands and banish your houses from the Capital. My son is a victim of a crime, and Edrath will treat him as such. Am I understood?!"
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!" the court chorused in terror, bowing low.
*****
Meanwhile, the darkness inside Adrian's bedchamber remained unbroken.
Deep within the darkened bedchambers, the room remained shrouded in quiet shadows.
Adrian sat on the soft rug beside the fireplace, his knees pulled tightly against his chest, staring blankly at the flickering embers of a small fire Cassian had lit for him earlier.
The heavy oak door opened with a soft, quiet creak.
Sevval stepped lightly into the room, holding a warm blanket. He was Adrian's personal aide and the man's green eyes were full of gentle worry as he set the blanket over Adrian's shoulders.
"Prince Adrian," Sevval began softly, his voice gentle so as not to startle him.
Adrian didn't look up, his voice barely audible.
"...Is Cassian back?"
"The Crown Prince is busy with his tasks at his private study," Sevval replied gently. He hesitated for a moment, weighing whether he should speak, before continuing in a low tone.
"The slave Thoris has been assigned to attend to your garden. Will it be okay to keep him near your perimeters your highness?"
Adrian's breath instantly hitched. Hearing the name Thoris, sent chills down his spine.
"He is in my gardens you say?"
With that Adrian immediately jumped up from the floor tossing the blankets aside as he walked towards the heavy velvet curtains and yanked them open.
Then he began stepping out onto his private balcony, wrapped in heavy silk robes, looking down at the tiny, broken figure working on his gardens.
At first, seeing Thoris had filled him with a cold, sharp dread.
But as the days passed, a dark, satisfying transformation took place within Adrian's heart. Watching the once-arrogant Great Warrior of the Steppes—the man who had mocked him, beaten him, and treated him like a meaningless substitute—groveling in the dirt like a dying dog, gave Adrian a bitter sense of peace.
When Sevval leaned closer to ask if the guards should finally clear the perimeter, Adrian leaned against the balcony railing, his expression cool and detached.
"Leave him," Adrian instructed, his voice flat and devoid of warmth.
"Let him stay in the dirt. If he wants to suffer for his pride, let the whole empire watch him rot."
Later that evening, Adrian entered Emperor Cedric's private study.
Cedric sat behind his grand desk, reviewing imperial decrees. The moment he saw Adrian walk in without hovering behind Cassian, a warm, relieved smile crossed his face.
"Adrian, my son," Cedric said softly, rising from his chair. "You look stronger today. Have you been resting well?"
"I have, Father," Adrian replied, taking a seat opposite the Emperor. His tone was smooth, but his golden-blue eyes carried a sharp, hardened edge that Cedric had never seen in him before.
"I came to speak to you about the barbarian inside our gates."
Cedric's brow furrowed, his aura darkening instantly.
"If he is disturbing you, I will have the Imperial Guard execute him tonight. After all he is not much use to me."
"No," Adrian said quietly, folding his hands over his lap. "Death is too easy. It is too quick a mercy for what he took from me."
Cedric paused, eyeing his son carefully. "What do you propose?"
"I want him brought inside the palace," Adrian stated directly. "Stripped of any remaining nobility, branded, and handed to me as my personal slave and servant."
Cedric leaned back, shock flickering across his face.
"Your slave? Adrian...keeping such a dangerous brute near you–..."
"A proud warrior like him crushed under my heel is something that I long to witness." Adrian interrupted softly, a bitter, beautiful smile gracing his pale lips. "His pride was what made him feel entitled to break me. Stripping him of that pride—making him sweep my floors and bow at my feet—is the only punishment that will truly heal what he broke."
Cedric stared at his son. He was skeptical, concerned for Adrian's safety and peace of mind. But seeing the fire back in Adrian's eyes—a fierce determination to reclaim his dignity—overrode all caution.
"If it brings you satisfaction, my son," Cedric declared softly, "–then it shall be done."
"Thank you father."
*****
The heavy Oak doors opened, and two imperial guards dragged Thoris's body across the grand marble courtyard of the inner palace.
Thoris was brought down into the imperial bathhouses, where servants harshly scrubbed the layers of filth, dried blood, and mud from his skin. He was dressed in the rough, coarse collar and plain linen tunic of a low-tier palace bondsman.
When he was brought before the Chief Steward in the lower hall, Thoris bowed his head, his raspy voice trembling.
"What... is my sentence?" Thoris asked, fully expecting to be led to the execution block.
"His Imperial Majesty has shown unthinkable leniency," the Steward announced coldly, holding up a heavy iron key.
"You have been condemned to perpetual servitude. You are to serve as a slave to Prince Adrian."
Thoris's breath hitched. A heavy tear slipped down his hollow cheek.
'Adrian's slave?...'
To Thoris, this felt like divine justice. He felt utterly deserving of the lowliest rank, eager to wash Adrian's boots, clean his chambers, and spend the rest of his miserable life working to atone for his crimes. He lifted his head, a faint glimmer of sincere gratitude in his heart.
"I will serve him," Thoris whispered brokenly. "I will obey his every command..."
The Steward chuckled, a dark, mocking sound that chilled Thoris to the bone.
"You misunderstand your role, barbarian," the Steward sneered, signaling the guards to unhook Thoris's arm chains.
"You will not merely be sweeping his halls. You are to grovel at his feet."
The heavy double doors at the end of the hall opened.
Adrian stepped into the room, flanked by Sevval and two elite guards. He was dressed in magnificent, flowing white robes lined with gold, looking every bit the royal prince of Edrath.
Thoris's breath caught in his throat. He dropped to his knees, stretching his hands out toward his former bride. "Adrian...!"
Adrian stopped a few paces away, looking down at the gaunt, kneeling man with eyes as cold as ice. He slowly extended his foot forward, the polished leather of his boot gleaming under the chandelier light.
"Grovel," Adrian commanded softly, his voice echoing in the quiet hall.
"Touch your forehead to my boots, slave."
*****