Capítulo 9: Panem Et Circenses
The morning sun bathed the castle grounds in a warm, golden glow as preparations for the festivities commenced. The entire court was abuzz with activity, servants bustling about with an urgency that matched my own pounding heart. Today was the day we would ride into town to celebrate with the common folk, a rare event that held a mixture of excitement and dread for me.
From my window, I watched as the servants draped the castle walls with colorful banners, each bearing the sigil of the Vircadian family—a dragon coiled around a blazing sun. The courtyard below was a flurry of movement, with trumpeters practicing their fanfares, jesters perfecting their tricks, and criers rehearsing their announcements. It was a grand spectacle, one designed to dazzle and impress the townspeople.
As I dressed for the day, my mind wandered to Quellin. Since my arrival at the castle, our dynamic had shifted in ways I hadn't anticipated. His presence was a constant shadow over my life, his eyes always watching, his words always lingering. He had not touched me intimately, yet his control over me was absolute. I was his, in every sense of the word, and today's festivities were a stark reminder of that fact.
I donned a gown of deep emerald green, the fabric rich and luxurious, adorned with golden embroidery. The dress was a gift from Quellin, one that spoke of his desire to show me off as his prized possession. As I fastened the last clasp, a knock at the door drew my attention. It was Evander, his face a mask of controlled emotion.
"It's time," he said simply, his voice devoid of warmth. "The King requests you ride with him."
I nodded, following him down the winding corridors of the castle to the courtyard, where Quellin awaited. He stood tall and imposing, his dark hair glinting in the sunlight, his eyes sharp and calculating. When he saw me, a slow smile spread across his lips, a smile that made my stomach twist in knots.
"You look beautiful," he murmured, his gaze lingering on me. "Perfect for today."
"Thank you, my lord," I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.
We mounted our horses, the royal convoy assembling around us. Trumpeters lined up at the front, their instruments gleaming, ready to announce our arrival. Jesters in brightly colored outfits prepared to entertain, and criers readied their proclamations. As we set off, the sound of hooves clattering on the cobblestones filled the air, the excitement palpable.
The journey to the town was a short one, the road lined with curious onlookers. As we approached, the townsfolk gathered, their expressions a mix of fear and anticipation. The sight of the king often inspired dread, but today was meant to be different. Today, Quellin would show them his magnanimity.
As we entered the town square, the trumpeters sounded a triumphant fanfare, the jesters leaping into action with acrobatic feats and jovial antics. The criers announced the king's arrival, their voices ringing out over the crowd. The initial fear in the townspeople's eyes began to melt away as Quellin's servants tossed chocolates and gold coins into the throngs. Excitement rippled through the crowd, and soon, chants of praise for the king filled the air.
"Long live King Quellin!"
"All hail the Dragon King!"
Beside us, Evander rode silently, his expression dark and brooding. He hadn't spoken much since the preparations began, and now as we rode into town, his jaw was set tight, his eyes fixed ahead. I tried to catch his gaze, to offer him some comfort, but he refused to meet my eyes.
Before I could dwell on it, Quellin's hand gripped my thigh, his touch firm and possessive. "Remember, Amaris," he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "You are mine. Today and forever. Not my brother's."
His words sent a shiver down my spine, a reminder of the precarious position I was in. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, my heart pounding as we continued through the town.
We arrived at the grand amphitheater, a magnificent structure that had hosted countless battles, plays, and jousts over the years. The sight of it filled me with awe, its towering columns and expansive arena a testament to the grandeur of the kingdom. We dismounted, and Quellin took my hand, leading me to the royal box where we would sit.
"Come," he said, his voice commanding. "Sit with me and my brother."
I followed him, my gaze sweeping over the crowd. Among the gathered were many familiar faces from the Golden Peacock, including Madam Sevine. Their eyes lit up with recognition, and they cheered for me, delighted to see me in such apparent good status. "Amaris!" one of the girls called, her voice filled with delight. "Look at you!"
I waved back, my heart warming at their support.
For a moment, it felt like everything was alright. Like maybe I really had found some sort of peace in this strange new life.
But then Quellin leaned over, his voice low and dark in my ear. "My men will enjoy their company later," he said, his tone so casual it made my skin crawl. "They always like the ones from the Golden Peacock. They're… obedient."
I felt sick to my stomach, bile rising in my throat. His men were animals—savages who took what they wanted without care for the damage they left behind. The thought of those girls—girls I had known, girls I had lived with—being handed over to them made my blood run cold.
But I couldn't say anything. Not here. Not now. All I could do was force another smile, my heart pounding in my chest as Quellin rose from his seat.
The crowd quieted as the king stepped forward, his arms raised in a grand gesture. "People of Kebakaran!" he called, his voice booming across the amphitheater. "Today, we celebrate! Today, we honor the strength of our kingdom, the loyalty of our people, and the greatness of our reign!"
The crowd roared in response, their cheers echoing through the stone walls.
Quellin continued, his speech growing more impassioned, more erratic. "You have all seen the glory of the Vircadian family! You have all witnessed our power! Our fire!" His eyes gleamed with a manic light as he spoke. "And today, I stand before you, not just as your king, but as your protector! Your ruler! Your GOD!"
The crowd cheered again, but this time there was a nervous edge to their voices. Quellin's words had taken on a dangerous tone, and though they continued to praise him, I could see the flicker of uncertainty in their eyes.
But it didn't matter. The free ale, the gold coins, the spectacle of it all—it blinded them to the truth. Blinded them to the darkness that lay beneath the surface of their king. My...king.
And as I sat there, my smile frozen on my face, I realized Kebakaran was damned.
The day had been going relatively well, all things considered. Musicians played lively tunes, jugglers tossed flaming pins high into the air, and magicians performed tricks that left the crowd gasping in awe. Each act was met with cheers and applause, and with the free alcohol flowing nonstop, the people were in good spirits. The tension I had felt riding into town began to loosen its grip, the jubilant atmosphere almost contagious.
I tried to enjoy myself, even allowing a smile to slip when a particularly skilled juggler caught all his pins mid-flip behind his back, but the concern gnawed at me like a persistent ache. It wasn't just the eerie sense that all of this was too good to be true. It was Quellin's presence beside me—the way he watched me, the way his drunken hand would occasionally reach other and rub my leg. There was a hunger in his eyes that went beyond desire, something that kept me on edge.
But even Evander seemed to have relaxed. He was actually conversing with Quellin, his earlier brooding mood forgotten as they toasted each other with goblets of wine, laughing like brothers who hadn't seen each other in years. Their banter was light, almost playful, and for a moment, it helped calm the tightness in my chest.
Quellin, noticing my guarded posture, turned his attention to me. His lips curved into a sly smile as he picked up a grape from the table and held it between his fingers. "Open your mouth, Amaris," he commanded softly, his voice dripping with amusement.
I hesitated, startled by the sudden request. My eyes flickered to his, uncertain of what to expect. His thumb brushed over the small fruit, and though his tone was casual, there was always something unsettling about the way he spoke to me—something that made me feel as though I were a mouse caught in a cat's gaze.
But I obliged, parting my lips slowly, bracing myself for… well, I wasn't sure.
To my surprise, Quellin simply tossed the grape toward me. It missed my mouth entirely, bouncing harmlessly off my shoulder and rolling onto the table.
Evander snorted, his hand already reaching for his own grape. "Terrible aim," he teased, his voice carrying a hint of mirth. "Let me show you how it's done."
I barely had time to react before Evander flicked his grape toward me as well, this one missing and falling into my lap. I blinked, confused for a moment, but then a laugh escaped my lips. The absurdity of it, the two brothers now competing to see who could land a grape in my mouth, caught me off guard. It was so harmless, so unexpectedly lighthearted, that I couldn't help but join in the laughter.
"See? I told you!" Quellin scoffed, his eyes bright with amusement as he plucked another grape from the bowl. "You're making it too easy for him, Amaris. This time, I'll get it."
They took turns, throwing the grapes with exaggerated seriousness as if the fate of the realm depended on who succeeded first. Every miss—bouncing off my chin, landing in my lap, or rolling under the table—was met with exaggerated groans and mock insults. The game, so simple and ridiculous, broke through the tension that had been hanging over me all day.
For the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to relax. I leaned back in my chair, laughing along with the two brothers, feeling like perhaps—for just a moment—things could be normal. Maybe there was some part of Quellin that wasn't as dangerous as I feared. Maybe beneath the madness, there was still a trace of the man he could have been, a man capable of laughter and lightness.
A loud horn sounded, cutting through the noise of the crowd and signaling the final event of the day. The amphitheater grew quieter, anticipation rippling through the air. I leaned forward in my seat, eager to see what spectacle the king had planned for the grand finale. The crowd around us murmured in excitement, and I found myself caught up in it as well.
But the moment I looked down into the stadium, my joy shattered.
Instead of performers or knights readying themselves for a grand tournament, I saw a group of people being dragged into the arena. They were bloodied and beaten, barely able to stand on their own. My heart lurched in my chest as I recognized them—the parents of the noble girls who had died under Quellin's reign. The ones who had protested the king, who had demanded justice for their daughters.
And now, they were here, being kicked and shoved into the center of the amphitheater like animals brought to slaughter.
The crowd, which had moments ago been so full of joy, fell silent, the air thick with confusion. No one understood what they were seeing—no one except Quellin.
I turned to look at him, my breath catching in my throat. He was smiling. Not the playful smile from earlier, but something darker, something cruel. His eyes glittered with sadistic pleasure as he watched the scene unfold below.
"These are the people who defied me," Quellin said, his voice loud enough to carry over the amphitheater. "These are the ones who dared question their king."
I felt sick, the bile rising in my throat as the crowd's confused murmurs turned to horrified gasps. This wasn't a celebration. This was an execution.
"They have been judged, and their sentence is death," Quellin continued, his voice booming with authority. "Let this be a lesson to all who would stand against the crown."
The crowd erupted into chaos—some shouting in protest, others too stunned to speak. The free ale that had clouded their judgment was wearing off, and the realization of what was happening set in.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the broken bodies of the parents below, their faces twisted in pain and terror. How could Quellin do this? How could he take a day that was meant to be filled with joy and turn it into something so twisted, so horrific?
Evander, who had been so jovial moments before, was now silent beside me. His face had gone pale, his jaw clenched tight as he stared down at the carnage unfolding below.
I wanted to scream, to shout at Quellin to stop this madness, but the words died in my throat. What good would it do? What power did I have against a king who reveled in cruelty?
Quellin stood at the edge of the royal box, his posture suddenly rigid and severe. The laughter and playfulness that had defined him just moments earlier evaporated, replaced by a smoldering intensity. His eyes, cold and piercing, swept over the crowd before fixing on the two figures in the center of the arena—the man and woman, Uris and Terith, broken and bleeding under the harsh sunlight.
The crowd, which had once been jubilant, was now caught in a tense silence, their confusion palpable. They had come for entertainment, for music, games, and free ale, not for a public execution. And yet here they were, face-to-face with the brutality of their king.
Quellin's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Do you know who these traitors are?" he shouted, his words slicing through the uneasy murmurs. The crowd stiffened, eyes wide as they turned to face the king. "Uris here, this worthless worm, has been going around your towns, spreading filthy lies about me. He calls me a monster, says that I hurt his daughters. Can you imagine the gall?"
He paced the edge of the box, his movements jagged, barely controlled. His rage simmered beneath the surface, waiting to boil over. "And Terith," he spat, glaring down at the noblewoman who was barely conscious, "used her noble influence to spy on my royal court. She dared to think she could outsmart me, that she could check on her precious daughters."
He sneered, his lips curling in disdain. "This is what happens to those who betray their king! This is what happens to those who forget their place!"
His voice thundered through the amphitheater, reverberating off the stone walls. Amaris sat frozen, her pulse quickening. Quellin's anger was palpable, his eyes burning with a fervor that bordered on madness. For a moment, she glanced at Evander, hoping for some sign of resistance, some gesture that he would step in, but he, too, seemed paralyzed by his brother's sudden shift. His face had gone pale, his earlier laughter extinguished by the sight of Quellin's wrath.
Quellin leaned forward, his eyes locked on Uris and Terith, and with a voice that sent chills down Amaris' spine, he gave them a choice. "You have two options. You can die… or your daughters can."
The crowd rippled with a disgusted murmur. Gasps and whispers spread like wildfire as people realized the full weight of the king's words. The parents, weak and beaten, looked up at him in horror.
The scene before me felt like a grotesque nightmare unfolding in slow motion. I had come to the amphitheater to celebrate, to partake in the festivities meant to unite the town with their new king. Instead, I found myself paralyzed by horror, my heart pounding in my chest as Quellin unleashed his fury upon the terrified couple below.
The king's face twisted with a madness I had never witnessed before. His words were sharp, cutting through the air with the weight of a guillotine. "You can die… or your daughters can." Each syllable echoed in my mind, turning my stomach into a tight knot. I wanted to scream, to shout the truth that burned on the tip of my tongue—that the girls were already dead, that this was a twisted game played by a man who had become a monster before my very eyes.
Uris and Terith knelt in the dirt, their clothes torn and soiled, their faces streaked with blood and despair. My breath hitched as I watched them weep, their pleas spilling forth like a torrent. "Please, your grace," Uris cried, his voice hoarse and broken. "Kill us. Spare our daughters. They are innocent. They do not deserve to die."
Tears pricked at my eyes as I saw the desperation in Terith's gaze, the way she clutched her hands together as if praying for a miracle. I could feel my heart breaking for them, and yet a part of me was still locked in disbelief. How could this be happening? The air felt thick with tension, suffocating and overwhelming. I wanted to turn away, to shield myself from the horror unfolding before me, or cry out his lies; the girls were already murdered! But my body refused to move.
Quellin's expression shifted, his fury turning to something darker, more dangerous. "You think you can challenge me? You think you can undermine my reign?" His voice dripped with disdain, each word laced with venom. "Anyone who betrays me will meet their end. You will serve as a warning to those who dare to defy their king."
The weight of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine. I felt a chill creep into my bones, a reminder of just how precarious my own position was. I had been given a place of favor, yet I now understood the price of that favor came with chains I hadn't fully grasped until this moment.
As Quellin called for his executioner, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. A large, menacing figure stepped into the arena, his presence imposing and terrifying. He wielded a blunt sword, a cruel choice that would only prolong the agony of the execution. I knew instinctively that this was done intentionally, to instill fear in the hearts of the townsfolk.
As the executioner approached, I thought about how the very notion of mercy had become a relic of the past. Quellin's laughter echoed through the amphitheater, but it was devoid of joy. Instead, it was the laugh of a man on the brink of insanity, a man who had become so consumed by his power that he could no longer see the humanity in others.
A cold sweat broke out across my brow as I watched the executioner raise his sword. Time felt like it was stretching, each second tainted by the knowledge of what was about to unfold. I wanted to close my eyes, to block out the impending horror, but I couldn't look away. I was trapped, not just physically but emotionally, in this theater of cruelty.
The sword came down with a sickening thud, and I winced at the sound, a visceral reaction to the brutality before me. Uris and Terith's cries echoed through the arena, mixing with the shouts and cheers of the crowd. I felt sick to my stomach as I realized that some of the townsfolk were enjoying the spectacle, caught in the intoxicating buzz of free ale and the thrill of a public execution.
"Isn't this what benevolence looks like?" Quellin shouted, his voice rising to a fever pitch, the madness in his eyes growing more pronounced. "I am a kind and loving king! Your daughters shall live and be ladies of the court!"
I couldn't comprehend how he could twist the truth so easily. How could he claim kindness while performing such an atrocity? The couples' fate had already been sealed, and his words were nothing but a facade meant to placate the crowd. As he asked the townsfolk again if this was true, I felt my own fury rising—a quiet rebellion against the madness of it all.
But the crowd, seemingly hypnotized, responded slowly. They began to chant his name, their voices lackluster and devoid of sincerity. "Quellin… Quellin…" Their eyes were cast down, avoiding his gaze as they knelt in submission.
Laughter erupted from Quellin's lips, a chilling sound that reverberated through the air like a death knell. I felt the bile rise in my throat, and before I knew it, I was doubling over, my body rebelling against the gruesome scene. The sharpness of the reality before me crashed down like a wave, and I couldn't hold it back anymore.
As I retched, Evander's voice broke through the chaos, a whisper in my ear that felt strangely grounding. "It will only get worse from here," he said, offering me a handkerchief, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and disbelief. I took it, grateful for the comfort it provided, even as my heart raced with the fear of what was to come.
I glanced at him, taking in the conflicted look on his face as he tried to reconcile the brother he knew with the monster Quellin had become. I knew that Evander had witnessed the same brutality I had, but the man before me was still his brother, still bound by blood and loyalty. I wanted to shake him, to force him to see the truth, but I could see the struggle within him, the fight against the darkness threatening to engulf his family.
As the executioner continued his grisly work, the laughter from Quellin grew louder, more manic, drowning out my thoughts. I felt trapped between my loyalty to the man who had promised me a life of comfort and the sickening reality of what he had become. The amphitheater was no longer a place of celebration; it was a theater of horrors, and I was an unwilling spectator in this macabre performance.
I turned my gaze back to the execution, my heart heavy with sorrow and disgust. The cries of the couple reverberated in my ears, a haunting reminder of the price of Quellin's reign. I wondered what would happen next, how far he would go to maintain his grip on power. The sickness that had settled in the pit of my stomach only deepened, and I realized that I had to find a way out of this—before it consumed me too.
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