Bab 6: Whispers of the Court
The sound of my boots against the cold stone echoed through the narrow corridors of the castle. I had been here only a handful of days, but the walls already felt suffocating, as though they held the weight of every secret and sin within their gray, weathered surface. I hadn't yet learned the rhythm of the palace, but I was beginning to sense it—like a pulse beating just beneath the skin.
Servants moved with a silent grace, their eyes carefully downcast, only glancing up when spoken to. The nobles, however, were different. They strode through the halls as if they owned the ground they walked on, whispering behind gloved hands, offering glances that felt more like knives than kindness. It wasn't long before I realized that they were studying me, calculating where I might fit into the grand design of the royal court.
I had not been called to Quellin's side since the night I was presented to him. A part of me was grateful for the reprieve, but another part—a darker part—was curious about him. There was a certain cruelty in his manner, yes, but there was also something else. Something… heavy. Like he carried the weight of more than just a crown. The court feared him, but fear is not always born from hate. Sometimes it is rooted in respect—or pity.
I tried to push these thoughts aside as I made my way through a winding staircase, the kind that seemed endless until it opened up into a vast chamber. This was the Hall of Echoes, where the court gathered to trade their lies and half-truths beneath a painted ceiling depicting the old gods. I had not been invited here, but I had learned quickly that being invisible sometimes granted you more access than any title could.
The room was not yet full. A few noblemen stood in tight groups, their eyes darting as they exchanged murmured words. From my place near the shadowed alcove, I could see Lady Radis, the court's primary diplomat, her thin frame draped in silks as she spoke with Lord Durin. Their conversation seemed trivial—trade routes and supply lines—but there was a tension beneath the surface. Every exchange at court was laced with double meaning. I had been at the Golden Peacock long enough to recognize when someone was bartering more than goods.
I shifted, adjusting the heavy cloak I had borrowed from the servants' quarters to blend in. No one had seemed to notice me yet, though that was always subject to change. It didn't take much to become the focus of unwanted attention in this place.
As I watched, trying to decipher the layers of meaning in their conversation, I heard the faint scrape of boots on stone behind me. I stiffened, my heart quickening, but I forced myself to stay calm. If I was caught lurking in the shadows, who knew what they might assume?
"Enjoying the show?" a deep voice asked, barely more than a whisper.
I turned slowly, finding myself face-to-face with a man I hadn't seen before. His clothes were simple for a noble, and his hair, dark as midnight, was swept back from his face in a way that highlighted his sharp features. His eyes gleamed with a knowing amusement that immediately put me on edge.
"Not much of a show," I said evenly, keeping my voice low. "More like a tedious recital."
He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned casually against the stone wall beside me. "You must be new, then. That's the only reason anyone would dare call it tedious. For the rest of us, it's a matter of life and death."
"Is that what you call it?" I asked, glancing over at Lady Radis and Lord Durin, still wrapped up in their hushed discussion. "I thought it was just politics."
He smiled again, but there was something colder in his expression now. "It's always politics. But the kind that can end with a blade in your back."
I swallowed hard, a flicker of unease curling in my stomach. He wasn't lying. I had felt it since the moment I entered the court—the tension, the invisible web of alliances and betrayals that could tighten around anyone without warning. But I was not here by choice. I had been sent to the palace as tribute. Whatever games these people played, I had no desire to become a part of them.
"You're Amaris, aren't you?" he asked, as though he'd read my thoughts. "The king's new favorite."
Favorite. The word made my skin prickle. "I wouldn't go that far."
"Well, you'll find out soon enough. People here will do anything to get close to the king—or to stay far enough away from him to survive."
"Who are you?" I asked, changing the subject. He hadn't introduced himself, and I was certain I hadn't seen him during my brief time at court.
"Lord Castor," he said with a slight incline of his head. "I'm no one of importance. Just someone who knows how to stay out of trouble."
I wasn't sure if I believed him. No one in court was "no one of importance." Everyone had their place, and everyone had their secrets.
"Well, Lord Castor, I should go before someone sees us."
He gave a half-smile. "You're smarter than most. But remember, Amaris, just because you keep your distance doesn't mean they won't notice you. In fact, they're watching more closely now."
I didn't respond, instead slipping back toward the corridor I had come from. His words stayed with me, though. The nobles may have been playing their games, but Quellin was the one holding the pieces. And I was one of those pieces, whether I liked it or not.
As I made my way back to the servants' quarters, my mind buzzed with questions. Why had Quellin chosen me? Was I just another lamb to the slaughter, or was there more to his intentions? And what did that mean for me?
The thought of confronting him directly sent a wave of anxiety through me, but I knew I couldn't remain passive. The court was a dangerous place for those who lingered in the shadows for too long, and I needed to understand the rules of the game if I was going to survive.
I was nearly to my chamber when I heard footsteps approaching, heavier this time, and far more deliberate. My pulse quickened again, but I kept my pace steady. A moment later, a voice rang out.
"Amaris!"
I stopped, turning to see the handmaiden, Merith striding toward me, her face set in a determined expression. Her presence was both a relief and a cause for concern—she had been kind to me since my arrival, but she was also fiercely loyal to Quellin.
"I've been looking for you," she said, her tone softer now. "The king has summoned you."
My heart dropped into my stomach. "Now?"
"Yes, now. He's in his private chambers."
I hesitated for a moment, but there was no refusing a king's summons. With a nod, I followed Merith through the winding halls, my mind racing. Why had Quellin summoned me? What did he want this time?
We arrived at a large, ornately carved door guarded by two sentries. They stepped aside at Merith's approach, and she pushed the door open, gesturing for me to enter.
As I stepped into the room, the warmth from the crackling fire washed over me, a stark contrast to the cold tension in the rest of the castle. The room was dimly lit, with heavy curtains drawn over the windows, casting long shadows over the furniture.
Quellin sat by the fire, his back to me, staring into the flames. For a moment, he didn't acknowledge my presence, and I wondered if I had somehow slipped in unnoticed. But then, without turning, he spoke.
"Do you know why I summoned you?"
I swallowed hard, my voice caught in my throat. "No, my lord."
He finally turned to face me, his gaze sharp and unreadable. "You've been watching. Listening."
I didn't deny it. There was no point in lying to a man like Quellin. "I'm trying to understand."
His lips twisted into something like a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. Because understanding is what keeps you alive here."
I said nothing, standing there as the weight of his words settled over me.
He regarded me for a long moment, the silence between us filled with the crackling of the fire. I could feel his eyes on me, weighing something that I couldn't yet see. Then, in a voice that was calm but laced with something dark, he asked, "What do the common folk say of me, Amaris? The whispers that circle in the streets, in the taverns. I want to hear their truths from you."
The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I wasn't sure how to respond. I had heard plenty of rumors—whispers of his cruelty, of his ambition. But I also knew the weight of those words. The people feared Quellin, not just because he was their king but because of the shadow he cast over the land.
"They speak of you with fear," I began carefully, my voice steady though my heart raced. "They say you took the throne by force. That you poisoned your father. They wonder if you are truly descended from dragons, as the legends claim."
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Go on."
I swallowed hard. "They say you are not like King Jezza. They miss him. They remember him as kind and just. You… They say you rule with fire and blood. That your reign will bring nothing but suffering."
The firelight danced across his face, casting shadows that made his expression unreadable. He didn't seem surprised by my words. If anything, he seemed almost… amused.
"And what do you think of me, Amaris?" His voice was low, smooth as silk but edged with danger. "Am I truly the monster they claim?"
I hesitated, the weight of his gaze heavy on me. The wrong answer could mean more than just disfavor—it could mean my death. But I had learned early in life that pretending to be something I wasn't rarely worked in my favor. So, I spoke the truth.
"You're much different than your father," I said quietly, keeping my eyes on the flames, afraid to meet his piercing gaze.
He raised a brow. "Is that a good thing?"
"It's too early to tell," I replied, forcing myself to remain steady.
A beat of silence passed before he chuckled, the sound dark but somehow approving. He leaned back in his chair, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "Honest. I respect that."
The tension in the room eased slightly, but I remained on edge. Quellin was unpredictable, and I knew better than to think this conversation was over.
"I want you to go to the town," he said, his tone shifting to something more commanding. "Once a week. Listen to the people. Eavesdrop, if you must. I want to know their whispers, their fears, their plans. Report back to me."
I blinked, taken aback by the task he was assigning me. I had expected punishment or dismissal, but this… this was something else. An opportunity, perhaps. Or a trap.
Still, I lowered my head in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you for entrusting me with this task, my lord."
But there was another question on my mind, one I couldn't keep buried. "What of the noble sisters, my lord? Should they not also be allowed to see their families? Surely they would know more of the people's thoughts."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Quellin's lips. He rose from his chair and gestured for me to look around his chambers. "Oh, they've seen their families. In a manner of speaking."
I frowned, confusion prickling at the edges of my mind as I glanced around the room. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The same heavy curtains, the same ornate furniture. But then my eyes drifted toward the far wall, and my blood ran cold.
Mounted on the wall were trophies—deer, boar, and bears. But those were not what stopped my heart. My gaze landed on three fresh heads, each carefully mounted and still dripping with blood.
Genva. Trista. Vanja.
The sisters' once-beautiful faces were now contorted in death, their lifeless eyes staring blankly into the room. My stomach twisted in horror, bile rising in my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to break free, but it did nothing to stop the wave of nausea and disgust that crashed over me.
"They… They're…" I couldn't finish the sentence. My body trembled with the effort of not fleeing, of not collapsing under the weight of this nightmare.
Quellin watched me with a cruel satisfaction, as if waiting for me to crumble. "Yes," he said softly, his voice almost a purr. "They were troublesome. But no more. I do not tolerate weakness, Amaris. Not in my court. Not in my kingdom."
My legs felt like they would give way beneath me, but I forced myself to stand tall. I couldn't afford to show fear, not now. Even though my heart raced and my mind screamed at me to run, I remained rooted to the spot.
"You're a monster," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Quellin's eyes darkened, and in an instant, he was in front of me, his hand wrapping around my throat. The grip was firm, crushing. I gasped for air, my fingers clawing at his hand instinctively, but his strength was overwhelming.
"Yes," he said, his breath hot against my face, the fire in his eyes glowing brighter. "I am a monster. And you would do well to remember that."
Smoke seemed to curl from his nostrils, his eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. My vision blurred as I struggled for air, panic rising in my chest. He held me like that for what felt like an eternity, his grip tightening until the world around me began to fade.
"Do you understand the consequences of failing me?" he hissed, his voice a low growl.
Shakily, I nodded, my vision swimming with tears. "Y-yes," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper.
His grip loosened just enough for me to breathe again, though the fire in his eyes remained. "And what will you do when Evander isn't around to play hero?"
The mention of Evander sent a jolt through me, but I managed to keep my composure, even as my heart raced. "I don't need a hero," I rasped, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I've made it this long on my own."
For a moment, I thought I saw something flash in his eyes—something like frustration. He had expected fear. He had wanted it. But I refused to give him that satisfaction. I was terrified, yes, but I wouldn't let him break me. Not now. Not ever.
Quellin's lip curled in a sneer. In one swift motion, he kicked open the chamber doors and dragged me by the arm, his grip bruising as he hauled me through the doorway. I stumbled, struggling to keep up, but he didn't slow down.
Without warning, he flung me to the floor, the hard stone biting into my knees and palms. I gasped, dazed and disoriented, clutching at my throat as I tried to catch my breath.
"You will leave for the town at daybreak," he commanded, his voice cold and unyielding. "Do not disappoint me."
He turned and stalked back into his chambers, the door slamming shut behind him. For a moment, I just lay there on the cold floor, my mind reeling. My throat throbbed where his fingers had bruised the skin, and my entire body felt like it had been wrung dry.
With a shaking breath, I forced myself to my feet and made my way back to my quarters. My steps were slow, my mind numb as I tried to process what I had just seen—what he had just done.
Genva. Trista. Vanja. Gone. Their lifeless eyes would haunt me for the rest of my days.
When I finally reached my small, now-empty bedroom, I sank to my knees by the window and whispered a prayer for them. For their souls. For their peace.
And for my own survival in this castle of monsters.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone