A follower of Lyra, breathless with excitement, burst into the Grand Temple, rushing towards her with urgent news. “Sister Lyra! Sister Lyra! I bring wonderful news! Ricardi and his followers… they left!”

  Lyra, who had been studying ancient texts, looked up, her expression immediately shifting from concentration to one of bewildered questioning. “Left the city?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. “When did this happen?”

  The follower, still catching his breath, explained, “They departed late last night, Sister. It was… sudden. Unexpected.”

  Lyra’s brow furrowed, her gaze narrowing. She rose from her seat, pacing slowly as she processed the information. “Ricardi… to simply leave? Without a word? Without a struggle? This is… unsettling.”

  She stopped, turning back to her follower. “This is an unexpected move. What is he planning?”

  She paused, her voice dropping to a low, thoughtful murmur. “I never trusted him. Find out where they’re going. Something is coming.”

  ***

  Aylauna, accompanied by a contingent of heavily armed guards, moved through the city streets with an air of cold authority. They didn’t request the young men’s presence; they demanded it. Reaching the first modest dwelling, Aylauna didn’t bother with polite greetings. She simply ordered one of the guards to knock – a forceful, resounding blow that rattled the wooden door.

  When the door opened, revealing a startled young man, Aylauna’s expression was unyielding. “You are summoned to the palace,” she stated, her voice devoid of warmth. “Prepare yourself. You will be escorted immediately.” There was no room for argument, no offer of explanation. The young man, clearly intimidated, could only nod in silent compliance.

  The guards efficiently ushered him out, and they moved on to the next house, repeating the process with the same ruthless efficiency. Each encounter was the same: a forceful knock, a curt summons, and a young man, bewildered and apprehensive, being led away.

  As they gathered the group – a collection of hesitant, frightened faces – Aylauna surveyed them with a detached gaze. Once she was satisfied they had collected enough, she led them through the city streets to the palace.

  Upon entering the palace, Aylauna instructed one of the Close Sisters accompanying them. “Take these young men to the royal baths. Prepare them.”

  The Close Sister nodded and led the group away, towards the lavish complex of steaming pools and marble chambers. As the young men entered, one of the guards paused, glancing around the room.

  “It’s… steamier than usual,” he said, his voice questioning. “Much denser.”

  He looked around once more, then continued forward, saying nothing further.

  ***

  Later that evening, within the King’s private chamber, the young men engaged in acts of intimacy with him. The room was dimly lit, filled with the scent of incense and the soft murmur of voices. The King lay on his back, amidst a tangle of limbs, when suddenly, the young men’s hands emerged from between their buttocks, each gripping a dagger.

  In a coordinated, brutal attack, they plunged the daggers into the King’s chest, one after another. The blades sank deep, and the King let out a silent scream of agony, blood welling up from the wounds and spilling from his mouth. His skin, toughened by years of power and… something else, proved remarkably resistant to the blades. One attacker, straining with all his might, managed to drive his dagger deep into the King’s chest, but was unable to withdraw it, the hilt snapping in his hand.

  The King, despite the excruciating pain, fought back. A savage roar erupted from his throat. With his left hand, he delivered a brutal punch to one attacker, sending him flying upwards to crash against the ceiling with sickening force, instantly killing him. Then, with his massive right hand, he struck two more attackers across the back of their necks, sending them crashing into the right wall with equal brutality, their bodies slumping to the floor, lifeless.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  The remaining attackers pressed their assault, desperate to end the King’s resistance. He clawed at them, digging his left hand’s fingers into the chest of one attacker, his grip tightening with terrifying force. He kicked out with his leg, sending another attacker crashing into the opposite wall, killing him instantly.

  Finally, the King lunged at the last remaining attacker, sinking his teeth into the man’s neck and shoulder in a savage bite, tearing away a gruesome chunk of flesh. The attacker died instantly, his body collapsing onto the floor.

  Daggers were embedded in his chest, everywhere. He breathed with agonizing difficulty. The King dragged himself from the blood-soaked bed, collapsing onto the floor of the chamber.

  “Evaaa!” he rasped, his voice a strained cry. “Evaaa! Eva!”

  Eva, accompanied by the guards, burst into the room, her eyes widening in horror at the scene before her – a crimson tide of blood spreading across the floor. She screamed, a sound born of terror and desperate concern for her father, and rushed towards him, her movements hesitant and uncertain, unsure of what to do.

  “Father!” she cried, her voice trembling.

  The King, struggling to speak, managed to utter, “Call… Clytus.”

  Eva, without a second thought, raced down the corridor towards Clytus’s chambers, her path now stained with blood. She arrived, breathless, and cried out, her voice breaking with anguish, “Clytus! Clytus!”

  Clytus emerged swiftly, his expression immediately hardening as he sensed the urgency.

  Eva, gasping for air between sobs, stammered, “Father… daggers… piercing his chest… blood… so much blood… Please… save him!”

  Clytus, without hesitation, sprinted towards the King, his mind already racing. He barked orders to his assistants, “Bring my bag! Now!”

  He entered the chamber, his gaze sweeping over the horrific scene. He knelt beside the King, quickly assessing the extent of his injuries. He then commanded the guards and assistants, “Get him out of here! To another room! Prepare for immediate treatment!”

  Aylauna, comforting Eva, gently held her as she wept, walking with her through the palace corridors. Suddenly, Eva stopped, a realization dawning on her face. “I must go!” she exclaimed, abruptly pulling away.

  Aylauna, startled by Eva’s sudden movement, watched as she raced through the palace, heading towards Theron’s building. She intercepted him in the hallway, approaching him with urgency.

  “Theron,” Eva said, her voice trembling with anger. “Is our father alright?”

  Without warning, Eva slapped Theron across the face, grabbing his tunic and pulling him close. “What have you done?” she demanded, her voice filled with fury. “The young men you sent to our father tried to assassinate him! Now, our father is between life and death, and this is all because of you!”

  Theron, stunned by the attack, stood frozen in shock. “I would give my life for my father! It’s impossible that I would intentionally do such a thing.”

  “Then you must flee before they catch you and implicate you,” Eva retorted, her voice cold.

  “No,” Theron replied, his jaw set with determination. “I will not run. I am prepared to face my fate.”

  Eva, tears streaming down her face, pleaded with him. “You must leave the city, or you will die.”

  Theron turned and walked away, leaving Eva behind. He barked orders to one of his guards with fury and desperation. “Find Kaelen! Search every house in the city! Drag him out from under the earth!”

  Later, as dawn broke, Clytos emerged from the King’s chamber, having completed his treatment. He found Eva and Aylauna sitting in the hallway.

  “His condition is stable,” he said, “but he needs rest to regain his strength.”

  Lyra approached them, her expression concerned. “How is he?” she asked.

  “He’s still breathing,” Clytos replied.

  Lyra spoke with burning intensity. “I know who is responsible for this.”

  Everyone fell silent, listening intently. She continued, “I am certain this is the work of Ricardi.”

  Eva said, “I’m not surprised by that.” She glanced at Aylauna. “There are traitors in this palace, among the Close Sisters, connected to the elder brothers, aren’t there, Sister Aylauna?”

  Clytos stepped forward, confronting Eva. “The last person to question Aylauna’s loyalty to our father is you. It would have been more prudent to investigate who recommended those young men who attempted to assassinate our father.”

  Lyra intervened, attempting to calm the situation. “There’s no need to escalate things. It’s been a long night for all of us.” She turned to Eva. “Come, my sister. Let us check on our father and pray for his recovery.”

  Eva and Lyra entered the King’s chamber. Clytos turned to Aylauna. “These days, stay close to me. She is in a volatile emotional state, and her actions are unpredictable.”

  Aylauna nodded, and moved with Clytos.