Chapter 178
Cora and I step through the grand doors, flanked by guards, and I’m immediately struck by the grandeur of the room. It’s vast, almost cavernous, with ornate carvings decorating every inch of the dark igneous walls. The light from bioluminescent orbs suspended high above bathes everything in an eerie, flickering glow. The long banquet table in the center is laden with food, though the tension in the air makes it far from appetizing.
My gaze snaps to the end of the table, where Khale stands. I almost don’t recognize him at first. He’s dressed in the ceremonial garb of a prince, his usual rugged demeanor replaced by an air of controlled restraint.
The sight sends a pang through my chest—this isn’t Khale. Not the Khale I know, anyway. Kota and another man sit on either side of him. The resemblance between the three of them is undeniable, though the differences are stark. The third brother has the sides of his head shaved, his expression bored, his posture radiating aggression.
Cora takes a step forward, clearly intending to go to Khale, but he gives her a single, hard shake of his head. The silent command stops her in her tracks. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t press further.
Before I can fully process the tension between them, a booming, smarmy voice greets us. “Ah, our guests have arrived!”
The grand doors at the opposite end of the hall swing open, and the king enters. He is nothing like I imagined. Tall and wiry, with a shaved head and tattoos that cover his upper torso and arms, he moves with a confidence that’s both predatory and theatrical.
There’s something about him that immediately sets my teeth on edge. This isn’t a warrior king like Khale’s father had been. This is a conniver, a schemer. I remember what Khale told me—he won his throne through betrayal, not because he was worthy of it.
The king strides to the head of the table, spreading his arms as though welcoming old friends. “Sit, sit,” he says, his tone dripping with false warmth. “Allow me to introduce my sons.”
He gestures first to Kota, who inclines his head with that same smug smirk he wore earlier. “Kota, my eldest,” the king says, “and one of the mightiest warriors Ao has seen in generations. And Kelis, whose victories in the Pit are already the stuff of legend.”
The king conveniently ignores Khale, as though he isn’t even sitting there.
I take my seat beside Cora, my curiosity outweighing my nerves. “What is the Pit?” I ask, directing the question to the king.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts a goblet of wine and continues to boast about his sons. “Victory after victory,” he says, his voice dripping with pride. “They’ve brought glory to our name and secured our place as the dominant force in these seas.”
“Like how they’re threatening to sack Hale?” I cut in, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
The room goes still. Kelis slams his fist against the table again, the force rattling the dishes. “As in how we plan to quell a revolting territory that has flaunted its treachery for too long,” he snarls, his glare cutting to Khale.
Khale’s jaw tightens, but his voice is calm when he speaks. “Hale is all but defenseless,” he says. “I wouldn’t call bullying them into submission a victory.”
Kota snorts, his smirk widening. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re the prince of traitors, after all. Wasn’t it you who was supposed to be that paltry village’s protector? And yet, here you are.”
“Coward,” Kelis sneers. “Through and through.”
Khale’s muscles tense, his hands curling into fists. For a moment, it looks like he might lunge across the table, but before he can, the king lifts his goblet and smashes it against the table with a resounding crack.
“Enough!” he shouts. The room falls silent. He gestures to a servant, a young woman with a tail, who quickly moves to clean up the mess. The king’s tone shifts, becoming smoother, almost amused. “I did not bring you here to argue,” he says, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. “Your differences will be settled elsewhere. Tonight is for diplomacy.”
Kota and Kelis exchange a look, their expressions shifting to mild confusion. The king throws back his head and laughs, the sound echoing through the hall. “Do you not know who we are blessed to have supping at our table tonight?” he asks, gesturing grandly to Cora and me. They don’t respond, their expressions blank. The king’s grin widens as he gestures toward us. “None other than the Heir to the Eastern Twilight.”
Internally, I reel. How does he know that? I’ve never even been to my home territory, let alone met anyone who could reveal my identity. Then, I realize—he doesn’t know my identity, not specifically. He’s fishing. And I don’t think he should ever find out the truth. I still don’t know how he’s come to this conclusion, but at the very least, it’s incomplete.
Thankfully, Cora steps in. “Your intel is misleading,” she says smoothly. “We are from the Twilight, yes, but our Heir is lost. You should know this.”
The king studies her intently, his gaze sharp and probing. “For over a century, yes, yes,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m no fool. But my intel is far-reaching and rarely wrong, and there have been whispers that tides are changing.”
Cora remains calm, her expression unreadable. “Whispers are fleeting by nature,” she replies evenly.
The king nods slightly, as if conceding the point. “Indeed they are,” he says. “But these in particular I found most fortuitous, as I have a great many plans, and my most immediate happen to involve our sister territory quite heavily.”
Cora tilts her head slightly, her posture relaxed despite the tension in the room. “Is that so?” she asks, her tone casual.
The king settles back in his chair, lifting his new goblet of wine. “It is,” he says. “My father raised me to know that a good king never rests on the laurels of the past. What a past ruler felt was ‘good enough’ should only be the beginning,” He says, his smile growing sharper. “And as such, my kingdom is expanding, and my territory along with it.”
Cora’s expression hardens slightly, her voice dropping. “Is that so?” she repeats, her words laced with an edge of warning.
The king’s smile deepens. “Believe it or not, we of the Eternal Sunrise are not a warmongering people. We are civilized. But we do value strength above all else.” He lets the words hang in the air, the implicit threat unmistakable.
Cora clears her throat, her voice steady. “My liege, are you threatening to wage war against the Eastern Twilight?”
The king chuckles, swirling the wine in his goblet. “There is no threat,” he says smoothly. “Only a matter of time, beauty. Fortunately, I do believe that there is another, more… palatable solution to both of our problems.”
I feel Kota’s eyes on me, the weight of his gaze making my skin crawl. Cora’s posture stiffens slightly. “What is your proposal, liege?” she asks, her tone clipped.
The king raises his glass, his grin predatory. “Marriage,” he says simply. “An age-old solution for a reason. Despite your denials, I believe that the Heir to Twilight is in this room, and if you will not tell me which she is, the clear answer is for both of you to each marry one of my sons.”
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