2025-07-23 03:52:04
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Chapter 101: The Prince In The Shadow
Chapter 101: The Prince in the ShadowThe journey to the real Prince Kairo was a desperate bet. After weeks of digging through ancient royal records and theorizing with a select few confidants, Tate found a cryptic notation in an ancient diary of the royal physician. It explained a private medical retreat for the "Prince's weakened constitution" to a remote, out-of-the-way monastery on the floor of the Silverpeak Mountains. The time period exactly coincided with the pretender's unexpected appearance and ascension to the throne."It's a crazy shot," Tate admitted, reading the aged paper. "The monastery is secluded. No one ever talks about it.""Why would they want to hide his illness?" Sheila asked, tracing her eyes across the map Tate had acquired."To keep him safe," Tate informed, his finger outlining a thin, wavy line. "An injured prince is a vulnerable target. The previous King and Queen probably wished for him to heal in hiding, far from any danger that may befall him. But the
Chapter 100: The Burden Of Truth
Chapter 100: The Burden of TruthThe mocking phrases of the imposter king lingered with them much longer than they had fled the city square. They sat huddled in their small, empty watchtower, the weak glow of a lone candle casting lanky, leaping shadows on walls of stone. Prince Malrick's journal was open before them, pages a silent testament to the man's unsettling obsession."He's correct, in a perverse sense," Sheila whispered, her voice almost inaudible. She followed the words on the page with a tired finger. "'Delusional shadows'. 'ancient lies'. He's relying on the fact that our reality is no more than a tale, a product of our imagination. That this," she tapped the journal, "is nothing more than a piece of paper, easily replicated, easily ignored."Tate's expression was stern as he nodded. "He is a master manipulator. He's already called us traitors, and now he's calling us madmen. A journal by a centuries-old prince won't be enough to convince a public that have been told for
Chapter 99: The Echo Of A Lie
Chapter 99: The Echo of a Lie The square was abuzz with life, a morbid fascination drawing the people in like moths to fire. Banners bearing the serpent and shattered crown emblem hung from every lamppost, fluttering in the cold wind. A wooden platform stood erected before the palace, draped in red velvet. This was to be another public address by the usurper king, another carefully orchestrated spectacle to consolidate his power. Sheila and Tate, cloaked and hooded, merged with the crowd, senses alert, hearts grim. The air was thick with a mixture of fear and coerced respect. They had gotten this address through their network of sympathizer contacts, knowing that every word from the imposter's lips would be a calculated move. There was a hush over the crowd as "Prince Kairo" mounted the stage, his new set of royal guards behind him, their armor gleaming. His robes were opulent, his mannerisms graceful and princely. He carried himself with an air of absolute authority, a terrifyin
Chapter 98: The Man In The Mirror
Chapter 98: The Man in the Mirror Tate and Sheila spent the next two weeks walking the city's shadows, not as fugitives, but as hunters. They were no longer just surviving; they were gathering intelligence, piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of the man who now sat upon the throne. They overheard half-heard conversations in taverns, pieced together rumors from the city's underbelly, and read between the lines of the King's public declarations. Tate, using his old connections in the royal archives, searched for any detail, no matter how insignificant, that might give them an advantage. He was not looking for state secrets, but something far more personal—he was looking for the ghost of the man now king. He found it in the personal diaries of Prince Malrick, Queen Aly's brother and Prince Kairo's uncle. The diaries were not political treatises, but the mundane details of his life. He flipped through the pages, his heart pounding in anticipation. There, in a small, barely noticeable
Chapter 97: The Ghost Of Memory
Chapter 97: The Ghost of Memory The warehouse, a sanctuary of sorts, was a tomb. Heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the suffocating weight of despair, it hung over Tate like a shroud. Tate had taken the severed hand, wrapped it in a piece of oil-saturated cloth, and placed it in an open crate as if hiding the horror would somehow make it not be. But the image seared itself into their minds—the pale skin, the savage mark, the silent accusation of a friend betrayed. Sheila sat against a stack of crates, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her face was a map of shattered control. The carefully constructed barriers she had built to shield herself from the memories of her past—the attack on her family, the ruin of her life—were starting to disintegrate. The appearance of Dorian's hand had opened a door she had long kept closed. A small whimper escaped her lips, a hiss of raw, unadulterated pain. Tate fell to his knees before her, his hands held out, not knowing what to co
Chapter 96: The Prince's Gift
Chapter 96: The Prince's GiftThe warehouses were a tomb of discarded things: dusty boxes of stale materials, frayed ropes, and the remains of a broken carriage. They stalked decay and stagnant air, an odor that had become as ingrained in Sheila and Tate's reality as the odor of terror itself. This was their new reality, a reality of perpetual flight and grasping silence.They had already heard the rumors from the city, carried on the wind and whispered by sympathetic strangers who still dared to stand against the new King. The public executions had been savagely swift.Tate's men men whom he had taught, whom he had battled beside, and to whom he had entrusted his life now looked upon the ink of their signatures on the king's orders, a devotion that had become treason that would bring about death. They were deemed traitors, their past wiped out, their names blown to dust.Tate's face was a stiff mask of rage, jaw locked so tightly it ached. "He's not bypassing the guard," he snarled.
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