CHAPTER 75: A SONGBIRD IN CHAINS

Chapter: 74 A Songbird in Chains

The dirt road leading toward Velkarth’s gate crunched beneath their boots. Afternoon light slanted across the wooden palisade, the scent of hay and roasting meat drifting faintly from within the village. Veyron walked with lazy confidence, his green hair now tied back and concealed beneath a hood, his fine elven features dulled by a faint glamour to appear human. Even so, his bearing was impossible to fully hide—every step screamed of a predator playing at being prey.

"So," he drawled, glancing at the servant beside him, emerald eyes gleaming from under the hood. "Where do we begin?"

The servant bowed his head slightly, voice low and cautious. "My lord... it would be unwise to openly ask about her whereabouts. The girl may already be hiding. Better to approach in a roundabout way—inquiring if anyone has seen an elf... or strangers passing through."

Veyron’s lips curved in faint amusement, his tongue running briefly across his teeth. "Mm. Sensible. And we conceal the fact that we are elves as well, yes? How tedious. Hiding my own radiance like some gutter rat..." His chuckle was soft, but edged with disdain.

The servant pressed on carefully. "We should visit a tavern, my lord. Such places... loose tongues, drunk men. Or, if you prefer discretion, seek out a local informant. A handful of coin will loosen lips without fuss."

Veyron’s gaze slid toward the palisade where a pair of sleepy guards leaned on their spears. He smirked. "Taverns are noisy, stinking pits. Too many eyes. I want her, not gossip." His voice lowered, hunger threading his words. "No... we’ll find an informant. Quieter. Cleaner. Less patience wasted."

"As you command."

By the time they reached the gate, their disguises were complete—simple leather gear, blades at their hips, the image of wandering adventurers. The guards barely glanced their way, one grunting something about the weather before waving them through. Inside, Velkarth greeted them with its modest bustle: the hammering of a blacksmith, the cry of a baker selling hot loaves, chickens scattering between wagons.

Veyron inhaled slowly, savoring the air like a man scenting prey. "Pathetic little hole," he murmured. "And yet she chose to nest here? Hah. All the better... like a gem tossed in the mud."

His gaze snapped toward a squat timber building down the lane, its painted sign swaying gently—the tavern. A crooked smile spread across his face. "I’ll be waiting there. Wine dulls the boredom while you work." He reached into his belt and tossed a pouch of coins at the servant without looking. The satisfying clink of gold drew a few glances from passersby, but his sheer confidence kept them from staring long.

"Find me something useful," he said, already turning away. "A whisper, a rumor... anything. Do not return empty-handed."

"At once, my lord."

With a flick of his wrist, Veyron signaled a few of his attendants to follow him, the rest dispersing quietly into the crowd in search of local informants. The prince pushed open the tavern door, a wash of heat, stale ale, and smoke rolling out to meet him. He paused at the threshold, lips curving in satisfaction.

"Now then," he murmured, stepping into the din, "let’s see what entertainment this rat’s nest provides until my little songbird is delivered to me."

The tavern’s heavy air clung to Veyron like smoke—wine sharp on his tongue, laughter and dice clattering in the background. He leaned lazily in his chair, long fingers toying with the rim of his cup, when the door creaked open. His servants slipped inside, eyes sharp, movements purposeful.

One look at their faces—too steady, too confident—and a slow smile spread across Veyron’s lips. He rose without a word, his cloak swirling behind him, and strode past the gawking commoners. The servants followed, leading him out through a side door into a narrow, empty lane where only the wind stirred the dust.

"Well," he murmured, folding his arms, emerald eyes narrowing with anticipation. "Your faces tell me you’ve found something. Speak."

The lead servant bowed slightly. "My lord... three days past, a maid elf with hair the color of blue flame was seen here in Velkarth. She traveled with a man the locals call the ’Goblin Slayer.’ Together, they took on a commission to escort a merchant toward Iridale."

For a heartbeat, silence. Then Veyron’s head tilted, a sharp, incredulous laugh breaking from him.

"A... maid?" His smile twisted, cruel and jagged. "You dare tell me that Lirael—princess of Vaerune, jewel of elven blood—lowered herself to dress as a servant?" His voice rose, edged with fury, echoing off the wooden walls. "A maid!?"

His fist lashed out, striking the wall beside him. Timber splintered, dust raining down. His breath came sharp, trembling with contained rage.

"She hated me that much?" His voice dropped into a hiss, every word trembling with venom. "That she would throw away the life of royalty, of power, just to polish boots and bow her head? That bitch..." His hands curled into claws. "When I find her, she’ll beg for the chains she once spat on. She’ll drown in despair so deep she’ll pray for death—and I’ll never grant it."

His chest heaved, but after a moment he steadied, a dark grin splitting his face.

"And this man..." He spat the word. "Goblin Slayer? Hah! What a pitiful title. A butcher of vermin—slime scraping the bottom of humanity’s filth—and he dared employ her?" His laughter cracked like glass, equal parts mockery and madness. "Pathetic. How low she’s fallen. From princess... to whore of a goblin killer."

His eyes gleamed with malice, his teeth bared. "Father was right to torment that sow of a mother. Her line breeds nothing but disgrace. To think she sullies our name... staining the blood of elves with her weakness."

He leaned close to his servant, voice a venomous whisper. "No more running. No more hiding. This time, I’ll carve into her bones what it means to betray me. To shame me."

Straightening, he licked his lips, composure sliding back over him like silk, though his eyes still burned with fury. "Prepare the men. If they march toward Iridale, we’ll catch them before they ever see its walls. And when I lay hands on her..." His voice dropped to a guttural promise. "Her screams will be a song I never tire of."

The servants bowed deeply, dread and devotion mingling on their faces.

Veyron turned toward the road, his hood falling back enough for the moonlight to catch the cruel curve of his smile.

"Come, my sweet songbird," he murmured, almost tender. "Sing for me again. This time... until your throat bleeds."

Veyron’s breathing had steadied, though the fury still smoldered in his eyes. He flicked two fingers, demanding more.

"And this... Goblin Slayer," he drawled, as if the name itself left a foul taste on his tongue. "What else do we know? How does he look? How strong is this so-called man?"

The servant straightened, careful with each word. "According to what I gathered, he lived on the outskirts of Velkarth, staying with a single mother—one who had survived a goblin raid. As for his strength... he is ranked C."

Veyron arched a brow, lips curling in mock amusement. "C? Hah. Hardly worth a second glance."

The servant hesitated, then lowered his voice. "But... it is said he was advanced unusually. He rose from E to C directly, skipping an entire stage."

For a moment, Veyron was silent. Then a slow, cruel smile crept across his face, though his voice dripped with disdain. "Skipped ranks? Don’t tell me these villagers were so smitten by their little pest exterminator that they showered him with honor he didn’t earn. All for slaying green vermin no stronger than children?"

He spat onto the dirt, the sound sharp in the quiet lane. "Pathetic. A weakling wrapped in the rags of a hero." His eyes glittered, teeth flashing. "And she serves him? That bitch truly wants to crawl lower than the mud."

His cloak shifted as he stepped closer, looming over his servant, voice dropping to a silken, dangerous whisper. "And? Where is this single mother’s house?"