CHAPTER 442: TURIK’S GAME

Turik prowled the chamber like a wolf circling prey, his boots whispering against the stone as though savoring the silence before the strike. His eyes drank in every detail—Helga’s forced calm, Reuben’s clenched fists, the princesses pressed together with wide, pale eyes.

He sheathed his sword with deliberate slowness, the scrape of steel on scabbard shrill in the silence. "No... not yet. Steel is too merciful. I’d like to play a game first."

He snapped his fingers. The echo cracked like a whip. From the shadows, two armored knights emerged, dragging a gagged man between them. He thrashed in their grip, boots skidding across the flagstones, muffled cries strangled by cloth. They hurled him before the queen, his skull striking stone with a sickening thud that left a smear of blood on the floor.

Reuben’s breath caught. "Jaspret!" But somehow, the prince was relieved it was not Espiyor.

Shock twisted his face. Jaspret—his brother-in-arms, Espiyor’s closest friend—reduced to a broken husk, bound and gagged like a common criminal. How had one of the most skilled knights of Northem fallen so low?

Turik’s grin spread, sharp as broken glass. "Ah, so you know this one. He fought like a cornered beast, killed more than a few of mine, even crippled others before he was finally subdued." He gave a cruel laugh and drove the point of his boot into Jaspret’s stomach.

The knight grunted, body curling with pain.

"Good," Turik hissed, crouching close enough for Reuben to see the gleam in his predator’s eyes. "Now watch closely."

Before Reuben could move, Turik’s men forced Jaspret onto his back. One pressed iron-hard hands against his shoulders, pinning him. The other drew a dagger, raising it until its tip hovered above his throat, trembling with the promise of death.

"Stop!" Reuben roared, lunging forward. A knight shoved him back with a fist that cracked his lip. Blood spilled down his chin.

Turik crouched, tilting his head as though watching a child throw a tantrum. "Such fire, little prince. But fire burns out quickly when it has no air."

The dagger slid across Jaspret’s throat. A spray of red. The man jerked once, then lay still, his lifeblood pooling on the floor.

The princesses screamed. Helga froze, her jaw locked so tightly her teeth nearly cracked.

Turik reached up, wiped a fleck of crimson from his cheek, and smeared it across his skin as though painting war-paint. "One loyal dog down. How many more before you bow?"

Reuben trembled with fury, voice breaking into a snarl. "You’ll pay for this! For every drop spilled, you’ll drown in damnation!"

Turik’s eyes gleamed with sadistic joy. "Oh, I hope so. I want your hatred. I want it to rot you from the inside. When your father falls, you will beg me to end your misery."

The doors groaned open again. More captives were dragged in—two Northem knights, their armor battered, their faces swollen with bruises. They still carried themselves like soldiers, shoulders squared despite their chains. They were the Royal guards assigned to Reuben.

Turik gestured lazily. "These fought well. Loyal. But loyalty has a price."

He pulled a gold coin from his pouch, held it aloft so that torchlight set it aflame. "Heads, they live. Tails, they die."

He flipped it high. The coin spun in the light, glinting as though fate itself mocked them, then landed on the back of his gauntlet. Turik’s grin widened."Tails."

With a nod, his men ran a sword through the first knight’s chest. The man gasped, blood flecking his lips, then crumpled.

Reuben’s cry tore from his throat, raw and guttural. He lunged again, but Helga caught his arm, dragging him back. "No, Reuben!"

Turik leaned close, his voice dripping venom. "Do you see now? Your titles, your armies, your family’s name—all of it means nothing. In this chamber, life and death hang on the turn of my coin."

He flipped the coin again. "Shall we see the fate of the second?"

The knight knelt, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on Reuben. He said nothing, but his silence spoke louder than screams. Do not bend, my prince. Even if I die, do not bend.

Reuben’s fists trembled. His lip bled. His heart thundered. He wanted to hurl himself at Turik, to die tearing at his throat. But his mother’s grip held fast.

Turik caught the coin once more, savoring the silence. "Tails, again."

The sword pierced the knight’s heart. His body slumped beside his brother-in-arms, their blood mingling on the stones.

Turik turned back to Reuben, his smile wide, his teeth wolfish. "Still standing? Impressive. Most princes would be sobbing in the corner by now."

Reuben’s chest heaved, fury pouring out of him. "You may cut down every knight I know, every servant, every soul in this castle. But you will never break me."

Turik studied him, eyes narrowing. "We shall see."

Helga’s voice cut through the chamber, cold and resonant. "You think this spectacle proves strength? It reeks of desperation. A true ruler does not need blood to command obedience."

Turik’s laughter thundered through the chamber. "Ah, the queen still pretends. But your throne crumbles even as you speak. Your lords abandon you, your guards slit throats for coin, and your king flees through tunnels like a rat. Tell me, Helga—how many corpses must pile before you accept that you are already mine?"

Helga stepped forward, placing herself between Turik and her son. She stood tall, torchlight etching her in fire and shadow, her fury carved into every line of her face. "Northem will not bow. Not to you. Not ever."

Her words rang steel, but inside her gut twisted with shame and despair. This was to have been her night of triumph—her golden jubilee, her legacy immortalized. Instead, her hall was painted with the blood of her knights. She lowered her gaze to the stone, slick with the lifeblood of her people, and guilt clawed at her chest. If she had listened to her husband, to Dakota—if she had been less proud—this disaster might have been averted.

As her thoughts were in turmoil, her eyes burned with rage. She will never give Turik the satisfaction of seeing her break or bow.

The torchlight painted her like a statue of fire and shadow. For the first time, Turik’s smile faltered.

He hissed, low and venomous. "Then I will take your children first... and we shall see how long that mask of yours endures when they scream."