CHAPTER 461: THE MIND OF A VILLAIN

In the far southeast, near the jagged borderlands between Northem and Estalis, the air was heavy with dust and despair. Inside a rickety carriage, that served as General Turik’s hospital bed, Commander Gareth leaned forward, his expression grave as he conveyed dire news to the man who sat slumped across from him, framed by shadows that danced like specters in the dim light.

General Turik’s face was pale, every movement betraying the agony of his shattered legs bound in rough wooden splints. Mira’s bitter concoction dulled the edge of the pain but offered little else. Sweat clung to his brow as Gareth forced the words out.

"General... we cannot return to Carles. The city has fallen. Marlon Norse and his son had retaken it."

Turik lurched forward, his instinct to rise immediate, but agony ripped through him. He collapsed back onto the boards, gasping, his body trembling under the weight of his failure. Only the crude planks lashed to his legs kept the bones from grinding further.

"What?" His voice was raw, ragged. "How could this happen? Where is Breilla? Why did she not send word? And Higar?"

Gareth’s eyes burned with exhaustion. "Breilla was executed—branded a traitor and a spy. Higar is either in chains or worse. Of our garrison, half were captured. The rest scattered—some fled to Estalis, others limped back to Zura."

Turik’s hands balled into fists. Rage surged, black and hot, until the world tilted. Blood thundered in his ears, then darkness claimed him.

...

When Turik woke, the world was cloaked in velvet shadows and the faint scent of roses. He recognized the chamber in the Aegir Palace in Estalis. For a moment, he lay still, his legs throbbing like molten iron beneath the sheets. Then his eyes fixed on the figure waiting beside his bed.

The first princess of Zura, now the current crown princess of Estalis—Lirea.

The woman sat in still poise beside his bed. Her gown shimmered with gold embroidery, but her eyes were sharp as drawn daggers. She regarded him in silence before her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"You finally woke up, General Turik." The voice was melodious, but the hair on Turik’s nape stood. He could feel the venom behind these words.

Beneath the covers, his fists clenched. He forced a smile, his tone laced with false charm.

"How blessed am I to open my eyes and behold Estalis’ first princess. In so short a time, you have only grown lovelier, Princess." He said in an ingratiating voice.

Lirea’s glare sharpened, yet his unyielding grin seemed to irked her further.

"How do you explain this General Turik? "You promised me Northem on its knees. Instead, you lie before me, broken." She flicked her gaze to the white sheet draped over his mangled legs. "Your bones bent more easily than your enemies’ will."

Turik’s grin faltered, replaced by a glint of hatred. His dark eyes glimmered red as if lit from within. "Do not mock me, Princess. Crippled or not, I struck deeper than you imagine. Their queen and their crown prince were dragged into the dirt. They will never forget the shame I branded into them. Their humiliation is a victory in itself. Besides, I am like this, but Reuben was even worse."

"I wanted conquest, not humiliation," Lirea snapped. "And as for your so-called hostage—why a concubine? Not even a consort. Was this your great prize?"

"When Reuben was forced to choose between his wives, he chose her," Turik said, voice low and deliberate. "That makes her more dangerous than she appears. That makes her valuable."

The princess rose, turning toward the door, her silks whispering with every step. "Look at you," she sneered over her shoulder. "A cripple. What power do you still hold? Father already knows of your failure. You know what that means."

Turik gritted his teeth. How dare she insult him?

He drew a steadying breath. "I am broken, yes—but only in the legs, the rest of my body is fine. Northem still bled because of me. I shattered their crown prince’s legs. We were simply unlucky this time."

Then he looked at her, fury burning through the haze of pain. "If Estalis had not faltered—if your men had not cowered—Odin’s armies would never have reached the capital. Do not hang your weakness around my neck. Your crown prince is indeed useless, and so are his soldiers."

Princess Lirea pursed her lips. Was he insulting her? He knew very well that Prince Callan was just her puppet. She opened her mouth to retort, but Turik cut her off.

He drew in a sharp breath, voice a low snarl. "My body is broken, yes. But my mind is sharp, my will unbroken. Do not mistake shattered bones for defeat." He repeated his message earlier like a mantra.

Lirea paused, her hand resting on the gilded knob. For a fleeting moment, her eyes lingered on him. His spirit—unyielding even in ruin—was almost admirable. Almost. But admiration could not mend the broken bones. How can he still be a general and command armies?

Princess Lirea’s hand turned the doorknob.

"Where is the concubine?" Turik asked suddenly, his tone flat, unreadable.

A mocking laugh slipped from Lirea’s lips. "Do you want her here, at your bedside? What use is she to a man who cannot even rise from his bed?"

Turik chuckled, low and mocking. "Princess... are you bitter that I can no longer pleasure you?"

Color surged into Lirea’s cheeks, first with embarrassment, then boiling into fury. She stormed toward him, her hand raised to strike.

But Turik’s reflexes were still those of a warrior. His hand shot up, iron-strong, seizing her wrist before the blow could land. Turik was a general after all. How can a mere woman compare to her?

"Let me go!" Lirea spat, her voice trembling with fury.

His grip tightened, unyielding. "Do not test me, Princess. My legs may be ruined, but my strength—and my men—remain loyal. Do not think for a second that I am done for."

With deliberate slowness, he raised his other hand, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. The touch was intimate, poisonous.

Lirea went rigid, caught between disgust and something she refused to name.

"Northem has declared war on Zura," Turik whispered, his mouth curving into a predator’s smile. "That concubine may yet decide who triumphs. And when she does, Princess... it will be in my favor."