Moonlit Vows Of Vengeance-Chapter 23: The King’s Fury

The obsidian door shut behind Cassius with a heavy click, echoing like a warning through the vast chamber.

He stood motionless just inside the threshold, the flickering torches casting uneven shadows across the black marble. A ripple of tension hung between them like the calm before a thunderstorm. The King was seated on the throne at the far end — not the grand, ceremonial seat, but the one forged of raw stone and magic deep beneath the Obsidian Throne.

He didn’t speak immediately.

He didn’t need to.

He only stared at Cassius for a long time.

Cassius didn’t dare to speak first either. There was just silence in the air. Then finally the king spoke.

"Cassius," the King said, his voice quiet, but laced with the kind of restraint that comes only before violence.

Cassius bowed his head slightly. "My King."

The King’s pale eyes narrowed, sharp as daggers. "You lied to me. You betrayed me."

Cassius’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. He continued bowing his head in shame.

"I gave you rank," the King continued, rising slowly from the throne. "I gave you power. I trusted you above all others."

He stepped forward once. Twice. Each footfall cracked faint sparks along the enchanted stone. The silence pressed heavier now — not from lack of sound, but from the sheer force of his rage.

"And you told her to run. Did you really think that it would escape my eye? Or you felt like I wouldn’t do anything to you?"

Cassius met his gaze, stoic. "I did tell her to run but I don’t regret my actions, my king."

The King’s lips curved — not in a smile. Something colder. "Why? Why would you take such a risk for her?"

Cassius exhaled once, slow. "Because she would’ve died if she stayed. And because she saved me one night during my relapse, I felt that I owed her that much. I’m willing to accept any punishment that you give to me, my king."

With a flick of the King’s fingers, the torches around the chamber flared blue.

"Her death and life is not your decision to make."

The room shifted. Shadows elongated. The very air bent to his will.

Cassius didn’t move.

But the King did.

In a flash, he was in front of him, his hand colliding with Cassius’s chest — not to strike, but to brand.

A searing symbol of magic flared between them, glowing through Cassius’s tunic and into his skin. He gasped, doubling over as pain surged through every nerve like wildfire.

"You broke your oath," the King said, his voice still calm — which made it worse.

Cassius fell to one knee, hands pressed to the floor, his breath ragged. Smoke rose from the mark seared across his chest.

Still, he didn’t beg.

Didn’t speak.

The King circled him slowly.

"Did you really think that if I wanted her dead from the begining, she wouldn’t already be dead?" he murmured, his hands glowing faintly with crimson light. "Do you think you are some sort of hero?"

A twist of the King’s wrist and magic ripped through Cassius’s back — a pulsing lance of agony that arched his spine unnaturally before dropping him like a broken marionette.

Cassius groaned, body trembling, his hands clawing at the floor for grounding.

"I know what purpose she would serve in the long run," the King snarled, kneeling beside him. "She isn’t fully ready for it yet but I was going to take it slowly. And you—" he grabbed Cassius by the jaw, forcing his gaze up "—you would sacrifice everything I’ve built because your conscience can’t carry the weight. You’ve killed countless of wolfs under my orders. You even killed your sister. It’s hard to believe that you tried to save her out of kindness. I’m not a fool, Cassius. Tell me the truth now."

Cassius coughed, blood smearing his lips. "I know it’s hard to believe that I actually have a heart but I really only tried to repay her kindness. Besides my sister deserved wnat she got from me."

The King struck him with magic again — very violently this time. A thread of power coiled through Cassius’s body and pulled — something deeper than flesh, like it was unraveling his very soul.

Cassius screamed.

But still, he didn’t beg. He knew that if he begged, he would suffer a much worse fate. So he took his punishment.

"Foolish man," the King hissed, rising again. "I’m very dissatisfied with you."

He turned his back to Cassius, voice lowering. "You of all people should know better."

The flames dimmed.

The room stilled.

Cassius lay gasping behind him, his form curled in agony, sweat and blood slicking his skin.

And yet, the King paused.

"You were my sword," he said softly. "I trusted you. And you betrayed me because you felt pity for a tool."

He looked back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Do you still not regret it?"

Cassius didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

The King stared a moment longer, then sighed.

"Return to your quarters," he said, his tone now low, flat. "While I decide what to do with you."

Days of Agony

Days blurred.

Time had unraveled into a cruel loop—darkness, silence, stale bread, and the quiet padding of wolves I couldn’t see. I stopped keeping track. Stopped counting footsteps. Even the ceiling had lost its shape.

I hadn’t shifted in days. My wolf whimpered inside me, restless and angry, clawing at my ribs. I ignored her. She wanted to fight. But what was there to fight?

I sat against the far wall, my knees pulled to my chest, the chains around my ankle biting cold into my skin. My voice was hoarse from silence. My throat burned, but not from thirst.

From screaming, hours ago. Screaming out of nowhere. Just to hear a sound.

I had never felt this amount of desperation.

The silence here didn’t forget me—it studied me.

Watched me.

Waited.

I closed my eyes. The wolf inside me howled again.

"Stop," I whispered. "Just stop..."

And then I felt it.

His prescence.

Like the air folded in on itself.

The scent that followed made my stomach twist—deep, cold, and wrong in a way that should’ve made my skin crawl. But I was too numb for that now.

I opened my eyes, and there he was.

The King.

Standing just beyond the bars. Not cloaked in power like before. Just still. Composed. Hands behind his back. His face was unreadable.

He looked at me like a man observing a ruin.

"I thought you might’ve asked by now," he said.

His voice wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t cruel.

It was quiet. Patient. Like a father watching a stubborn child.

I said nothing.

He stepped closer.

"I told you, Athena. All is not as it seems. You think you’ve seen the truth, but what you’ve seen is only a fraction. You believe you hate me—but hate is too simple a tool for what you don’t yet understand."

I stayed silent.

Because my voice would betray how close I was to cracking.

He tilted his head, studying me.

"I’m offering you a chance. One more."

His tone deepened—not in threat, but in promise.

"Ask for the truth. Say it. And I will show you what lies beneath this Throne."

I stood.

Not out of strength—but out of defiance.

"I don’t want your truth," I croaked, voice like crushed gravel. "I don’t trust you."

Something flickered behind his gray eyes. He looked intrigued.

"Very well," he said quietly.

He stepped back, the shadows seeming to part for him like water.

"When you’re ready...," he murmured, "just tell my guards you seek my presence."

And then he was gone again.

Just like that. I grunted in deep frustration. I stopped keeping track of the days at some point.

The cell remained the same—cold, silent, and suffocating. The walls pressed closer each night, and the silence screamed louder than any enemy ever had. No one came. Not the King. Not Cassius. Just the silent wolves who brought food and left without a word.

At first, I refused to eat. I thought it was strength.

But hunger clawed at me, sharp and cruel. My body ached, my mind frayed. I started eating again—not because I wanted to live, but because I didn’t want to die like this.

Curled in a corner of stone, I whispered things I once swore I’d never admit. That maybe I’d made a mistake. That maybe I was too proud.

That maybe I didn’t understand the situation I’d walked into.

But I also knew... bending too soon would only prove him right.

The King had come once.

Asked me if I was ready to see the truth.

I told him nothing.

He didn’t press. He just looked at me with those gray eyes—like he already knew the end of my story.

But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Not yet.

Not while I still had air in my lungs.

Still, the silence grew unbearable. And one night, as I pressed my forehead to the cold wall, something inside me cracked—not with surrender, but with resolve.

I won’t die here. Not like this. Not in the dark. Not while he watches from above, waiting to gloat.

If there’s really something I need to know the truth he speaks of... then I’ll decide for myself what to do with it.

The next morning, when the guard wolf arrived and slid the tray inside, I didn’t just ignore him.

I stood.

Walked to the top of the cell.

And said, voice rough and low:

"Tell your King... I’m ready."

The wolf blinked once, then turned without a word and disappeared.

And I waited.

Not in weakness.

But in fire.

The silence was unbearable.

Days—maybe weeks—had passed since I whispered those words to the guard. "Tell your king I’m ready."

And still, nothing.

No footsteps echoing toward my cell.

No answer.

Just the same ritual: a tray of food left quietly, like I was some broken thing not worth speaking to.

It made me wonder if he had changed his mind.

Was he playing with me all along? He just wanted to see if I’d bend?

I continued staying there feeling suffocated each day that passed by. The same damned routine. I didn’t know how much of that I could take before running crazy.

Then finally, one morning or night? I heard the click of the iron lock turning.

Three guards stepped inside. Silent. Tense. Their armor black, faces hidden beneath heavy helms marked with the crest of the Throne. I didn’t rise. Didn’t speak.

One of them stepped forward. "The King summons you."

Finally.

I pushed myself to my feet, slow and steady. My joints ached, my throat raw from disuse, but I didn’t waver.

I followed them out, my bare feet silent against the cold floor.

We walked the long hall in silence, the torches lining the corridor flickering strangely—as if recoiling from what lay ahead.

Then—just as we reached the heavy obsidian doors of the throne chamber—something changed.

The air thickened. A whisper of power slid like frost along my spine.

And then it happened.

The guards froze.

Not in hesitation.

In agony.

One by one, their bodies jerked, limbs snapping backward like twisted puppets. Their armor groaned, bones cracking beneath steel, mouths open in silent screams.

They didn’t even have time to cry out before they collapsed—lifeless, unmoving.

Blood pooled at my feet.

And standing on the dais, where no one had been just seconds ago, was the King.

His hand lowered slowly, fingers still crackling faintly with blackened magic.

"Apologies for the...sight," he said, voice calm and almost amused. "They weren’t supposed to escort you all the way."

My breath hitched.

"You killed them," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head, as if considering the words.

"No," he said simply. "I removed the unnecessary."

The throne chamber was deathly quiet.

He stepped down from the dais, his boots unhurried against the stone.

"You wanted the truth," he said softly. "And now... you’ll get it."