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Chapter 22 - Chapter Twenty _Whispers Beyond the Atrium

The Atrium was a ruin of noise and blood when Kaelin's voice cut through it.

He lay half-propped against the marble, sweat slicking his skin, one leg twisted at an angle that made the physicians flinch. His hands were still streaked with Aiden's blood, his jaw clenched so tight a vein pulsed at his temple. Tears hadn't dried, but there was no softness left — only fury and command.

"Set it," he barked, voice hoarse but iron-hard. "Now. Do it here."

The chief physician knelt, face pale beneath streaks of blood. "Your Highness — forgive me — but we must put you under. The pain will—"

"NO!" Kaelin's shout cracked the vaulted chamber, sharp enough to make attendants jump. He slammed a fist against the marble, echoing like a gavel. His swollen, red eyes burned through the blur of tears. "Do it now!"

The younger physicians exchanged horrified glances. One stammered, "It will be… unbearable, my prince. Your body—your mind—"

Kaelin's lips peeled back in a grim snarl. "Unbearable?" His voice broke, then hardened. "Do you think anything could hurt worse than this night already has?"

Dragging himself half-upright by sheer will, he forced his ruined leg into view as if daring them to hesitate further. "Set it. I'll bite through my tongue before I let you waste another breath."

The physicians faltered, then moved. Instruments were laid out with trembling hands, bandages unfurled in haste. One pressed a wad of cloth into Kaelin's palm. "Bite down, your highness."

He shoved it into his mouth, eyes never leaving them. Knuckles whitened on the marble. Chest rising and falling in ragged heaves, each breath laced with fury and grief.

"Do it!" he roared, muffled around the cloth.

A middle-aged man took the task, carefully holding the crown prince's leg, and then—

**CREAK!**

The sound of the bone being set tore from Kaelin's throat like nothing human.

A scream — raw, jagged, ripped from marrow — clawed upward, shuddering through the corridors. Servants flinched, some pressing palms over ears, others clutching each other as if the sound might split them open.

When silence returned, Kaelin lay trembling, sweat soaking his hair and cheeks, lips slick with blood from the cloth. His chest heaved; eyes glass-bright with agony and stubborn fire.

And then — he saw him.

At the threshold of the atrium, King Gemma stood, cloaked in shadow and lamplight. His face unreadable, eyes locked upon his son: the broken boy on the marble floor, tears streaked, hands painted with blood.

Kaelin's breath stuttered, but something harder than pain gripped him. With a groan rattling his throat, he pushed himself up. Arms shook, leg screaming white-hot, but he would not remain sprawled.

He bowed. Shallow, wavering, deliberate.

"...Greetings, Father," he rasped.

Physicians surged forward to steady him, but he shrugged them off.

"Urgh!"

Groaning through clenched teeth, he forced one foot ahead of the other. Step. Another. The limp violent, body nearly buckling, but Kaelin moved.

Physicians trailed, hands hovering, terrified he would collapse, yet he did not. Spine bent, he left the broken silence of the atrium and the heavy eyes of a father who had already seen too many children carried past him in death.

Kaelin's uneven steps dragged the hall's hush with him, the shuffle of his broken body and the trailing physicians like shadows. Marble smelled of iron and smoke; air still bruised by his scream.

Then running boots shattered the hush.

A guard burst in, helmet under arm, chest heaving. Dropping to one knee:

"Your Majesty! The fifth prince — Prince Lyonel — he's been found. Stabbed on the south stairwell. He yet breathes, but barely!"

Before the king could reply, another procession surged in. Guards, faces pale, bore a stretcher. On it — Lyonel.

His body was a ruin of crimson. Tunic clung wet to his ribs, torn open in three places. Arm dangled; fingertips trailing a thin line of blood across tiles. Face pale, lips twitching faintly as if fighting for a word that would not form.

Queen Namerie's cry split the air, sharper than Kaelin's scream. "LYONEL!" She lurched, hands reaching, but the sight crushed her. Knees buckled; she collapsed. Attendants rushed to catch her before her head struck stone. Veil slipped free, hair spilling across marble.

Stretcher-bearers hurried past, Lyonel's blood leaving a gleaming trail in torchlight. Faint, ragged gasps rattled against vaulted ceilings, each one more fragile than the last.

Kaelin did not stop.

Even as Lyonel passed, attendants sobbing, queen fainting, he limped on. Leg a pillar of fire, each step a cruel jolt up his spine, but face set like stone. Eyes rimmed raw from tears, he did not so much as glance toward Lyonel.

No pause. No cry. No hand extended. He walked past his bleeding brother as though another corpse dragged into the atrium. Physicians trailed behind, tight-lipped, too terrified to intervene.

The palace had dissolved into chaos. Guards stumbled, shouting of fresh deaths, whispers of watchmen slain, corridors slick with blood. The king's court fragmented into cries, orders, clash of steel.

Kaelin halted only to watch the world rotate — or perhaps it rotated only in his eyes. Noise, chaos, fire — all familiar, like déjà vu.

Concubine Auren stood a few feet away, hand clutched tight on her robe.

"Your high…ness," her voice broke. "Where is your brother? Wh…ere is my Ai…den?"

He turned toward the east wing, ignoring her. To his brother's chamber, he went. Steps dragged a streak of blood, though none dared stop him.

There, amidst servants clutching each other, stood Lyra.

His betrothed.

Pale dress disheveled, braid half-loosened, wide eyes fixed on him. No scream, no tears — only a stare.

For a moment, Kaelin's head tilted, gaze brushing over her with the weight of a blade. Eyes did not linger, just a brief, hollow glance before he turned toward Aiden's door. Jaw set, broken leg dragging him forward like a man who had already left the world behind.

Lyra's lips parted — no sound. Hands tightened in her gown fabric.

Ana appeared beside her, grasping her hand.

"Come," she murmured, pulling her away from him until he vanished from sight.

"It will get reversed…soon," Ana kept whispering, as if convincing herself.

Corridors twisted with smoke, once lively halls now whispers of horror. Lyra stumbled after Ana, heart snagged on Kaelin's hollow stare.

"Keep moving," Ana urged, past guards and blood-streaked tiles. "We'll find somewhere safe."

Lyra's eyes darted; every corner bled fear. A door, half-ajar, unlit. She dragged Ana toward it.

The moment it creaked, a sound froze her:

A child's sob. Thin, broken, trembling in the dark.

Lyra's breath caught. Crest above the door unmistakable — First Princess's chambers. Another wail, soft, shattering, swallowed too quickly.

Ana yanked her back, whisper sharp in her ear.

"Don't. Not here."

Lyra couldn't move. Crying clung to silence, piercing, impossible — a child's grief echoing through a palace drowning in death. Recognized voice.

"The last prince?"

---

**THRONE HALL**

Blood still dragged across marble when First Prince Viktor strode into the hall. His voice hammered against stone.

"Father," he said, chest rising and falling, "this is no assassin's work."

Remaining royals had gathered: First prince Viktor, Second prince Astrid, Sixth prince Flynn, Seventh prince Kaelin, Third princess Amon, Ninth prince Ryker. First Princess Vuelta and Last Prince Rover did not answer.

Regional lords of Tenebria also gathered:

Grandmaster Kaida (mages), Lady Ottey (witches), Leader Kaelos (warlocks), Lady Roselle (sorcerers), Lord Valtor (familiars), and the masked Void ruler.

Court stirred, but king's gaze remained on Viktor.

Viktor jaw clenched. "These killings… are clean, precise. No mercenary could strike like this within our walls."

Whispers rippled through the lords. Viktor cut them with a single word:

**"Oathbound."**

Torches snapped under the weight of it. Gasps tore the silence.

King rose from throne, voice cold iron. "Do you understand?"

"I do," Viktor spat. "One of us — of royal blood — has unleashed their oathkin. An oath drove the hand that committed these crimes."

The chamber pressed down like stones listening. King's hand tightened on scepter. "Then hear me, all beneath this roof. I will summon the seals. Ledgers shall be opened. Every oath read aloud. If any of my blood has broken faith and turned their oathkin loose…"

He stepped forward, fire in eyes.

"…they will hang by their own tongue."

TBC…

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