An hour earlier.
Inside a large dimly lit room, a man lay atop the extravagant sofa comfortably. His body moved to the side, his hands cleaning his eyes as he opened them, staring at the ceiling.
He was bald and looked around his middle thirties. A small smile rested on his lips, his eyes looking around the ceiling.
This place…
It was nothing he had seen before, never in his life. Perhaps he was dreaming. He decided to turn. Maybe if this was a dream, it would be better if he did enjoy it a little.
This place could not be his farm.
But before he could turn himself to the side to see more, something chilling hit him, making his body shiver. He immediately sat up, his eyes widening almost as if they were about to bulge out of their sockets.
At the other white sofa, Zalthor sat haughtily, legs crossed, lips wide, yet the dangerous air that cloaked around the room spoke otherwise.
The man's bones shivered. His hands were free, they were not tied, yet why did he feel that in this situation it would have been better if he was tied? At least then he would know why he was here and how he was no longer on his farm.
His mouth opened and closed. It was like even his vocal cords betrayed him. His hands moved to the sofa as he sat up, the dirt on them staining the pristine white chair.
Zalthor's eyes flickered to the dirt momentarily before returning to the man, his lips widening even more.
"I see you are awake," he said slowly as he leaned in.
Just then a man entered, his head lowered as he held a tray that had a banana juice and a grape juice. He walked with respect as he placed the tray on the table in the middle.
This place looked normal if anyone saw it, but the air here spoke other words. The man's hands shook, his lips beginning to tremble as he wondered what this was for. His eyes stared shakily at the two drinks presented before him.
The two exact fruits he was allergic to.
"Take a drink. Let us discuss." Zalthor's face turned back to normal as he raised his hand, gesturing to the drinks.
The man gulped shakily. He knew who the king was. It was better to obey. That way he might be pitied, though this man really was as merciless as they had said.
His hands shook, moving to the banana juice, the one that he was less allergic to. The grape was worse for him. He could just manage this; at least it would save him from the king's wrath.
His hands wrapped around the glass, which felt more fragile than the drink itself.
Zalthor's eyes just watched. In fact, he was far more patient.
The man just nodded as he moved the glass to his lips. He kept nodding as if agreeing to Zalthor's unsaid words.
"Ah, this reminds me. Let me give you a little heads up. One of the drinks is poisoned."
Zalthor spoke as the man's finger trembled. The glass moved as some juice spilled onto his shirt, now staining the chair.
Zalthor's lips stretched wider.
The man's eyes shut as he gulped down the banana juice. At least it was better to be poisoned than dead… or was it?
"Who is he?" Zalthor finally asked.
SHRANG.
The glass fell from the man's hands, shattering to the floor.
The man moved immediately, his knees falling to the floor as his hands clasped together begging.
The shattered glass pierced through his legs, the drink wetting his trousers, but it was nothing compared to the aura that he felt now from Zalthor's piercing gaze.
One of the candles went out.
The dim room grew dimmer. The large room had only five candles, and now there were four. The man's hands moved up, blood now circulating to the floor mixed with the juice that circled around it.
"P..Please… My K…king, I.. b..beg you spare.. me."
The man lowered his head further as his forehead touched the ground, his body trembling. Zalthor's face rested on his knuckle as he lazily stared at him.
"Was that the question that I asked? But anyway, as your king, let me listen."
The man's body grew stiff as he raised his head slightly. Not once did his eyes look at his majesty. His presence alone was more fearful. He could not afford to die now.
There were rumors that even circulated among Gatrem that his majesty's eyes could kill. That was why no one dared look him in the eyes.
"Th..thank y..your majesty."
The man quickly stood, head bowed, as he thanked his stars that his majesty had found a place in his heart to release him. The blood trickled down his knee, some pieces of glass still stuck there, but right now that was not important at the least.
"The code to leave is his name," Zalthor finally spoke, his eyes now looking at the stained sofa.
The man's face lost color. They were now pure white as a ghost, completely pale. His insides trembled.
It was then it hit him.
His majesty already knew who this person was, but he wanted to hear it from his mouth. But he did not even know at what point his majesty knew.
"You may leave," Zalthor spoke calmly.
The man's legs moved on their own as he turned sharply, his head spotting a door at the far end. Relief washed over him as he began to run towards it.
Just as he did, one candle went out.
His eyes stared at the door, but it was dim. He prayed the others stayed. How would he be able to reach there in darkness?
He gulped hard as he turned, but Zalthor was no longer on the sofa.
He moved his head back to the front, his insides tightening with terror as his legs moved faster. Every step his legs gave the footprint of blood.
Relief washed over him as he realized he was near.
The door felt like a savior now. He could not wait to touch the knob.
Just as he reached it, dread replaced the relief as he stared at what looked like a door.
It was not a door at all.
It was a painting.
I..It had looked so real, but why? What happened?
Arrows began to fly straight to the man, piercing from every corner. One flew straight to his eyeball, bursting it out. Pain shot through the man as he fell to the floor. Blood dripped down his eyes. His hands covered it as he looked down.
The soft sound of Zalthor's shoes echoed through him as he stopped just in front of him. The man's blurry eyes just stared at Zalthor's perfect shoe.
"I almost forgot to say," Zalthor spoke softly, the softness a contrast to the situation. In fact, the softness made the man fear more, the arrows still stuck in his body.
"Welcome to my Special Inn."