Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 36: ROYAL AUDIENCE

Chapter 36: ROYAL AUDIENCE

The stench of charred flesh and void residue still clung to Reed’s nostrils as he ascended the palace steps. Four guards flanked him—not as escorts but as containment. Their enchanted armor hummed with suppression magic, ready to activate should he attempt anything resembling what had happened in the arena.

Reed’s fingers still tingled with the memory of void energy coursing through them. The sensation had been... intoxicating. Terrifying. Familiar.

The palace of Azuryn rose before him like a monument to excess, ivory spires twisting upward as if reaching to pierce the heavens themselves. Crystalline windows caught the fading sunlight, fracturing it into prismatic patterns that danced across the polished marble steps. Beauty meant to intimidate.

"Move," grunted the lead guard, prodding Reed forward with the blunt end of a spear. The weapon’s tip glowed with sigils that could tear a man’s soul from his body—or whatever remained of Reed’s.

Massive doors carved with the history of Azuryn’s nine royal families swung open silently before them. Reed committed every detail to memory: fourteen guards positioned strategically throughout the entrance hall, three visible archers in the upper galleries, and at least seven concealed magical wards that made his skin prickle as he passed through them.

No sign of Shia. They’d separated them immediately after the Tournament’s chaotic conclusion.

"Where is my Hero?" Reed demanded, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall.

The guards remained silent, marching him past courtiers who whispered behind jeweled fans and nobles whose hands reflexively moved to their weapons. Reed caught fragments of their hushed conversations.

"—the one who channeled the void—" "—defied Lord Thorn himself—" "—abomination or savior—"

They led him through a series of increasingly opulent chambers until they reached an antechamber decorated with tapestries depicting the founding of the kingdom. The room was empty save for a single figure—a slender man dressed in simple black robes, his fingers adorned with rings bearing the insignia of House Lumere, the royal archivists.

"Lord Reed," the man bowed slightly. "I am Casimir, Royal Chamberlain. Before you meet His Majesty, I must remind you of protocol. You will speak only when addressed directly. You will maintain a respectful distance of three paces minimum. You will—"

"Where is Shia?" Reed interrupted, his patience evaporating.

Casimir’s lips thinned. "Your... companion is being attended to. Her condition is... unique."

Reed stepped forward, darkness gathering at his fingertips. "If she’s been harmed—"

"She is unharmed," Casimir said quickly, raising placating hands. "Merely contained. The void within her is unstable. Dangerous. Much like yourself." His eyes flicked to Reed’s hands. "I would advise against such displays in the royal presence, unless you wish to test how quickly our battlemages can reduce a man to ash."

Reed forced the darkness down, but did not bother to mask his contempt. "Let’s get this over with."

Casimir nodded stiffly and gestured toward the ornate double doors at the far end of the chamber. "His Royal Majesty, King Aldric IV, Sovereign of the Nine Circles, Protector of the Azuryn Dominion, and Keeper of the Sacred Flame awaits."

The doors opened to reveal not a throne room as Reed had expected, but a intimate study. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a large oak table dominated the center, covered with maps, scrolls, and what appeared to be artifacts salvaged from the Tournament arena.

At the head of the table sat not one, but three figures. In the center, a man of perhaps fifty, his once-powerful frame now softened with age but his eyes sharp and calculating beneath a simple golden circlet—King Aldric, undoubtedly. To his right, a woman in battlemage armor, her white hair cropped short, her face bearing a scar that bisected her left eye, rendering it milky white. And to his left, a younger man with Aldric’s jawline but harder eyes, dressed in the formal attire of the royal house.

"The anomaly arrives," said the woman, her good eye evaluating Reed with open curiosity.

"Show respect, Commander Lysithea," the king said mildly. "This is Lord Reed of the Outer Circle, victor of the Gauntlet of Convergence alongside his Hero." He gestured to an empty chair. "Please, sit."

Reed remained standing. "I prefer to know where my Hero is first."

The young man snorted. "Insolent, as reported."

King Aldric raised a hand. "Your concern is noted, Lord Reed. Your Hero is in the east wing, under the supervision of our void specialists. Her transformation is... unprecedented. We are merely ensuring she does not pose a threat to herself or others."

"She is not a threat unless provoked," Reed said coldly.

"Much like yourself?" The king’s lips quirked into what might have been amusement. "I am told you channeled void energy directly, without a conduit. Another unprecedented occurrence."

Reed remained silent, weighing his options.

"Please," Aldric gestured again to the chair. "I prefer conversations where neither party looms over the other."

With reluctant steps, Reed approached and sat, keeping his posture rigid.

"I am Crown Prince Malek," the younger man volunteered unnecessarily. "And you have met Commander Lysithea of the Royal Guard."

"Charmed," Reed said flatly.

Aldric chuckled. "You remind me of your father."

The words struck Reed like a physical blow. "My father?"

"Ah," the king leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "So you don’t know. Interesting. I had wondered if your... performance... in the Tournament was hereditary or merely coincidental."

Reed’s mind raced. His memories before the Tournament were fragmentary at best—whether from trauma or magical intervention, he’d never been certain. "Explain."

Lysithea made a small sound of disapproval at his tone, but the king seemed unbothered.

"Twenty-three years ago, a Lord named Corvus participated in the Tournament of Nine. He displayed remarkable affinity for void energies—nothing like what you demonstrated, but enough to raise concerns." Aldric’s eyes never left Reed’s face. "When he failed to advance to the final rounds, he disappeared from the Tournament grounds. Rumors suggested he had discovered something in the ancient archives beneath the arena—something about the true purpose of the Tournament."

Reed kept his face impassive despite the shock rippling through him. "And you believe this man was my father?"

"The resemblance is... noteworthy," Aldric said carefully. "As is your natural affinity for energies that most trained mages spend decades failing to master."

Prince Malek leaned forward. "What my father isn’t saying is that Corvus was executed for treason. Official records state he attempted to sabotage the Tournament itself."

"Malek," the king warned.

"He should know what he’s walking into," the prince countered.

Reed’s fingers dug into the arms of his chair. "And what exactly am I walking into?"

King Aldric sighed and pushed forward a small wooden box that had been sitting at his elbow. "An opportunity, Lord Reed. One I suspect your father was never offered."

Reed didn’t touch the box. "What kind of opportunity?"

"To serve," Lysithea spoke up. "Within the Royal Guard Lords. A position of considerable power and privilege."

"And considerable leash," Reed noted.

Aldric’s mouth twitched. "Indeed. We find it beneficial to keep those with... unique talents... close."

"And if I refuse?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"The Tournament has concluded," Prince Malek said coldly. "Your purpose as a Lord has been fulfilled. You have no title, no lands, no standing. And a Hero who grows more void-touched by the hour."

"What my son means," Aldric smoothed over, "is that someone with your abilities cannot simply wander the kingdom unchecked. The Royal Guard offers structure, purpose."

"And control," Reed finished.

"Safety," Lysithea corrected. "For all concerned."

Reed studied each face in turn. "What exactly would this position entail?"

"You would answer directly to Commander Lysithea," the king explained. "Your primary function would be to investigate and neutralize void incursions throughout the kingdom. With your unique resistance to void corruption, you would be invaluable."

"And Shia?"

"Your Hero would remain bound to you, of course. Her condition makes her... unsuitable for conventional deployment, but under your guidance, her abilities could be channeled productively."

Reed’s jaw tightened. "You mean weaponized."

"I mean controlled," Aldric’s voice hardened for the first time. "The void is not a toy, Lord Reed. What happened in the arena—the rupture in reality itself—has happened twice before in our recorded history. Both times preceded catastrophe on an unimaginable scale."

Reed processed this information carefully. "And you believe I can prevent such a catastrophe?"

"We believe you may be instrumental in either preventing it—or causing it." The king pushed the box closer. "Which is why we offer this gesture of good faith."

Cautiously, Reed opened the box. Inside lay a signet ring bearing a crest he didn’t recognize—a raven clutching a void stone.

"Your father’s," Aldric said quietly. "Retrieved after his... departure."

Reed didn’t touch it. "What benefits would this position provide for myself and Shia?"

"Full diplomatic immunity within the Nine Circles," Lysithea responded promptly. "Access to the royal libraries, including restricted sections on void manipulation. Quarters in the palace’s eastern wing. A stipend befitting your station."

"And for Shia specifically?"

The three exchanged glances.

"Access to our void specialists," the king said finally. "They may be able to stabilize her condition."

"Reverse it, you mean," Reed corrected.

"That may not be possible," Lysithea admitted. "But we could help her control it, at minimum."

Reed leaned back, weighing his options. Accept and gain resources, protection, possibly even answers about his past—but at the cost of his freedom. Refuse and become a hunted man, with Shia as an even more tempting target.

"I want unrestricted access to Shia at all times," he countered. "My own research team, chosen by me. And information—everything you have on my father and the previous void ruptures."

Prince Malek scoffed. "He’s in no position to make demands."

"On the contrary," Reed smiled thinly. "I’m in precisely that position. You fear what I might become without your guidance. That fear gives me leverage."

King Aldric studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Access to your Hero, granted. A research team, granted—subject to royal security screening. Information... will be provided on a need-to-know basis."

"And one more thing," Reed added. "I want access to Lord Thorn’s personal archives."

The room went deathly still.

"Thorn’s remains have not been recovered," Lysithea said carefully.

"Then his residence. His research. Whatever you’ve managed to salvage."

"That is not possible," Prince Malek said flatly.

Reed stood abruptly. "Then neither is my service."

"Sit down, Lord Reed," King Aldric’s voice carried the full weight of command. "You misunderstand. It’s not possible because there’s nothing to access. Lord Thorn’s tower collapsed entirely into the void. Nothing remained—not even foundation stones."

Reed frowned. "That’s convenient."

"It’s concerning," Lysithea corrected. "Thorn knew more about the void than anyone alive. If his knowledge is lost—"

"Then I’m your only remaining expert," Reed finished. "All the more reason to meet my terms."

The king sighed deeply. "We can offer access to what little we know of Thorn’s research through second-hand sources. Nothing more."

Reed considered this, then nodded once. "Acceptable. For now."

"Then we have an agreement?" Aldric raised an eyebrow.

"Conditionally," Reed replied. "I want to see Shia. Now."

The king nodded to Lysithea, who stood. "I’ll escort you personally."

As they left the study, Prince Malek’s voice carried after them. "Keep him under watch at all times."

Lysithea led Reed through labyrinthine corridors, each more heavily guarded than the last. The deeper they went, the colder the air became, until their breath fogged before them.

"Your Hero is... unique," Lysithea said as they descended a spiral staircase. "Our void specialists have never seen anything quite like her transformation."

"She’s still Shia," Reed said firmly.

"Is she?" Lysithea stopped at a heavy iron door emblazoned with warning runes. "You should prepare yourself, Lord Reed. The void changes people."

The door swung open to reveal a circular chamber bathed in blue-white light. In the center, suspended in a containment field, floated Shia—or what Shia had become.

Her skin had transformed entirely, now black as the void itself, crisscrossed with lines of pulsing violet energy. Where her arms had been, writhing tendrils of shadow extended, constantly shifting and reforming. Her eyes, when they opened at Reed’s entrance, were galaxies of swirling darkness.

But worst of all—she was not alone.

Hovering opposite her containment field was another figure, equally transformed, though in ways subtly different. And on his face—visible despite the void corruption that had claimed him—was the unmistakable smirk of Lord Thorn.

"Ah, Reed," Thorn’s voice echoed unnaturally in the chamber. "We’ve been waiting for you to join the royal audience."

Reed spun toward Lysithea, darkness erupting from his fingertips, but the commander was already moving, a banishment sigil forming between her hands.

"I’m afraid," Thorn continued conversationally as chaos erupted around them, "that your negotiation was merely a distraction. The real work has already begun."

Behind them, the heavy door slammed shut, trapping Reed in darkness with two beings of void—and the growing certainty that he had walked willingly into a trap centuries in the making.