When the colossal, gold-embroidered doors of the Throne Room slammed shut behind him with a deafening thud, Vane's breath caught in his throat.
It wasn't bright and magnificent as he had expected. It was dim and freezing, like a mausoleum.
Massive portraits of the ancient kings of the Ten Pillars hung on the walls. The eyes of each painting seemed to glow, glaring down at this muddy, blood-soaked boy, judging him.
In the center of the hall, he wasn't sitting on the glorious throne. He was standing over a colossal strategy table.
King Vorian.
Vane's heart hammered as if trying to pierce through his ribcage.
Here he is, he thought, swallowing hard. The man who gave me life, but spilled my mother's blood. He looks neither like a monster nor a god.
Standing nearly two meters tall with broad shoulders and greying iron-colored hair, Vorian was like a statue that physically dominated the room. His face was chiseled from stone.
Clad in a black military uniform woven with Aether-threads, he was studying a mechanical map. He didn't even look up when Vane entered.
"Kael was patient for ten years," King Vorian said. His voice echoed through the massive hall like the strike of a broadsword. "I wonder what the Queen promised him."
Vane's jaw tightened. Black hair fell over his forehead. His hands trembling, he took a step forward.
The raw anger born of his youth was tearing down the cold-blooded wall he had just built against the Queen in the corridor.
"They killed my mother," Vane whispered, his voice cracking. Then, he yelled. "My mother! And you... did you know the man who lived with us for ten years was the Queen's dog?"
Vorian slowly straightened up and finally raised his head.
Those grey, predatory eyes scanned his son's frail body, the mud on his face, and the tracks of dried tears.
Vane thought the King would erupt in anger, call the guards, and throw him into the dungeon. Instead, a strange, soft expression appeared on Vorian's face.
The King slowly walked around the table, approaching Vane. Every step echoed. Vane had to force himself not to step back.
When Vorian stood right in front of him, he raised his massive hand and placed it on Vane's thin, trembling shoulder.
"Your mother... was a special woman, Vane," Vorian said. His voice was suddenly as soft as velvet, as affectionate as a true father's. There was an exhaustion in his eyes so realistic it couldn't be sworn off as fake.
"I did everything I could to keep her safe. That farmhouse was under my personal protection. Kael was one of my most loyal men... I couldn't foresee that the Queen's poison could corrupt even his mind. This was my failure."
Vane's eyes widened. The massive, warm hand on his shoulder carried the weight of the father figure he had yearned for eighteen years.
He's lying to me, screamed the paranoid street rat inside Vane. My mother said, 'Do not trust him, he will not protect you.' This man is a snake.
But the 'regret' in Vorian's eyes was so flawless that Vane's naivety weighed in. He desperately wanted to believe that his father was also a victim of the Queen's schemes, that even the imposing King was helpless in his own palace.
Because otherwise, he was utterly alone in this world.
"If... if it's your fault," Vane said, unable to hide the childish vulnerability in his voice. "Why don't you stop her? Why don't you put the Queen on trial?"
Vorian smiled bitterly and pulled his hand away from Vane's shoulder.
"The Game of Thrones does not work like the knight's tales you read, my son. Justice is a luxury only afforded to those with the power to enforce it. I sit on the throne now, yes, but the ground beneath me is held up by the Ten Pillars. The Queen belongs to the Pillar of Blood, backed by a colossal army."
Vorian turned his back and walked toward the map, clasping his hands behind him.
"You don't know the rules. The souls of the old kings sleep in the Catacombs beneath the palace. After me, the throne will pass to the next generation. Naturally, the Queen wants her own flesh and blood—your older half-brother, Prince Julian—to take the throne."
The King knocked over one of the stone markers on the map.
"But Julian isn't the only problem. Your eldest half-sister, Seraphina, has already become the supreme commander of the Northern Armies. They have their own factions. Even your youngest sister, fifteen-year-old Livia, is already weaving political marriages with the southern houses under the Queen's shadow."
Vorian turned and looked at the rusted dagger hanging at Vane's waist.
"You... illegitimate or not, carry my blood. To the ancient souls, blood is blood. You are part of this game simply because you are breathing. You are a walking, living obstacle in front of Julian and Seraphina's claim to the throne."
Vane's mind began to race. He was inexperienced, but he wasn't stupid. The gears in his head were grinding.
If I am a threat to the throne, it means the Queen will never stop coming after me. It's impossible for my father to keep me in this palace.
"Then send me into exile," Vane said, lifting his chin. He was trying to suppress his fear with logic. "Give me a ship, let me go to another continent. I have no eyes for your throne. Somewhere the Queen cannot reach..."
A brief, microscopic crack appeared in the 'affectionate father' mask on Vorian's face.
A cold gleam flashed in his eyes. He hadn't expected the boy to think of a strategic exit so quickly. A Machiavellian mind had recognized its own blood.
"Those who are exiled are hunted down sooner or later, Vane," Vorian said, his voice returning to that emotionless, metallic tone. "The Queen's assassins will find you even if you are at the other end of the world. Running only delays death."
Vorian leaned on the table. "I am sending you to the Obsidian Academy. Among the heirs of the other Ten Pillars."
Vane frowned. "The Academy? Going there is walking unarmed into the lion's den. Julian is there. The bullies of the other houses are there. Why there?" Vane asked, his suspicion flaring up again. "You are throwing me among the swords."
"Because it is the only place the Queen cannot directly interfere," Vorian said, locking his eyes onto Vane's rusted dagger. "It is neutral ground. There, if you have nothing but that rusted toy and the helplessness your mother taught you, you will learn to survive. I cannot protect you, Vane. But I can give you the chance to forge your own sword."
Vane looked into his father's grey eyes. The man's words made sense. Since he couldn't hide from the Queen, he was giving him a space to grow stronger. He might truly be doing this out of care.
But the cold knot in Vane's stomach hadn't unraveled.
Why is he looking at me like that? Vane thought, swallowing hard. He's not looking at me like a commander watching his soldier grow stronger... He's looking at me like a blacksmith watching a piece of iron shoved into the furnace, wondering if it will melt.
Regardless, Vane had no other choice. He slowly nodded.
If he wanted to take his revenge and survive, he had to accept being a pawn on this chessboard his father had set up.
At least, until he found the power to overturn the board itself.