Page 36 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
“Their fate is in your hands,” my father said, his voice echoing in the vast, cavernous space. “A true leader understands that personal morality is a luxury. The only morality is the preservation of power. What is your decision?”
A cold certainty settled in my gut, heavier than any stone. He hadn't given me a choice. He had given me a leash and tied the other end to the throats of thousands. The air was thickwith the stench of despair, and it coated my tongue, choked my throat. My principles, the core of who I thought I was, felt like brittle glass, ready to shatter. What was my honour worth when weighed against the life of that child clinging to his mother’s leg? What was my soul worth against the lives of all these people?
I thought of Livia. I thought of the fire in her eyes when she spoke of justice, of freedom. She would rather die than bend to this kind of tyranny. But it wouldn't just be her death. It would be the deaths of everyone here, and countless more in the war that would follow. My father had built his cage perfectly. There was no escape.
My gaze fell again on the young mother. She had pulled her children closer, her body a frail shield against the horrors of this place. If I said no, her face would be the last thing I saw in my nightmares before my own execution.
I turned back to my father, the monster wearing his face. I saw the victory in his eyes. He knew he had won. The word felt like swallowing poison, a corrosive acid that burned its way up from my soul.
“I will do it.” My voice was a dead thing, a hollow echo in the vast, terrible silence of the dungeon. “I will lead the wing, but I need your word. Your sworn oath that you will not harm these people if I do as you command."
"You have it," he said immediately. "Serve faithfully in this campaign, and these prisoners will remain unharmed."
I closed my eyes, feeling something fundamental break inside me. When I opened them again, the world looked different—darker, colder, less real.
"I'll do it," I whispered.
"Excellent." He clapped a hand on my shoulder as if we'd just concluded a pleasant business transaction and smiled, a victor’s smile that did not reach his cold eyes. “I knew you would see reason. You have the makings of a true emperor after all. You'lldepart at the end of the week—the orders will be issued this evening."
He turned and began the long walk back up the stairs, my father’s footsteps echoing behind me like a jailer’s. I didn’t look back at the cells. I couldn't. But I felt the weight of their gazes on my back.
Every weeping man, every hollow-eyed child was another link in the chain my father had forged around my neck. Each step was heavier than the last, a journey not out of Inferi, but deeper into it.
My father spoke of strategy, of logistics for the northern campaign, but his words were a meaningless drone against the roaring in my ears.
How could I ever face Livia again? How could I look into her fierce, honest eyes, knowing I was about to lead an army against her friends, her people? The man who had held her, who had tasted her tears and promised her his heart, had died in that dungeon. In his place was a hollow thing, a puppet whose strings were pulled by a monster. When we emerged back into the gilded splendour of the palace corridors, the bright sunlight streaming through the high windows felt like a personal insult. It was a beautiful lie painted over a foundation of rot and suffering, and I was now part of its suffocating deceit.
“You see, Jalius,” my father said as we reached the upper levels, the air growing warmer, cleaner, a grotesque mockery of the foulness below. “Power isn’t about being loved. It’s about being obeyed. A lesson your tender heart has resisted for too long.”
I didn’t answer. The part of me that could have argued, that could have raged, was dead. It lay in the dungeon below with the ghosts of my principles. When we returned to the throne room, the light streaming through the high windows felt like aviolation. How could the sun still shine on a world that held such darkness?
“Go now,” he said, dismissing me with a wave. “Prepare yourself. You have a war to win.”
I bowed, the movement mechanical, my body a puppet whose strings he now held. As I walked away from him, away from the Golden Throne, I thought of Livia. I was caught in my father's web now, as trapped as any of those people in their cells. Whatever happened next, whatever horrors I was about to be part of, I would have to live with the knowledge that I had chosen compliance over courage. I would have to look her in the eye and lie. I would have to become the very thing she fought against, the loyal son leading a war of annihilation against her friends, her people. To save the lives of the innocent, I had to become guilty. My soul was the price for their survival. And that was a damnation from which there could be no escape.
13
The drums began at dawn.
I woke to their deep, rhythmic pounding echoing through the Academy walls, a sound that seemed to vibrate in my bones and set my heart racing before I was even fully conscious. Even the warmth of Marcus’ arms around me and the solidness of Antonius’ body pressed against my back couldn’t shelter me from the dread I felt inside. For a moment I lay still, listening to that primal call to war, and felt everything inside me crystallize into sharp, terrible focus.
This was it. The recruits were being called up. Today the Academy would go to war.
I dressed quickly in my new uniform, the deep blue wool crisp and clean, the silver clasps polished to mirror brightness. My hands were steady as I braided my hair back in the regulation style, but I could see something wild and desperate in my own eyes when I caught my reflection in the mirror.
Outside my rooms, I could hear that the corridors were already alive with activity. Recruits hurried past carrying packs and weapons, their faces a mix of excitement and terror.Instructors barked orders, their voices sharp with urgency. Through the windows, I could see the great courtyard filling with soldiers, supply wagons, and the organized chaos of an army preparing to march.
I made my way to the main room where Marcus and Antonius were already packing our few belongings. The sight of them working with quiet efficiency sent a pang through my chest—they were coming with me into danger, into the unknown, because they had no choice. Because I had brought them into this.
"How are you feeling?" Marcus asked softly as I approached. His dark eyes searched my face with concern I didn't deserve.
"Ready," I lied, then caught myself. These two had earned honesty from me, if nothing else. "Terrified. Sick to my stomach." I managed a weak smile. "All at once."
Antonius looked up from where he was carefully folding my spare tunic. "It's normal to be nervous before your first real campaign. My father used to say that any soldier who wasn't afraid before battle was either a fool or a madman."
"Your father was a soldier?" I asked, realizing how little I actually knew about Antonius’ life.
"He was a miner," he said quietly. "Got called up when the Empire came calling. Died when I was twelve."
