Page 35 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
"This invasion will solve that problem beautifully," he continued. "We'll capture every shifter in the Talfen kingdom—men, women, children, all of them. The breeding programs will be revitalized with fresh blood, stronger lineages. Within a generation, we'll have dragon legions the likes of which the world has never seen. The Empire will be unstoppable."
"You're talking about genocide," I said, finding my voice at last. "You're talking about enslaving an entire people."
"I'm talking about securing our future," he snapped, the first real emotion he'd shown. "About ensuring that our bloodline rules for a thousand years. About building something that will last."
I looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time in my life, I saw my father clearly. Not the wise ruler, not the protective parent, but the monster he truly was. A man who could order the deaths of his own people for political gain. A man who could speak casually of enslaving children, of breeding sentient beings like cattle.
"You're evil," I said quietly. "Truly, genuinely evil."
His face darkened. "I am practical. I am strong. I do what must be done for the good of the Empire."
"For your own glory, you mean." I was surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "This has nothing to do with the Empire's good. This is about your ego, your legacy. You're willing to commit atrocities to see your name remembered."
"And you're a naive boy who understands nothing about power or responsibility." He rose from his throne, suddenly seeming larger, more imposing. "But you will learn. You will go north with the recruits, lead a wing through the border into Talfen lands. You will do your part in this great work."
"No." The word came out without thought, driven by a revulsion so deep it overrode every instinct of obedience I'd been raised with. "I won't be part of this. I won't help you enslave and murder innocent people."
"You will do as you are commanded," he said coldly. "You are my son and my heir, and you will serve the Empire as I see fit."
"Then disown me." I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze directly. "Cast me out, name someone else your heir. I won't be party to this... this abomination."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or even a grudging respect. Then it was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.
"Disown you?" He laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Oh, my dear boy. You misunderstand the situation entirely." He stepped down from the dais, moving toward me with predatory grace. "You seem to think you have a choice in this matter. Allow me to correct that misconception."
A chill ran down my spine. "What do you mean?"
"Come with me," he said. "I want to show you something."
Against every instinct screaming at me to run, I followed him though the hallways of the palace, down narrower corridors, and finally down a staircase that spiralled into darkness. Torches flickered in sconces along the walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to reach for us with grasping fingers.
We descended for what felt like an eternity, going deeper into the earth than I'd known was possible. The air grew colder, staler, carrying scents I couldn't identify but that made my stomach turn. Finally, we emerged into a vast underground chamber.
And I saw hell.
Massive iron cells stretched out before us, row upon row of them disappearing into the torch-lit darkness. And they were full. Full of people—men, women, children of all ages,all bearing the unmistakable features of Talfen blood. Some were obviously full-blooded, with the characteristic height and fine bone structure. Others showed only subtle signs—slightly pointed ears, eyes that caught the light strangely, skin with an unusual pallor.
They were all dressed in rags, all thin and hollow-eyed. Some sat in silence, staring at nothing. Others paced their cells like caged animals. I heard quiet weeping, whispered conversations, a baby's thin cry that cut through me like a blade.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" my father said conversationally. "The fruits of years of careful planning and execution."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. The scale of it was overwhelming—hundreds of people, maybe thousands, imprisoned in these underground chambers. How long had this been going on? How long had I lived above this suffering, oblivious and comfortable?
"There's another complex on the other side of the city," he continued. "And in each major city of the Empire. Similar size, similar... occupancy rate. We've been quite thorough in our collection efforts."
My eyes found a young woman in one of the nearer cells. She was about Livia's age, holding a baby that couldn't have been more than a few months old. A toddler clung to her ragged dress, thumb in his mouth, staring out at us with eyes too old for his small face. The woman's gaze met mine for a moment, and I saw everything there—despair, exhaustion, a flickering hope that died as she took in my imperial robes.
"If you refuse to serve," my father said quietly, "if you persist in this foolish rebellion, I will order the execution of every single person in these dungeons. Every man, woman, and child. They will die screaming, and their blood will be on your hands."
I turned to stare at him, hardly believing what I was hearing. "You would murder thousands of innocent people to force my compliance?"
"I would remove a potential source of future problems while teaching my heir a valuable lesson about the cost of defiance." His voice was utterly calm, utterly certain. "The choice is yours, Jalius. Lead the wing north as ordered, or watch these people die for your principles."
The air left my lungs in a rush, as if I’d taken a physical blow. The world narrowed to the woman’s face, to the wide, terrified eyes of her child. My principles, my outrage, my defiance—they all turned to ash in my mouth. What was my honour worth when weighed against a single one of their lives, let alone thousands? It was a monstrous, perfect trap, and he had sprung it with the casual cruelty of a man swatting a fly.
My gaze drifted from cell to cell, seeing not a faceless mass of enemies, but individuals. An old man with a long white beard who looked like a scholar. Two teenage boys wrestling half-heartedly in a corner. A woman humming a lullaby to a swaddled bundle in her arms. Each one was a life my father held hostage against my obedience. Each breath they took was a debt he was calling due.
I turned back to him, the architect of this hell. The hatred I felt was a physical thing, a sickness coiling in my gut. But it was a powerless hatred. He had won. He had known he would win from the moment he brought me down here..
