Chapter 4 - The Inquisitor’s Shadow
The Great Hall of Audience had been hastily prepared to receive the unexpected guests, its polished floors reflecting the harsh morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows.
King Alaric sat upon his throne of dark oak and crimson velvet, his expression carved from granite. To his right stood Captain Darius with a hand resting menacingly on his sword hilt. To his left, standing just behind a carved screen where she could observe without being fully exposed to the crowd, sat Princess Evelyne—her hand resting inside Rowan’s warm, steady grip. Without that contact, her limbs would once again lock into helpless rigidity.
The heavy double doors swung open with a resounding boom.
A procession of solemn figures entered. At their head walked High Inquisitor Malakor, a tall, gaunt man draped in severe black robes embroidered with silver scales of justice. His face was sharp as a razor, his eyes cold and devoid of warmth beneath a heavy velvet hood. Flanking him were four temple guards clad in stark white plate armor, carrying long pikes tipped with blue-flame suppression stones.
Malakor stopped at the foot of the dais, bowing with exaggerated slowness.
“King Alaric,” Malakor’s voice scraped across the marble like dry stones. “It has been many years since the Inquisition found reason to visit the capital. Yet, tales travel fast across the provinces. Tales of impossible healings, miraculous awakenings, and… unauthorized anomalies.”
Alaric didn’t return the bow. He rested his hands on the armrests of his throne, glaring down at the Inquisitor. “My daughter’s recovery is a private matter of the royal house, Inquisitor. It requires no oversight from the Council.”
“Nothing involving the manipulation of life force is ever a private matter, Your Majesty,” Malakor replied smoothly, stepping closer to the dais. His cold eyes scanned the room, eventually locking onto the carved screen where Evelyne and Rowan sat. “The laws of the Unified Provinces are clear. Any biological anomaly, spontaneous mutation, or unregistered sorcery that alters the natural state of a citizen must be brought before the tribunal for immediate containment and dissection, if necessary.”
A sharp gasp echoed from behind the screen. Evelyne’s fingers tightened convulsively around Rowan’s knuckles.
Rowan squeezed back gently, offering a reassuring look. “Don’t listen to him,” he murmured softly. “He’s just afraid of things he can’t measure.”
Malakor’s sharp ears caught the whisper. A cruel smile touched the corners of his thin lips. “Ah. There he is. The stray dog from the wilderness.”
The Inquisitor turned his gaze directly toward the screen, raising a hand. Two of his temple guards instantly marched forward, their pikes humming with anti-magic energy.
“By order of the Grand Council,” Malakor proclaimed, “seize the boy. We shall take him to the obsidian cells beneath the citadel to extract the source of his power.”
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“Touch him, and you die,” a quiet, steel-edged voice echoed from behind the screen.
The entire hall went dead silent. Princess Evelyne stood up from her chair.
