The chamber was dimly lit, shadows pooling at the corners like ghosts listening in. Cold stone walls bore no windows, only a sigil carved in obsidian: the Valerborne crest—shattered by design.
Lioren stood barefoot, tunic stripped to his waist. The air clung to his skin like ice, but he didn't shiver.
He already knew what dawn meant
Thaleis entered without announcement. His robe trailed behind like smoke, and his boots struck the ground with finality. He didn't look at Lioren at first—just walked in a slow circle, studying the boy like a weapon he'd forged, checking for cracks.
"You've made quite the impression."
No answer. Lioren's gaze stayed fixed on the far wall.
"A show of power in front of nobles," Thaleis continued. "A duel, no less. A public display of emotion. All things I warned you against."
Still, Lioren said nothing.
Thaleis moved suddenly. A hard backhand cracked across Lioren's face, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
Lioren didn't move. His head snapped to the side, a red mark blooming on his cheek, but he stayed upright.
"You think your shadow makes you powerful?" Thaleis snarled. "You think being seen is strength?"
He struck again—this time, a brutal blow to the stomach. Lioren collapsed to his knees, gasping, a low sound escaping him before he choked it down.
Thaleis grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look up.
> "You are not a boy. You are not a prodigy. You are not even a Valerborne. You are a weapon, a weapon that needs to be tamed put on a leash , a ticking time bomb and most importantly a disappointment "
Another strike. His ribs this time. The pain bloomed sharp—something cracked. A whimper threatened to escape his throat.
He swallowed it.
"You draw attention, and for what? To impress a girl with fire in her veins? To feel seen for once in your wretched life?"
Lioren's body trembled. His mouth tasted blood.
But still, he didn't speak.
"You want to be special so badly?" Thaleis hissed. "Let me remind you what makes you valuable."
He unsheathed the whip.
The first lash split skin.
The second followed.
The third tore the silence apart.
By the fifth, Lioren's breathing came ragged, shallow. He clung to his knees like they were anchors. His hands curled into fists so tight the nails pierced his palms.
"Say something," Thaleis demanded.
Lioren raised his eyes—red-rimmed, but dry. "I didn't apply for diplomat."
Crack.
The sixth lash knocked him forward, forehead to the cold stone floor.
But he still didn't scream.
---
Later That day
He lay motionless on the cot in his chamber, the massive mattress barely, probably his only comfort . The pain had settled—less fire, more hum. A constant reminder that he'd survived again.
The door creaked open.
A maid entered, breath catching at the sight. Her hands trembled as she knelt beside him, setting down a cloth and bowl of warm water.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "I thought you might be asleep."
"I don't sleep much," he rasped. Every word stung.
She soaked the cloth, hesitating before pressing it to his shoulder. His body flinched automatically—but then stilled. He let her.
The cloth turned pink.
"These… these shouldn't happen," she said. "You're still just a child."
Lioren gave a soft, bitter laugh—dry like desert wind. "No I'm not."
He stared up at the ceiling.
"He said I am merely a tool"
Another silence.
"I used to dream about my mother's hands," he murmured. "They were soft. Gentle. The way she touched my hair."
He turned his face away. "Then I woke up in Thaleis' estate."
The maid continued her work in silence. Her hands were gentle—but Lioren's body had forgotten what gentleness felt like.
> "You know what's worse than pain?" he whispered. "The quiet afterward. The part where you realize no one's coming."
Her hand froze for a moment.
"But it's okay," he said suddenly, his voice lighter. "I'm learning to enjoy the quiet."
That was a lie.
But it sounded better than the truth.
---
The Next Morning
He rose early. Bandaged. Bruised. But dressed sharply, as always.
He met his own eyes in the mirror—gray like thunderclouds.
He combed his hair back, tied it into the usual ponytail. Smiled faintly.
Not because he was happy.
Because he was still alive.
And being alive meant he could still ruin someone's day.