The air in the throne room was thick with tension as the King prepared to leave for the night. His declaration had sent ripples of fear and anticipation through his domain, but none felt it more keenly than Misery as she strode forward, stepping into the dim light of the chamber.
“Wait!” she called, her voice clear and sharp. It rang out against the oppressive silence, drawing the attention of every lingering figure in the room.
The King paused mid-step, turning to face her with a look of amused curiosity. “Misery,” he said, his tone dripping with mock affection. “What could you possibly have to say that would interest me?”
Taking a steadying breath, Misery forced herself to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to kill him,” she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her chest. “I can give you something better.”
The King’s eyes narrowed, his interest clearly piqued. “Better than the head of the hybrid who dared defy me? I’m intrigued. Go on.”
Misery hesitated, her mind racing through the implications of what she was about to say. Finally, she placed a trembling hand over her abdomen. “My child,” she said softly. “A true hybrid. Stronger than anything you’ve ever known. A weapon greater than even Lyra or Eryon.”
A stunned silence fell over the room. Eryon, still kneeling in chains, froze as her words registered. His gaze snapped to her, disbelief etched into his face. “Misery,” he rasped, his voice filled with anguish. “No. Don’t do this.”
The King descended the steps from his throne, his expression one of cruel delight. “A hybrid child, you say?” he mused, his crimson eyes gleaming with malice. “And you’d offer this... willingly?”
Misery nodded, her hands trembling as she kept them protectively over her stomach. “If you spare him,” she said, her voice cracking. “Spare Eryon, and I’ll give you what you want.”
The King circled her slowly, his aura suffocating as he scrutinized her every movement. “And yet,” he said, his tone dark and thoughtful, “an unborn child is a fragile thing. How can I be sure of its loyalty?”
Misery flinched at his words but stood her ground. “I’ll serve you,” she said, the tears streaming down her face betraying the strength in her voice. “Whatever it takes, I’ll stay by your side. Just let him live.”
Eryon thrashed against his chains, his voice raw with desperation. “Don’t do this, Misery! Don’t give yourself to him!”
The King ignored him, his attention fully on Misery. He reached out, brushing a clawed finger under her chin to lift her gaze to his. “Such devotion,” he murmured, his tone mockingly tender. “Very well. Prepare the rites. We’ll solidify our... agreement.”
Misery’s breath hitched as the King stepped away, issuing orders to his guards. She glanced at Eryon, her heart breaking at the devastation in his eyes. This is the only way, she told herself, even as the weight of her decision threatened to crush her.
Eryon’s roar of defiance echoed through the chamber, but the guards tightened their hold on his chains. As Misery was escorted away to prepare for her new role, she silently vowed that no matter the cost to herself, she would find a way to free him. I’ll save you, Eryon. Even if it means losing myself.