Chapter Text
Prologue
The crushing weight of not knowing, the ambiguity that gnaws at the soul, is a torment unto itself. I had borne it for much of my life, wrestling with the unfathomable anger that simmered within me, the anger that would one day lead me to commit murder. But was it worse than knowing? The answer, it would turn out, came far too swiftly.
It was the knowing that proved to be the true executioner of the soul.
☾✺☽
Once, I had been hailed as a king by many, viewed with a complex mix of emotions: contempt and hatred, admiration and awe. I succeeded a father who had met his demise not on the battlefield but within the decadent confines of the Pleasure Hall, surrounded by the allure of women and wealth that held no sway over his heart. There had been only one woman capable of stirring his emotions, my mother, who had tragically perished giving birth to my youngest brother, Helios. When my father breathed his last, I was a mere fifteen-year-old, thrust into the role of a ruler with the weight of an empire pressing upon my inexperienced shoulders. The councilmen initially sought to control me, and I played the obedient puppet to their whims until they proposed a union through marriage. No one could dictate to me, a sovereign, the necessity of taking a spouse.
As my resistance to their demands hardened, they grew increasingly agitated by my defiance. Rumors began to circulate, casting doubts on my understanding of the needs of an empire and branding me unfit to rule, merely a boy in their eyes. They relentlessly sowed discord among the people until the populace too questioned my ability to govern, joining the once-noble councilmen in their skepticism.
Having once been my father's advisors, many among them plotted to divide the empire, amassing troops within their territories and among the farmlands, inciting rebellion against my rule. This resistance fractured our once-unified nation, leaving me consumed by rage, betrayal, and a seething hatred that would lead me down a treacherous path. In a moment of fury, I acceded to a marriage proposal with the High Priest of Valor's daughter, a union that demanded I secure an heir capable of uniting our divided lands.
However, fate had other designs, and I soon discovered her betrayal.
☾✺☽
In the dimly lit chamber, she and her lover reveled in their illicit union. Her impassioned moans accompanied his frenzied thrusts, sweat-slicked hands grasping at her breasts as he sought to quench his lust. His pace quickened, and she clung to him, her nails digging into his flesh, legs locking around his waist in a desperate embrace. With a final surge of urgency, he reached a climax, and their passionate rendezvous came to an end. Both wore satisfied smiles, their whispered words of affection mingling with the scent of their lovemaking.
"How much longer must you endure this sham of a marriage, my love?" His voice, though harsh, betrayed impatience as he labored to catch his breath.
Reclining on the silk sheets, she cupped his cheek, tenderly pressing her lips to his. "Only a few weeks more, until he leaves for war. The soldiers know the signal. When they see the red flag with the boar, they will know to deliver a fatal blow to the king. Do not worry, my love. We shall be reunited with our child and the one to come."
Hidden in the shadows, I stood, a silent witness to their passionate exchange. Blinded by a torrent of emotions—some might call it rage, but I knew it to be an all-consuming wrath—finally, as I could not manage this feeling any longer, I revealed myself to the lovers.
Startled, the woman, once the Queen, recoiled from her paramour as accusations of rape and brutality tumbled from her lips in rapid succession. She wailed about how her life was threatened if she did not comply with his desires and how he had forced her into this unsanctioned affair. Clinging to my clothing, she wept openly, staining the once-clean fabric with her bitter dirty tears.
Playing my part as a loving and concerned husband, I bellowed for the guards to seize the 'rapist,' all the while keeping a vigilant eye on my perfidious wife. Summoning the head councilperson, I decreed a public execution, insisting that people from far and wide bear witness.
It marked the first public execution in a decade, breaking my promise to my people when I ascended to the throne, vowing not to make a habit of such cruel spectacles. But now, I had broken not only that promise but countless others, all because of this treacherous woman.
☾✺☽
In a mere week's time, the vast expanse of the castle grounds became a sea of people, a diverse assembly representing various walks of life. Among them were lowly yet indispensable peasants and those who aspired to wear the crown of the Oxuvaria Empire. As I surveyed the crowd, I signaled for the drums to commence, their heavy, solemn beats serving as a precursor to my state of address.
The atmosphere hung heavy as the drumbeats reverberated through the air, silencing the restless murmurs and the occasional cry of a babe. I cleared my throat, contorting my countenance into a façade of anguish, assuming the role of a wronged, cuckolded, and enraged husband. Little did the people know that beneath this veneer of righteous anger lay an even more profound emotion—vindictive wrath—that had earned me my name as I matured.
The thought of her in our bed with another man, let alone bearing his child, filled me with disgust, yet I should not have been surprised. I couldn't help but reflect on my decision not to return her to her “noble and honorable” father when I first learned that her innocence was but a sham. Her virginal facade hid a woman who indulged in liaisons with a multitude of men.
Shaking my head to cast aside these thoughts, I feigned difficulty in finding the words, channeling the torment I felt into my performance.
"Today, we are gathered here because of the dishonor brought upon my wife, your beloved Queen Caelia Aphrodisia of the Oxuvaria Empire." I paused, pretending to grapple with the gravity of the situation. Clenching my jaw to suppress the anger that simmered within, I continued in a somber tone, "For his crimes, Isocrates Aurelianus will be publicly executed before your very eyes, as a indisputable example of the fate that awaits those who betray not only me as your King but the entire empire."
With a signal, I directed the executioner—none other than my brother, Theocritus—to bring the prisoner closer to the stage. My wife's lover writhed in a futile attempt to break free from his captors, his struggles stoking the anticipation and excitement of the assembled crowd. Unlike my father, who had presided over frequent executions, this was the first to be held during my ten-year reign. The stark contrast to my father's rule had always been a point of pride for me.
It never ceased to astonish me how close I had come to being murdered by those I had naively trusted. If not for overhearing their plans for my demise, I might have allowed them to carry out their sinister intentions. Despite the countless betrayals I had endured, I once believed in the innate goodness of people. And yet, I had been wrong.
Shaking off memories of the past, I refocused on the grim spectacle before me. The executioner theatrically unveiled the instrument of torment—a choice I had granted him, heightening the tension not only among my subjects but within myself as well. Nonchalantly, I had left the choice of punishment to my brother, and he had opted for the Rack, also known as the Horse.
The Rack resembled a wooden structure with a shape akin to a horse, where the condemned lay upon the top beam, forcing their gaze to be locked onto the audience. Ropes, affixed to the victim's hands and feet, ran through a series of pulleys, gradually tightening and dislocating their joints. The cracking of bones could be drawn out for hours if one desired. Although I knew that Isocrates Aurelianus would not meet his end through this punishment, the prospect of hearing him scream in pain filled me with an unusual degree of satisfaction.
When he was immobilized and could no longer move, I offered him the courtesy of delivering his final words—as a form of reprieve from his torment.
"Do you have any final words?"
Struggling for breath and squinting against the glaring sun, he thrashed his head wildly, searching for something or someone. Smirking, I leaned closer to his ear and whispered, "Your faithless lover is not here, so do not waste your energy searching. Now, answer my question. Do you have any last words?"
In response, he let out a guttural scream of agony, his eyes filling with hatred and a hint of regret as he momentarily turned his head away before snapping it back, spitting in my direction. The palace guards were poised to strike him down in retribution for his blatant disrespect, but I withheld their bloodthirsty eagerness.
"Stand down," I commanded, suppressing my rage for the moment. "He has yet to speak. I am, after all, a benevolent King."
"You are no King, no man!" He retorted defiantly, his voice dripping with venom. "You want to know why your Queen came to me? Because you cannot satisfy a woman!" His laughter, tainted with vulgar insults, reverberated through the air as the crowd listened in a mixture of shock and intrigue. Did the Queen indeed seek solace in another's arms? Was the King indeed so inadequate that she sought refuge elsewhere? Speculation and doubt now stirred among the spectators, casting a shadow over the truth.
Isocrates cast his gaze upon the courtyard teeming with the empire’s inhabitants and boldly proclaimed with a stream of spittle, "I bedded your Queen, and I feel no remorse for it."
With an extravagant gesture, I turned to the gathered crowd and declared, "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, the confession of a man who defiled your Queen without a hint of shame. What punishment do you desire for him?”
An uproar of outrage filled the air as the crowd clamored for various torture methods, the most prominent among them being the Iron Maiden and boiling him alive. Fortunately, I was able to accommodate both requests, thanks to Theocritus' perfectionist tendencies. Being the middle child among seven boys, he had always been a bit reckless, striving for recognition in a large family. His daring exploits had once alarmed our father, who had urged him to channel his energy more wisely. Left in the capable hands of a blacksmith who doubled as an inventor, Theocritus had ceased his dangerous antics and began creating innovative devices that also surprisingly extended beyond torture devices. Among his many inventions, his latest creation was the Boiled Iron Maiden, capable of both impaling victims to death and boiling them alive.
Raising my hand to quell the excited crowd, I waited until the cacophony of voices subsided before continuing. "The people have spoken. The prisoner shall be placed in the Iron Maiden to meet his fate." Disappointed groans emanated from those who had favored boiling Isocrates while the proponents of the Iron Maiden erupted in cheers, their collective energy nearly palpable.
"Do not fret, those who wished for Isocrates to be boiled," I announced, the crowd's rapt attention hanging on my every word. "Our esteemed executioner has ingeniously improved the Iron Maiden, satisfying your thirst for retribution. I present to you, the Boiled Iron Maiden!"
The atmosphere crackled with excitement as the crowd praised the executioner for his ingenuity.
I turned to my brother, a smile playing on my lips. "They seem to appreciate your invention, brother of mine."
He responded with an air of pride, much too reminiscent of the elite society we often disdained. I made a mental note to reprimand him later; self-assured hubris had always been his Achilles' heel, much like the God of Judgment he was named after.
Approaching the still-struggling prisoner, my brother effortlessly lifted him from the Horse, showcasing the dangerous contraption. The Boiled Iron Maiden was constructed from the empire’s toughest metal, capable of withstanding scorching temperatures. Its interior was lined with large, sharpened thorns designed to draw blood upon entry. The device was deliberately crafted to be slightly smaller than an average man, ensuring that every step taken inside would be one of excruciating pain.
As Isocrates stepped into the Boiled Iron Maiden, the thorns began to retract. Impaling his flesh, they prompted him to thrash and scream until his voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper in the wind. The crowd watched in a mixture of fascination and horror as the contraption closed in on him, sealing his fate in a horrifying spectacle.
As Isocrates' screams of torment faded into an agonizing silence, another cry pierced the air, but it did not originate from him. The anguished scream came from my former queen, Caelia Aphrodisia of the Oxuvaria Empire. Gasping for breath, she clutched her swollen belly and rushed onto the balcony, disheveled and draped in black.
"Stop! You can't! You mustn't kill him. Please," she implored, her voice quivering with desperation.
I let out a sardonic chuckle, my eyes appraising her from head to toe. Caelia was an average-sized woman with a generous bosom and a modest posterior, her hips betraying the telltale swell of pregnancy. Her ebony hair billowed in the wind, slapping her face without her attempting to brush it away, almost as though she regarded it as a form of self-punishment.
"Why, my dear wife? Do you hold affection for your rapist?" I inquired, making sure my words reverberated through the courtyard, each syllable resonating off the balcony pillars.
Her response was hesitant as she weighed the risk to both her own life and the lives of her children. Above all, she must have contemplated the fate of her lover, who lay inside the Boiling Iron Maiden, writhing in torment. It was as though the entire empire waited in baited breath as we waited for her answer.
"I believe such punishment is excessively cruel, my King," she replied, her voice quivering.
Ignoring her statement and her transparent attempt to change the topic, I pressed her once more, demanding the truth.
"No, my King. I hold no affection for my rapist," she finally admitted.
A scream of terror and despair erupted from Isocrates as he realized the extent of Caelia's betrayal. His sobs filled the air, muffled by the confines of the horrific contraption that encased him. I couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse for my actions, though it was far from enough to sway me from my course.
I turned slightly away from Caelia, but not so much that I lost sight of her face as I wanted to discern whether she genuinely cared for this man or if she had merely toyed with him, as she was known to do with other men. Watching her closely, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of disappointment and resentment toward her. I regretted ever agreeing to marry her. She appeared to be a survivor, thinking only of herself, much like the women who had resided in my father's harem after my mother’s passing. Like myself, Isocrates had been tempted by her allure, yet she had ultimately betrayed us both.
Taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart, I observed as Caelia attempted to move toward the palace doors, seeking to escape from witnessing Isocrates' impending death. "Where do you think you're going? Don't you believe the people would delight in seeing their Queen's reaction to her 'rapist's' punishment?"
It seemed as though she was perpetually performing as if she had never truly loved Isocrates. I moved closer, whispering in her ear with a dark, veiled threat. My grip on her upper arm was unrelenting.
"My dear, I insist," I murmured ominously.
I glanced back at my brother, nodding slowly to signal the commencement of Isocrates' slow and torturous demise.
The Boiling Iron Maiden was rolled closer to the edge of the balcony, ensuring that everyone could witness the macabre spectacle. The shimmering silver-coloured surface of the Iron Maiden began to take on a bronzed hue as boiling water cascaded into it.
Isocrates' screams of agony morphed into that of sheer horror, and in that moment, I realized the depth of darkness to which my anger had led me. A feeling of immense regret coursed through me, but it was far too late to turn back now as I refused to stop until the entirety of my dark plan was carried out to its grim conclusion.
The courtyard fell into a haunting silence as Isocrates' screams slowly diminished into agonized moans until there was nothing, the Boiling Iron Maiden taking on a grisly crimson hue as if the metal had absorbed the blood of the condemned. The populace’s eyes were fixated on the torture device as though they were expecting more noise and suffering, but it remained eerily quiet. I signaled for the water to be drained from the contraption and took a step back, surveying the gruesome scene.
As the hot, blood-tainted water poured out, the courtyard erupted in chaos. People shrieked and scattered, avoiding the macabre liquid as though it were a vile curse. I released my grip on Caelia, who had fallen to her knees, wailing for Isocrates. It was at that moment that the darkness within me, which I had kept locked away for years, began to emerge.
Isocrates' body toppled over the balcony with sickening force. The gruesome splat of red oozing raw flesh, as though he were a freshly plucked and boiled bird, landed on the courtyard floor and sent shockwaves through the crowd. Some fainted, while others fled in terror or became sick to their stomachs as if they believed Daemon himself had descended upon them.
Ignoring the gruesome spectacle below, I turned to Caelia, who continued to sob and plead for her former lover as one hand was outstretched to the balcony while the other cradled her unborn child. Disgusted at the sight, Theocritus attempted to appeal to me as he questioned whether this level of brutality was necessary, yet it was too late.
“ I am not your brother, child. I am Erebus, your brother's patron ," I retorted coldly, my voice devoid of emotion.
As I walked over to Caelia's distraught form and lifted her into my arms, I addressed my people. " People of the Oxuvaria Empire, this woman was your Queen ." Murmurs of confusion and disbelief filled the air as they pondered my use of the past tense.
" That man was not her rapist. Far from it ," I added with a maddening cackle as if a newfound darkness had consumed me.
" No, your Queen had an affair with that man. As Isocrates said, she enjoyed it. She neglected to take her herbals to prevent conception. They had conspired to plot my demise in the upcoming war ," I revealed, causing gasps and murmurs of shock to ripple through the crowd.
" But do not worry. I will never die so easily. For I cannot. "
I turned to Caelia, her tear-filled eyes locked onto mine, and she accused me of knowing the truth all along. "You knew? You just asked me if I loved that man for show!?"
" Indeed ," I replied coldly. " Had you admitted the truth, I would have spared you, but like your father, you lied to save yourself ."
Addressing the masses once more, I declared, " For her treason, her punishment is death ."
Raising my sword, I offered a silent prayer to the Goddess Of Forgiveness as I knew that because of Caelia, an innocent would not be able to obtain life. My arm remained suspended for a moment, increasing the doubts among the onlookers. Was their King truly capable of killing the woman he ostensibly loved?
Yet, in a blink of an eye, they received their answer as I severed Caelia's head, before striking her across the stomach. It all happened in slow motion as Caelia wasn’t able to make a sound, yet the thumping of her head striking the floor seemed unnecessarily loud. The sight of her unborn child sliding from her lifeless form and landing on the cold ground made my stomach turn into a feeling of self-disdain and self-satisfaction.
The courtyard was once again filled with the horrified screams of women, children, and men alike as they witnessed their King commit an act they never believed him capable of. Few could blame the people for their shock. Despite my name being synonymous with darkness, I had been known as the Peaceful King and even the Righteous One compared to my father.
With a savage smile, I scanned the crowd, my sword still raised, dripping with blood and embryonic fluid. Only muffled sobs could be heard as the onlookers stood in stunned disbelief, gazing at the lifeless Queen and her former lover. I issued a chilling challenge to anyone who dared to object to the executions that had unfolded before their eyes. None dared to speak out. The darkness had consumed me, and the true beginning of my reign had begun.
☾✺☽
As the King walked away from the balcony, his robe billowing in the wind, an eerie silence settled over the empire. The people knew a reluctant victory had been achieved but at a significant cost. They could sense that something had shifted, that their once benevolent and peaceful King had been forever changed by the events that had just transpired.
Little did they know that this victory was the beginning of a much darker and more sinister conflict. Unbeknownst to all, a new root of evil had taken hold within the empire, spreading its tendrils deep into the heart of the kingdom. The forces of darkness were on the rise, and the true war had just begun, one that would test the very foundations of their world.
As the King walked away, the weight of his actions and the burden of the looming darkness weighed heavily on his shoulders. The people may have seen him as a reluctant victor, but he knew that he was now the reluctant guardian of a kingdom on the brink of chaos.