THEODORACIUS DRUMMED HIS fingers against the table unflinchingly, his left brow raised. "What kind of riots, Todorov?" He had clearly expected more riots—Maarit had as well, which was why she didn't know the reason Captain Todorov appeared so distressed.

"It seems that a rebel group formed not long after Your Majesty was crowned," Todorov's explained, his voice laced with a slight rasp. He shifted in discomfort and seemed to have a difficult time meeting Theodoracius's gaze. "Two of my best soldiers were dragged off their horses and beaten to death upon riding into the village. They kill anyone with any ties to the crown, and anyone who opposes them."

Maarit stiffened, her mind wandering to Helios. Surely he would not be foolish enough to join such a resistance. It would put his own life and that of his mother in danger. Helios was more practical, he wouldn't possibly...

"I am disappointed, Todorov," sighed the king, pressing his lips together tightly. "Why have mere commoners been able to defeat the best soldiers in the regiment? They have received countless hours of training, and yet..." He trailed off and the unspoken words spoke for themselves, conveying just what he felt.

The captain sighed and accepted the blame by lowering his chin toward. "The rebels have also set fire to the bank. Most of the flames were doused by the rain, but the damage has already been done. What they are truly seeking is to draw attention to themselves. To gain support for their cause."

"Their cause is to kill their king." A bark of mirthless laughter ensued, then stopped as quickly as it had begun. "Is there any good news?" Theodoracius snapped, a storm of indignation brewing within his deep eyes. "Or shall I relieve you of your command and become Captain of the Royal Guard myself?"

"There is good news, Your Majesty," he assured, bowing again. The captain was a man made entirely of corded muscle, yet he seemed to shrink considerably in size when standing beside Theodoracius. "We have managed to capture one of the rebels. My soldiers—the two remaining of those that accompanied me in Fribois—have brought him in for questioning."

"Very well. I will question him myself. Bring him in."

As the captain moved to exit the room, Theodoracius whirled around on the spot to face Maarit.

"You may stay or not, the choice is yours. However, I must warn you that I will end up killing him."

Maarit's breath caught in her throat. All she could do was nod slowly and remain seated. Her mind pieced memories and imaginings together—she could already see a faceless man with blood oozing from his heart, and the same manic look in Theodoracius's eyes that he'd had when killing the guard.

Of course he would slaughter the rebel.

She hadn't expected anything else from him.

There was a minute of silence before Todorov and two other soldiers entered, dragging a man. He was evidently injured badly, because he was nearly unable to stand. He also bled from one of his eyes, as though a dagger had gauged it. The swollen lid of the eye dropped to cover it.

He didn't even bother to struggle as Theodoracius approached him with predatory slowness.

"Todorov," the king said gruffly without tearing his gaze away from the rebel.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" the captain replied, twisting his body to face Theodoracius.

In one swift motion that left the man staggering backwards, Theodoracius reached for the sword at Captain Todorov's belt and drew it. Then, he seized the front of the rebel's shirt and held the sword up to his neck. The king was one exhale away from cutting his throat, but decided to speak instead.

"There are many, many ways in which I can torture the truth from your mouth," Theodoracius spat, his voice dishearteningly quiet. "I can run this blade across every inch of your skin—deep enough to pain you, but not quite deep enough to kill—so that you'll bleed from every pore."

A bead of sweat trickled down Maarit's forehead as she stood, attempting to make her movements as noiseless as possible. With careful footsteps, she edged closer and closer to where the men stood, so as to be able to hear the threatening remarks with poignant clarity.

"I can break every bone in your body—your fingers—your arms—your legs—your back," he continued, punctuating each with a pause to allow the weight to settle, "until you are begging me for death. I can throw you in the dungeon to let you rot away—no food, no water, drowning in your own waste."

His intent was clear: he was out for blood.

Maarit's heart ached with remorse for the man, whose good eye widened in fright. His limbs were frozen in place and he seemed to have lost the ability to say anything at all. The only sounds that left his mouth were whimpers and irregular pants.

"Tell the truth," Theodoracius said—calmly this time—while pressing the blade of the sword deep enough to draw blood at the base of the man's throat, "and I shall grant you clemency for your crimes."

The witch furrowed her eyebrows at this particular remark—Theodoracius was lying to the rebel. He had told her outright that he wouldn't dare let him live. The lie disgusted her, despite the fact that she knew this king was desperate to get the truth any way he could.

"Now," the boy-king said, a malevolent smile sliding onto his face, "tell me all about your rebel group and its plans. It is best not to leave anything out, for if I suspect you are lying or withholding information, my warlock will coerce you to confess."

"I..." the rebel began, the word coming out as a strangled cry. When he regained his voice, it quavered uncontrollably. "The g-group leaders k-k-kept much of it a s-secret. I swear, I d-d-don't kn-know much of their p-plan. They kept their id-d-dentities unknown as well—they w-wore masks—and s-simply went l-looking for anyone they th-thought would want to join in their p-p-plot to k-kill Your M-Majesty. But everyone who d-did join has a mark on their wrist."

Still within the clutches of the two soldiers, his eye wandered to his right wrist. Captain Todorov seized it and lifted his sleeve. Maarit edged ever closer, trying to remain unnoticed, until she was able to make out the mark branded onto his skin: a crown with a sword protruding from it.

"Getting this—was a r-requirement in case anyone f-from the outside d-d-decided t-to infiltrate," the rebel rambled on, choked words spewing from his mouth frantically, as though his life depended on it. "It was a way to kn-know who was trustworthy. I'm n-not quite s-sure if they've f-f-finalized their plans to... to go through w-with m-m-murdering Your Majesty. They w-w-wanted to beg-gin with s-something that would draw attention towards th-themselves. That is why they b-burned down the bank. They're h-h-hoping to draw Your Majesty away from the safety of the c-castle."

"I see," Theodoracius muttered under his breath, his smile wide enough to turn men blind. "Well, I suppose you have given me enough. That's almost all I would need to know."

"Have I been granted clemency, Your Majesty? Please, I beg you, Your Majesty, I will be your humble servant from now on. I will do anything—anything. If there is more you wish to know, I will tell you! Please have mercy, my lord!"

Theodoracius ignored the plead. His smile faded and he pursed his lips. "Hm, actually, there may be something more you can tell me. Name everyone involved, and leave no names out."

The rebel's lips parted. "But—Your Majesty, I—I do not know all of the—"

He never got to finish his sentence, because the Infernal King of Bonvalet plunged the sword straight through his chest.

The choking sound emitted through the dying man's lips became engraved in Maarit's mind instantly, along with the sight of light leaving his only remaining eye. Blood spattered all over Theodoracius's beautiful face as he pulled the sword out of the rebel's heart.

The rebel's chest heaved as he collapsed against the two soldiers that held him up. A low gurgle bubbled up from his throat before he struggled to take his final breath. Then, h was no more.

"Put him somewhere safe. Put him... in the cellar," Theodoracius ordered the soldiers. It was a throwaway comment, as though he did not quite notice that he had just taken a life. "Have someone copy the mark on his wrist onto some parchment. And... clean that up." He gestured absently towards the blood on the floor.

As the two soldiers dragged the body away, servants scattered to clean the trail of red that was left across the floor. Captain Todorov turned to follow his two soldiers away, but the king stopped him.

"No, Todorov," he said. He waited until the captain was standing in front of him before he gave him orders. He handed the sword back to its owner, then spoke. "Choose half of the Royal Guard to go into the village at once. I need you and your soldiers to look for that mark everywhere. Use force to check every single inhabitant's wrist for it. If they possess the mark, they are to be killed without hesitation. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Todorov, bowing and darting out of the room.

Theodoracius sighed and made his way back to his seat while all of his servants scrambled around him.

And Maarit stood in the midst of everything, feeling dazed in the worst way possible.

"You told him you would grant him clemency," she said, because she was both unable to stop herself and fed up of all the injustice she was experiencing. "You could not even go through with something you promised that man as he teetered on the brink of death."

Theodoracius sighed loudly, as though he was tired down to his very core. He turned to face her and looked considerably less perfect with blood staining his cheeks.

"My word means nothing. I am not a gentleman, Maarit," he stated pointedly. "And, in any case, though I lied to him, I did tell you the truth. I told you I'd kill him. He suffered much less than he could have."

In an instant, she lost herself and all of her composure. She strode towards him and grabbed his shoulders—an act that was terribly reckless. But she could barely bring herself to care or feel regret, even as the guards around her drew their swords upon seeing that an imminent threat was directed at their king.

They turned their weapons on her until Theodoracius—taking her aback—told them to put them down. He forced his gaze to meet hers and still, her grip on his robes didn't waver. The material was smooth beneath her fingers—smooth in an otherworldly way. Everything about him, everything about his life, was otherworldly.

It was then that she became aware she was standing closer to the king than she ever had before.

Maarit held her breath until she couldn't anymore, trying to decide what to say next.

"Who hurt you?" she whispered, her lips approaching his ear until they were a hairsbreadth away from it. The words rang true and, at last, she found herself able to string her thoughts into syllables. "Who hurt you so terribly that you cannot find any compassion in your heart? Tell me. Tell me—I need to understand, because I don't believe that chest is a dark void. I cannot believe that anymore."

He was so terrifyingly close that she could hear his breathing becoming laboured as she spoke. Maarit watched his eyelids flutter with each blink, long eyelashes curling over alabaster skin. A minute had passed before Theodoracius grabbed her wrists and gently pried them off of him.

And she let him, without struggling.

"Some men," he whispered, an endless sea of emotions swirling in his eyes, "are just born evil."

With that, he released her and sat back down in his seat with his head in his hands.

She remained standing in the same spot, dumbstruck and unmoving, for a long while.

"I think it is time for me to get what I brought you here for," he muttered. He cast his gaze in her direction, wiping a drop of blood from his cheek with the corner of his emerald robe. He had a darkness beneath his eyes that had not been there before.

"W-what?" she asked, backing away from him.

For a fraction of a second, she thought perhaps he might kill her.

"I need you to predict my future. Recite a prophecy for me. And I know you will not do it willingly unless you have some sort of compensation." He clasped his bloodstained hands together in front of him until his knuckles turned white. "In return, I shall give you almost anything you wish. Any amount of gold or jewelry. I might even give you my library. Let us make a deal, Maarit Pheraios."

She gritted her teeth.

Inhaled.

Exhaled.

And walked away.