Chapter 16

In the dim glow of the castle's grand study, Lord Leviathan sprawled across a plush armchair, a goblet of ruby-red wine held loosely in one hand. The other hand scrolled through a parchment document, his brow furrowed in concentration. Beside him, Malcolm, the ever-stoic butler, stood like a silent sentinel.

The quiet hum of activity was abruptly shattered by the creak of the heavy oak door. Rayden, the King's persistent courtier, entered with a haughty air.

Leviathan barely glanced up from his scroll, his voice laced with amusement as he spoke without breaking his focus. "Well, well, Rayden. To what delightful interruption do I owe the pleasure of your company at this… unorthodox hour?"

Rayden scoffed, his nose held high. "Unorthodox hour, indeed, Lord Leviathan. Surely, even for you, indulging in wine before noon is a touch… excessive."

Leviathan finally lowered the scroll, his golden eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "Early, is it? My dear Rayden," he drawled, "perhaps you haven't heard. Time is a relative concept."

His gaze returned to the scroll in his hand. Without looking up, he spoke, his voice laced with amusement, "Tell me,Rayden, why aren't you gracing some far-flung corner away from the castle with your presence? Surely, the King's ever-faithful shadow wouldn't shirk his duties on such a… momentous occasion."

Rayden bristled at the implication. He puffed out his chest and countered, "The King, Lord Leviathan," he began, his voice tight with suppressed annoyance, "decided to… take his guest on a rather unexpected visit. Apparently, Lord Arnold's funeral couldn't be missed, even with his… guest in tow."

Leviathan grinned his mind drifted back to the whispers that had reached him – rumors of a woman with green eyes, a woman who had somehow defied the King and lived to tell the tale.

Leviathan raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Jealousy, Rayden? A most unbecoming emotion for a King's loyal courtier." He placed the scroll back on the desk with a flourish. "Perhaps you should have accompanied His Majesty, hmm? Wouldn't have missed out on all the… excitement."

Rayden's face flushed a slight pink. He bristled at the accusation of jealousy. "Jealousy, Lord Leviathan?" he scoffed, his voice regaining its official tone. "Hardly. However, whispers do travel through these very halls, you see. It seems some of the servants are abuzz with speculation about this… guest." He paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They say she might be… involved in Lord Arnold's demise."

Leviathan's smile vanished. A cold glint entered his eyes, momentarily replacing his usual amusement. He leaned back in his chair, studying Rayden with a predatory intensity that made the King's courtier squirm under his gaze. The silence stretched for a moment, thick with unspoken tension.

"Rayden," Leviathan finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "One wonders why the King keeps you around, if all you do is go around spluttering nonsense picked up from gossiping servants. You should sharpen your eavesdropping skills, hmm? Perhaps your loyalty is misplaced, wouldn't you agree?"

The barb hit its mark. Rayden's face flushed crimson. The accusation of disloyalty was a serious one.

"My loyalty," he stammered, his voice tight, "has never been in question, Lord Leviathan. However, it is my duty to bring any… irregularities to the King's attention. And surely, a guest with such… rumors attached to her presence warrants investigation."

A bitter smile twisted Leviathan's lips as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the ruby liquid in his goblet. "Ah, yes," he drawled, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Sir Edric. One imagines he must be positively… distraught at the loss of his… esteemed father."

He took a slow sip of his wine. "Of course," he continued, his voice laced with a dangerous edge, "one can't help but wonder what juicy tidbits Sir Edric will be whispering in the King's ear now. No doubt lobbying for a rather… significant promotion, wouldn't you agree, Rayden?"

Rayden's jaw clenched tight. Leviathan's words were a painful jab, a stark reminder of his own unfulfilled ambitions. Edric, the arrogant peacock. The death of Lord Arnold had presented a flicker of hope, a chance for Rayden.

"Promotion?" Rayden managed, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "Surely, Lord Leviathan, you don't believe the King would be so… hasty in choosing a new Lord?"

A triumphant glint sparked in Rayden's eyes as he shifted, eager to share a piece of news. "Speaking of leadership, Lord Leviathan," he announced, his voice laced with a hint of smugness, "word has just reached the castle from the war front."

Leviathan's gaze flickered upwards, a flicker of interest momentarily replacing his usual amusement. "The war front, you say?"

Rayden puffed out his chest, clearly relishing the attention. "Indeed, Lord Leviathan. It seems our valiant knights have secured a decisive victory! They are expected to return to the kingdom within the fortnight."

A wide smile, almost predatory in its intensity, spread across Leviathan's face. "Really?" he continued "Victory, you say? How… delightful."

Rayden continued his praise. "Lord Azrael," he declared, his voice thick with admiration, "never disappoints. A true leader, a man of action. Perhaps," he added, his voice dropping to a barely audible murmur, "if some of us were more like him…"

Lord Azrael, the ever-victorious Lord of the North. The stoic, cold demeanor of the North contrasted sharply with Lord Leviathan's flamboyant personality.

Before Rayden could finish his thought, a sickening crack echoed through the room. The crystal goblet that Leviathan had been holding, clutched so tightly his knuckles had turned white, shattered in his hand. Shards of glass rained down onto the plush rug, scattering around his feet like fallen stars.

Rayden, momentarily stunned by the sudden outburst, stared at the wreckage in disbelief. Leviathan, his face blank of emotion, slowly opened his hand, letting the remaining shards of glass clink onto the floor with a chilling finality.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as the playful tension vanished, replaced by a chilling silence. The shattered goblet remained on the plush rug, a testament to the outburst that had just occurred. Rayden, his smug smile replaced by a look of bewildered apprehension, nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Before either of them could speak, a figure materialized into the room. It wasn't a gradual entrance, no creak of the heavy oak door, no rustle of fabric announcing their arrival. It was as if the figure had simply appeared from thin air, a silent specter materializing in the doorway.