The dimly lit chamber reeked of iron and despair. Flickering torchlight cast long, jagged shadows across the stone walls, where the faint echoes of muffled screams lingered like ghosts.
King Julius Ardania sat on a gilded chair, his sharp features illuminated by the erratic glow. His piercing blue eyes, cold and calculating, watched with detached amusement as one of his men delivered another blow to the bound figure before him.
The man's cries were raw, desperate, but Julius's expression remained unchanged—a mask of regal indifference.
"Enough," the King said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. The torturer immediately stepped back, wiping bloodied hands on his tunic. Julius leaned forward, his gaze narrowing as he studied the broken man.
"You've served your purpose. Dispose of him. Ensure Marcus doesn't find out. We can't have the Duke suspecting we've eliminated one of his lords."
