Free Web NovelChapter 154: Chapter 154
It was just past midday when the sound of hooves against cobblestone thundered through the streets as Ragnar and his troops entered the capital. Their horses’ hooves kicked up dirt, and dust particles lingered in the air even after they passed.
The afternoon sun shone upon the sea of faces that had gathered to witness their return. Word of Ragnar’s ambush on the rebel camp had reached the city long before he did, spreading like wildfire through taverns and markets, and now the streets were overflowing with citizens eager to see the rebels who had been causing unrest in the east of Lamora and who had dared defy the crown.
Civilians lined both sides of the road as the soldiers rode past. Some cheered, waving banners of the royal crest, while others whispered among themselves, their faces a mix of awe and curiosity.
A roar of cheers rose from the crowd as Ragnar passed. Children darted between their parents’ legs, laughing and clapping as they pointed at the grim procession of bound men.
The prisoners were made to shuffle forward under the watchful eyes of Ragnar’s soldiers, the thick chains of the shackles that bound their hands clinking against each other whenever they moved.
Dust streaked their faces from the journey, and exhaustion hung from their shoulders. Ragnar had been merciful enough to allow them to ride in the sturdy travel wagons, but it was mostly because he knew that doing otherwise would have just needlessly prolonged the journey.
Another general in his place would have made them walk the distance, but Ragnar didn’t have it in him, not when the captured prisoners were already facing the threat of execution.
But his mercy didn’t extend that far. As soon as they crossed into the capital, the prisoners were ordered to climb off the wagons and walk the rest of the way to the palace.
They had to be paraded like trophies, exactly as King Zeriel had ordered. It was to serve as a reminder to the people of what became of those who opposed the crown.
Ragnar rode in front, leading the procession with a hardened expression. He had seen this kind of display before.
The king would not be content with the rebels only facing trial. He enjoyed turning his enemies into a spectacle, and this was only the beginning.
As they approached the palace gates, the massive iron doors creaked open, revealing the courtyard within. A group of royal guards were already waiting for their arrival.
Ragnar dismounted from his horse, boots striking the ground with a dull thud. His body ached from the travel and the battle he had fought, fatigue drilling deep into his bones. He had barely rested properly since he left his estate.
His men looked equally worn, faces lined with dust and strain, but discipline kept them upright and sharp.
They might have already done the bulk of the work by successfully capturing the rebels and bringing them back to the capital for trial, but there was still so much that could go wrong even now.
"Line up the prisoners," Ragnar commanded curtly, exhaustion making the words sound much harsher than he intended. "They will all remain in their restraints no matter what, and make sure to keep them under close watch. No one leaves formation."
His soldiers obeyed at once, dragging the rebels into neat rows while palace guards stepped forward to assist.
The metallic scrape of shackles filled the courtyard. Ragnar’s eyes swept the crowd, alert for any sign of trouble.
Then, a sudden prickle of awareness crawled down his spine. He turned and looked up.
On the balcony overlooking the courtyard stood King Zeriel, draped in regal black and gold, and beside him was Laheir, looking utterly composed. Together, they both watched what was happening below.
The king’s expression bore faint amusement, but Laheir’s eyes were harder to read. He appeared calm on the surface, yet shadowed with something darker beneath. It was subtle, the kind of look that could be mistaken for disinterest but Ragnar knew better.
Something unmistakably dark was lurking underneath Laheir’s act of composure, and for a moment, it was clear for anyone to see if they knew what to look for.
Ragnar held the man’s gaze for only a while before looking away, returning his focus to his men.
By the time the prisoners were lined up and accounted for, the balcony was empty. The king and Laheir had vanished inside. Ragnar exhaled slowly, then turned to one of the guards. His gaze landed on the man bound in the center.
Gerard Morren, the rebel leader.
Even in defeat, Gerard’s stare was defiant, his chin raised though his hands trembled in the chains that bound them.
"Bring him to the throne room," Ragnar ordered. "The king will want to see the face of the man who’s cost him so many soldiers."
The guards hauled Gerard to his feet. The man stumbled once, then straightened, his lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. Ragnar ignored it and followed closely behind as they made their way through the palace corridors. The sound of their footsteps echoed in unison.
When the throne room doors swung open, the air changed. Silence fell, broken only by the faint creak of armor and the dragging of chains. Inside, the royal court was gathered—lords, ladies, and the royals all assembled beneath the gilded arches and marble pillars.
The king and queen sat upon their twin thrones at the dais.
Ragnar strode forward with measured confidence, stopping at the foot of the dais before bowing low.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice strong despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. "I present to you the leader of the rebellion. His name is Gerard Morren, and from this day onward, he is yours to do with as you please."
Two guards forced Gerard to his knees. The rebel glared up at the king with open defiance. freeweɓnovel.cѳm
Ragnar’s gaze lingered on the man for a heartbeat too long, long enough for another image to flash unbidden into his mind. It was of Circe kneeling in this very hall months ago, her head bowed before the throne. His chest tightened, but he pushed the memory aside, burying it beneath layers of composure.
A ripple passed through the court as the king rose from his throne.
In a very rare display, the corner of the king’s mouth curled up.
The smile that stretched across Zeriel’s face was wide and genuine. Every eye followed him as he descended the dais, the silence thick enough to make each step he took sound louder than it was.
He stopped in front of Ragnar and placed a hand on his shoulder, his expression one of open approval.
"I had my doubts when you first brought me your reports," Zeriel said, his voice carrying easily through the throne room. "But I should have known better. You have never failed me, Ragnar. You bring victory to our name."
Ragnar stiffened slightly, unsure how to respond. His father’s praise was rare, and the warmth in his tone still caught him off guard.
Then the king’s voice rose, still speaking directly to Ragnar but now also addressing the court as well. "Over the years, you have served this kingdom with unwavering loyalty and strength. You’ve shown discipline where others faltered, and bravery where others fled. A kingdom such as ours," he said, pausing deliberately, "would flourish under the leadership of someone like you, my son."
The words hung heavily in the air.
A stunned hush swept through the hall. The courtiers exchanged looks of disbelief, shock painted on everyone’s faces.
Even the queen’s face froze. But even as she rushed to school her expression, her eyes still betrayed a flicker of shock as they all took in the king’s words.
Ragnar, for his part, stood rigid, his pulse hammering beneath his calm exterior.
The king had all but declared him as his successor in front of everyone with those words.
Among the gathered crowd, only one man did not look surprised. At the far end of the hall, Jayran stood by a few courtiers, a smug smirk curling his lips. He didn’t even try to hide it.
He stood with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, looking like a man who knew he had already won. It was not a smile of joy, but of satisfaction. It was the look of a man who had just watched a carefully laid plan fall perfectly into place.
Just then, his twin brother glanced over at him, and when Jayran noticed Azul’s gaze lingering on him suspiciously, his smile only widened, twisting into something cruel and mocking.
"I won," that smile seemed to say.
Azul had always been the unshakable one among the princes. He had a remarkable talent for provoking others while maintaining his icy composure.
When they were younger, Jayran often joked that Azul behaved as though he had no soul at all.
But now, with the threat of losing nearly everything looming over them, Jayran saw something he had never seen before. He saw true and unrestrained anger burning in Azul’s eyes and it made him look terrifying.
