Royal Revenge

The room seemed to shrink with every passing hour. My throat was parched, and my muscles ached from tension I couldn’t shake. It wasn’t the size of the room, really—it was the ever growing silence. I had been waiting for something, someone, anyone to come by, to tell me what to do, but nobody came. The absence of everything weighed down on me, thick and oppressive. It was as if the world had forgotten I was there.

I sat at the edge of the bed, eyes locked on the window, high and sealed tight. The thought of smashing it and jumping out crossed my mind, but the sheer drop to the garden below made my stomach twist. That, and the nagging fear that even if I did manage to escape, there would be no salvation outside these walls.

Every slow minute turned into hours, and the hours stretched into days. I didn’t know exactly how long it had been since I’d had a single drop of water. It felt longer than just two days, though my mind was hazy, time blending together in a thick fog of thirst and hunger. My lips were cracked, and every swallow felt like sandpaper. I stared at the bathroom for what felt like an eternity, considering something so foul that my body ached and begged me not to.

I got up, staggering toward the door, but it remained as it had been: locked, silent, uncaring. I pressed my forehead against it, praying, but to no avail. I just stood there, waiting, willing something—anything—to change. But nothing did.

The hunger gnawed at me, but the thirst was worse, far worse. My whole body ached for water, my mind running in circles, trying to find solutions that didn’t exist.

I went back to the window, still locked and high. It was my only connection to the world outside, but it might as well have been miles away. My eyes traced the smooth glass, the way the moonlight spilled in, casting long shadows across the floor. I’d felt trapped my whole damn life, but this time, it was more than a feeling—it was a stone-hard reality.

Another day passed, or maybe it didn’t—I couldn’t tell. The light from the window shifted, then faded, then returned again. The wait was suffocating, the weight of my powerlessness crushing. My body was weak, my thoughts fragmented. Not even at the orphanage had I ever felt so alone, so powerless.

That’s when I heard it.

A sharp tap, faint but unmistakable, coming from the window. My heart leaped in my chest as I stumbled toward it, half delirious, unsure if I was imagining the sound. But then it came again—clearer this time.

I blinked, squinting into the darkness, and saw him. The dark young man, hanging from a rope, his face tense but focused. His hand was raised, gesturing for me to move back and keep silent. I did, too dazed to think, and with a single swing of his leg, he kicked the window hard. The glass shattered, sending shards flying across the room.

I flinched but couldn’t tear my eyes away as he swung himself inside, landing with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. He wore dark, practical leather armor, a pack slung across his back. His sharp eyes scanned the room before locking onto mine.

“They’re trying to starve you to death,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

“Water,” I croaked, my voice barely more than a rasp. I could feel how broken I sounded, my throat burning, each word scraping painfully. “Water...”

His lips twitched slightly, though there was no humor in it. He reached into his pack and pulled out a waterskin, tossing it to me. “Here. Drink fast, but not all of it. We don’t have much time.”

I tore it open with trembling hands, greedily gulping down the water. It was cold, sweet, and tasted like life itself. I could feel it flooding through me, dulling the sharp edge of my thirst, though the hunger still gnawed at my belly. But I could think again. I could breathe.

He watched me closely, his expression unreadable. “We need to leave, now,” he said, glancing toward the shattered window. “Someone probably heard that.”

I wiped my mouth, already feeling my strength returning. “So I should just trust you?”

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have other options?”

I glanced around the room—at the broken window, at the door still firmly shut, at the oppressiveness hanging in the air. I didn’t answer. He was right. I had no other choice.

“Thought so,” he muttered, already moving back toward the window. “And stop looking so pitiful. You’re a Vamyr now, and a king one at that—you’ll be fine.” He secured the rope and gestured for me to follow. “Come on. I’ll go first. Don’t look down.”

He climbed out, moving with the same fluid confidence I’d seen before. I hesitated, my hands gripping the broken window’s edge. My legs shook, and my head spun at the thought of the drop below, but I forced myself to follow. There was no turning back.

Each step down the rope felt like it took forever. My fingers burned, my arms ached, but I couldn’t afford to stop. I peeked down once, just to see where he had gone, but the sight of the garden below made me dizzy. I shut my eyes, focusing on the feel of the rope under my hands, and kept going.

When I finally reached a ledge two stories down, he grabbed my arm and pulled me through an open window. I collapsed onto the stone floor, breathing hard.

“Not bad,” he muttered, though there was a flicker of something like approval in his eyes. “But we need to keep—”

The door to the room slammed open with a force that shook the walls. I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Standing in the doorway, his face twisted in fury, was the commanding man from the World Tree. His eyes weren’t on me—they were locked on the other boy.

“You,” the man growled, his voice dripping with venom. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Before I could even process what was happening, the boy moved. In a flash, he had a short sword drawn, the blade gleaming in the dim light. He lunged forward, faster than I could follow, and drove the sword deep into the man’s chest.

The old man gasped, his eyes wide with shock as the boy kicked him to the ground, blood pouring from the wound. He knelt, clamping a hand over the man’s mouth, silencing his final, gurgling breaths.

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the faint drip of blood pooling on the floor.

He stood, wiping the blade on the man’s robes, his face cold and emotionless. “We don’t have time for this,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “Let’s go.”

I stared at the body, my mind reeling, but he was right.

There was no time.