Back at the broken temple site, the king paced leisurely, admiring the ruin as though it were a gallery. The glow from the sigil reflected faintly in his pale eyes.
"Bring him out," the king ordered without looking.
Two demon wolves, larger than the others, materialized from the shadows. Between them, they dragged the prisoner forward.
Marcus.
He was fully awake now, barely, head lolling, eyes glassy but open. Blood stained the edges of his shirt where the enchanted vines had dug into his skin, but he hadn't made a sound—not a whimper, not a curse.
The king looked down at him almost fondly. "You're stronger than I expected."
Marcus coughed, voice raw. "If you… touch her… I'll tear you apart."
The king laughed softly, as though Marcus had just told him a charming joke.
"Oh, I intend to do far worse," he said with a silk-soft cruelty. "Not just to her—but to every single one of you."
