Chapter 145: The Price of Treason
Eiren’s POV
"They killed Lydia," Kaevian muttered under his breath for what felt like the hundredth time, his hollow eyes fixed on his sister’s severed head mounted atop a wooden spike in the center of the square.
Beside him, Eiren stood motionless, his fists clenched tightly in the folds of his threadbare cloak as a heavy sigh escaped his lips.
When the Tower of Prosperity’s magical displacement blast had hurled them off into the desolate mountains, waking up alive was the last thing either of them expected.
But returning to Katula only to discover that the siege had completely failed, their entire faction had been slaughtered, and their own faces were plastered on every street corner with massive bounties on their heads felt worse than death itself.
"We can’t stay in Katula," Kaevian whispered frantically, biting his remaining crooked fingernails down until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. "This city is a death trap for us... they butchered my sister without a shred of mercy and made a public mockery of her corpse!"
Eiren remained silent. His aunt’s head was nowhere to be seen among the displayed traitors, which meant one of two things: either she had been struck down and her body lost in the chaos, or she had been executed so brutally that nothing recognizable remained.
Regardless of her fate, Eiren knew one truth with absolute certainty—he and Kaevian were the sole survivors of their fallen group, and the kingdom was actively hunting for their necks.
"How could our master plan fail so miserably?!" Kaevian groaned in frustration, burying his face in his trembling hands before snapping his gaze toward Eiren. "I genuinely believed our alliance with Elysium was foolproof! How did we end up reduced to stray dogs?!"
Eiren finally spoke, his voice barely audible beneath the heavy hood shading his face. "We underrated our enemies," he muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. "We vastly underestimated the consort and the prince. The spatial emergency spell inside the Tower of Prosperity saved us, but we are back in a transformed Katula, empty-handed and defeated." He reached up, clutching a handful of his own hair in sheer agony.
"If only I had accepted the offer they gave me before..." Tears welled in Eiren’s eyes, hot streams spilling down his cheeks. "I could be resting comfortably in a private estate the prince would have provided for me and my aunt! How did I let everything slip away?! Why did it have to end like this?!"
Kaevian grabbed Eiren by the shoulders, spinning him around with a fierce glare. "Stop whining about what’s lost! What is wrong with you?!" he hissed through gritted teeth, casting a dark look back toward his sister’s spike. "We need to focus on vengeance. We need to make the prince suffer for what he did to our family."
Kaevian leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a faint murmur. "I caught a rumor on the streets, and I know it’s legitimate. Seraphel is preparing to travel to Verolona. With your Illusion and disguise magic, we can easily fool the border guards into letting us pass. Once we are in Verolona, all we have to do is ambush Seraphel and slaughter him. It will break the king’s mind! It will completely ruin him!"
A dark spark flickered in Eiren’s chest. Aside from wealth and high status, the only thing he had ever truly coveted was Prince Azriel. He had even turned traitor in the desperate hope that his schemes would elevate him into the position of Azriel’s favored lover.
Fate had continuously turned against him, especially after Seraphel entered the picture. But hearing Kaevian’s plot ignited a fresh wave of hope.
If he eliminated Seraphel, he could finally eradicate the obstacle between them, find a way back into Azriel’s graces, and claim his rightful place as noble consort.
"Your plan is brilliant," Eiren murmured softly.
He reached into his robes and pulled out a small, glazed ceramic skin flask filled with water. Taking a long swig to steady his frayed nerves, he wiped his lips and passed it over to Kaevian, who drank from it.
"So, are you in?" Kaevian asked, tossing the empty skin flask back to Eiren, who tucked it away inside his heavy travel pouch. "We must leave Katula immediately—our old lives here are dead. We can build new identities across the border in Verolona, start fresh, and..."
Kaevian abruptly cut his sentence short as a surge of noise echoed through the bustling market square.
Dozens of citizens began gathering around the execution platform, shaking their fists and spitting at Lydia’s severed head.
"Burn in hell, you traitorous scum!" a vendor spat.
"Good riddance! The darkness looming over our kingdom is finally being purged!" a woman shouted from the crowd.
"It’s not over yet!" an old veteran chimed in loudly. "Her sniveling brother is still out there, and what about that scheming boy, Eiren?!"
"I want to see both their heads mounted right beside hers!" a voice roared, prompting the entire crowd to erupt into synchronized chants for blood.
Cold sweat broke out across Eiren’s neck. Kaevian was right—lingering in Katula for even another minute meant suicide. He reached out, taking Kaevian’s arm to pull him away, but as he spun on his heel, he slammed hard into the shoulder of a passing brute.
"Watch where you’re—" Eiren started to apologize instinctively, but the impact jarred his head back, causing his deep hood to slip down onto his shoulders.
His wide, panicked eyes locked straight into the eyes of the passerby.
The man stared back, his expression shifting from annoyance to sharp realization. "You... You’re Eiren!" the man screamed, his voice booming over the noisy market square. "It’s the traitor from the wanted posters!"
In an instant, the ambient noise of the market vanished, replaced by dozens of angry heads snapping toward them.
Eiren’s heart hammered violently against his ribs, a cold wave of dread paralyzing his limbs. He knew what awaited him if these people grabbed him.
Just weeks ago, he was bathing in luxury, entertaining the court, and sucking the prince’s Cock. Now, having plotted against the royal consort, the prince he loved wanted him dead, and the enraged mob was eager to tear his flesh apart and put his skull on a spike.
"It’s really him! It’s Eiren!" someone yelled, pointing a trembling finger.
"If that’s Eiren, then the snake beside him is Kaevian!" another shouted.
The crowd began surging forward like a tidal wave, drawing blades and grabbing wooden clubs from nearby stalls.
Kaevian gripped Eiren’s wrist with a frantic, bone-crushing strength, yanking him backward toward the narrow alleyways.
"RUN!"