Chapter 93: The Fall of a Knight
"Duke, what are you doing? Is this why I helped you escape from here? Is this how you’re repaying me? Such a betrayal, I didn’t expect this from a knight as great as you," Sylvia shouted, her voice seething with anger, as Duke uttered words that he shouldn’t have. His sinister smile remained intact on his lips, which only served to infuriate her further.
"Princess, don’t be naive. You wanted me to save His Highness as well, and that’s precisely what I did. Why are you getting angry now? I simply followed your wishes," he smirked.
"Such a disloyal knight. Now I can’t help but wonder if you were involved in your own wife’s demise," Sylvia taunted. As the words left her lips, Duke clutched his chest suddenly, his face contorting in pain. He crumpled to his knees, his agony evident.
"Yeah, now you’re putting on an act? Impressive! You should be awarded for your incredible acting skills! You should be on the stage, not in this dungeon, you son of a..." Sylvia’s tirade was cut short as the guards forcefully dragged her away. She resisted vehemently, screaming and struggling, but her efforts were in vain.
"You son of a bitch! You’ll rot in hell. I curse you this very moment. You’ll face even greater betrayals than the one you’ve perpetrated now. Everyone will turn against you, and you’ll become the ultimate traitor, scorned by all, rather than a victim, you sly bastard," Sylvia shouted, her fury and frustration uncontainable.
"Get this crazy princess out of here. She’s getting on my nerves," Duke said, his face still devoid of emotion.
"She may have realized her mistake in trusting you bastards, but I haven’t. The prince won’t leave this place until the Emperor himself comes to negotiate with me," the ruler declared.
"The Emperor will come for you? Ha, stop making jokes. You’re not worth that much," Duke tried to provoke him once more.
"You think I’m joking? Then come and see for yourself," the ruler responded, leading the knights and Duke to a dark room. In the center of the room stood a tub filled with clear water, its surface reflecting the image of Crown Prince Maximus, who was trapped and appeared to be bleeding profusely.
"Can you see your prince? Doesn’t he look magnificent bleeding so profusely? No, it’s not ordinary blood, but royal blood. My mistake was calling him normal. So, how does it feel? Is it enjoyable to see him in this state, or do you want more?" the ruler inquired, displaying the harrowing reflection of Maximus. The Crown Prince’s hands were bound, and he was suspended by them, on his knees with his head bowed.
"How dare you force royalty to kneel?" one of the knights advanced, sword in hand.
"Calm down! Control your anger unless you wish to see your prince perish," the ruler’s voice turned ice-cold, and his resolve was palpable. The tension in the room was palpable, and the fate of the Crown Prince hung by a thread.