My head throbbed, a dull counterpoint to the roaring in my ears that wasn't the rush of a river, but the frantic pulse of my own blood.

Disoriented and blinking away the afterimages of the spell, I stumbled to my feet. But before I could dwell on the bittersweet escape, a wave of nausea crashed over me. The violent sensation of Elyse’s magic had ripped through my stomach, and I doubled over, emptying my guts onto the floor. Dry heaves wracked my body as tears welled in my eyes.

Slowly, the nausea subsided, leaving me weak and shaky. As I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, I dared to look around.

We were no longer in the throne room. Instead, we stood in a vast, luxuriously furnished space. Gilded furniture gleamed in the soft light emanating from crystal chandeliers overhead. Thick carpets muffled the sound of our ragged breaths, and ornately framed paintings adorned the walls. Beneath each portrait, a caption in elegant script declared them: "Family Di Fiore."

Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn't the escape route I’d envisioned. Were we still trapped within the castle walls, teleported to some opulent prison cell? My heart hammered against my ribs as I scanned the room, searching for any sign of danger.

My gaze darted towards the others.

Finn knelt beside an unconscious Elyse, his brow furrowed with worry as he checked her pulse. Kass lay sprawled on the plush carpet a few feet away, her face green with nausea as she fought back the urge to vomit. They looked as bewildered as I felt. Across the room, Isaac was in a similar state, groaning as he emptied his stomach onto the floor. His face was pale and clammy, his usually bright eyes dull with misery.

Then, a touch. A warm, calloused hand engulfed mine, anchoring me to the present. A gruff voice, laced with a tremor of relief, sliced through the fog in my mind.

"Kira?"

Fighting through the haze, I forced my eyes open. The face that swam into view was weathered and etched with worry – Father. Relief slammed into me, a tidal wave of pure joy that nearly stole my breath. Tossing aside the throbbing pain, I lunged forward, burying my face in the familiar comfort of his chest.

The scent of woodsmoke and leather, a comforting haven in the storm of confusion that had been my recent experience, filled my senses.

"Father!" I cried, my voice thick with emotion. The sound of it startled a sob out of me, a tear escaping to trace a glistening path down my cheek.

"There you are, dear. I thought I'd lost you." He pulled me into him, his calloused fingers brushing away the tear with a gentleness that belied his weathered exterior.

He held me tight, his arms surprisingly strong for a man that had been a prisoner for the past few months. "Kira, my brave girl," he murmured, his voice rough with disuse.

In that moment, the world melted away. There were no whispers of rebellion, no chilling tales of the King's cruelty. There was only the simple, profound joy of reunion, the warmth of family in the face of uncertainty. We held onto each other, a silent promise hanging heavy in the air – we would face whatever came next, together.

Pulling back just enough to look into his face, my frantic search began. On Caleb and William, the King's mark – the vicious cuts he passed on through the soul bond – marred their forearms. But my father's arms, tanned and weathered, were unmarked. Hope flared, a fragile flame in the darkness.

"Father," I whispered, my voice trembling with urgency. "They didn't… they didn't bind you to the King, did they?"

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Ah, that," he said with a sad chuckle. "No, child. They interrogated me, of course, about the scrolls, about the rebellion. They weren't gentle, mind you, but they never…" He paused, a flicker of bitterness crossing his features. "Perhaps they saw me as an asset, not a threat. They’d been… consulting with me lately."

My blood ran cold. "Consulting?" I echoed, my voice barely a whisper.

"Indeed," my father continued, oblivious to my growing unease. "They seem interested in the rebellion's tactics, their weaknesses. But fear not, Kira. I've learned a thing or two about playing their games in all these months."

His words, though laced with forced confidence, sent shivers down my spine. Was this some elaborate trap? Was my father truly playing a dangerous game, or had the King broken him in a way that left unseen scars?

The questions hammered in my head, each one a fresh blow. But one thing was clear – the King had access to our plans, and now, perhaps, a valuable pawn in their midst.

Suddenly, a voice, smooth and cultured, startled me out of my frantic thoughts.

"Miss Erin, it seems the journey has taken its toll on you."

I whipped around, my hand instinctively flying to the dagger strapped to my belt.

A man stood a few paces away, his face etched with concern. He was dressed in a servant's uniform, a stark contrast to the opulence surrounding us. Time had etched lines on his weathered face, a testament to countless feasts served and whispered secrets kept. His salt-and-pepper hair was receding, leaving a neat fringe that framed his piercing blue eyes.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice hoarse. "Where are we?"

Before the man could answer, Erin, pale but composed, rose from the floor with the help of the servant's outstretched hand.

"We're at home, Kira," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "My home. Elyse brought us here."

_Home? _Erin, the fiery rebel who had denounced the very foundation of this luxurious lifestyle, claiming it was built on the backs of the oppressed – she lived in a place like this?

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Stop the cruel jokes, Erin," I spat, my voice laced with anger and suspicion.

Then, a memory surfaced, a chilling echo of the king's words. He had spoken of a gift, a present Erin delivered on her last visit. He had talked about her parents with a familiarity that sent shivers down my spine.

Fury, a venomous serpent, coiled in my gut. Who was this woman we had fought beside, bled beside? A Traitor? A Double agent? The questions hammered in my head, a relentless drumbeat.

Before I could restrain myself, I lunged.

Erin, caught off guard, crumpled to the floor with a surprised gasp. The cold steel of my dagger pressed against her throat, a silent scream in the opulent room.

The servant next to her lurched back with a gasp. His face, pale and drawn, reflected the horror that mirrored my own.

"Who are you?" I hissed, my voice barely a strangled whisper. "Who have you been working for all this time? Did the King invite us here for tea and crumpets? Or perhaps he just wanted to offer you a promotion for your stellar performance?"

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

She struggled against me, her eyes pleading for a moment of reason through the haze of my anger. "If you could just take your knife away and let me explain!" she rasped, her voice tight with desperation.

The dagger trembled in my hand, the weight of my burning questions and the blade suddenly feeling unbearable. Could there be more to the story? Could Erin be on our side, caught in a web of secrets spun by the tyrannical king?

Hesitantly, I lowered the point of the dagger, my gaze never leaving hers.

"Explain," I rasped, my voice barely above a whisper. "And for the sake of all we've fought for, let it be the truth."

My eyes remained locked on Erin's, searching for any hint of deceit.

Erin, her voice ragged, turned to the servant. "Edgar, could you please bring us some water and bandages?"

The servant, Edgar, his eyes still wide with fear from witnessing the outburst, nodded curtly and scurried out of the room.

The tension in the air hung thick as fog. I lowered the dagger completely, my hand dropping limply to my side. Shame burned in my gut, a hot coal alongside the lingering confusion.

"Explain," I rasped, my voice barely above a whisper.

Erin sat up slowly, gingerly rubbing her throat where the tip of the dagger had pressed.

She didn't seem to know where to start. "This is my house," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "I own it. It used to be my family's."

My breath hitched. Erin's family? Here, in this opulent monstrosity that reeked of the king's tyranny?

"It's complicated," Erin said, her voice barely a whisper. "My father... he serves the King as an advisor. He and my mother, they live in the castle now."

Her father was an advisor to the King? The revelation sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing through me. What secrets did this house hold? What dark machinations did her father whisper in the King's ear?

"An advisor?" I spat, the word dripping with disgust. "Your father sits at the King's right hand, whispering secrets into his ear, advising him on how to crush the rebellion, while you waltz around in this opulent chamber, playing the part of the loyal friend? Forgive me, Erin, but this reeks of manipulation!"

My voice echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the polished marble floor and the gilded tapestries that adorned the walls. The air crackled with a tension so thick it felt like I could taste it. Erin flinched as if I'd struck her. But her eyes, red-rimmed and filled with a raw vulnerability, held no deceit. There was pain there, a deep, festering wound that mirrored the one blossoming in my own chest.

"It's not what you think, Kira," Erin whispered, her voice barely audible above the frantic pounding of my own heart. "Please, you have to believe me."

Believe her? How could I? Trust was a fragile thing, easily shattered. And Erin, the woman I'd considered a friend, a comrade, had just revealed a colossal secret, a secret that rewrote everything I thought I knew about her and our fight for freedom.

Tears welled up in Erin's eyes, spilling over and tracing glistening tracks down her cheeks. The sight of her pain, so genuine and raw, momentarily disarmed me. But the anger, the betrayal I felt, still burned hot.

"Explain this, then," I demanded, my voice hoarse. "Explain how your father, a supposed advisor to the King, allows you such freedom to mingle with rebels? Does the King enjoy a good laugh at our expense, watching us squirm like rats in a cage?"

Disbelief hung thick in the air, a suffocating shroud mirroring the turmoil in my gut. Erin's revelation shattered the carefully constructed image of the fiery rebel I knew.

Kass, Finn and Isaac, their faces mirroring my own disgust, exchanged a wary glance.

The creak of the door announced Edgar returning. His face was etched with concern as stepped into the room, holding a water carafe and a roll of bandages clutched in his calloused hands.

Erin gestured towards to my father, Finn, Kass and Isaac, who sat huddled together on the floor next to Elyse.

"See to them first," she said, her voice hoarse but steady.

Edgar nodded curtly, his gaze flickering between us for a moment before he moved towards the others. Kneeling beside them, he offered a reassuring smile.

Erin, her shoulders slumped and face etched with pain, pleaded with me. "Now, just listen, please. It's not what it seems."

Taking a shaky breath, she continued. "When Father got promoted to the King's advisor, we moved to the castle grounds. At first, I was blinded by the opulence, the endless feasts, the beautiful clothes. But that feeling didn't last."

Her voice grew quiet, a haunted tremor running through it. "The truth seeped in, whispers of the suffering beyond the castle walls, the iron fist of the King's rule. I hated it there."

"Your family," I said, the words laced with a hint of begrudging sympathy, "they were content with that life?"

Erin shook her head, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "Content? Hardly. Their world revolved around balls and political maneuvering. They wanted nothing more than to marry me off to some pompous baron or duke."

A spark of defiance flickered in Erin's eyes. "I refused. But I needed a way out, a way to escape my cage. One day, I met one of the king's young soldiers, Thomas. We became friends, and he saw the fire in my soul, the yearning for something more. He told me about Falcata."

Falcata. The elite academy, a breeding ground for the king's most loyal guard dogs. My stomach clenched.

Erin's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I knew it was a gamble, a chance encounter with rebellion disguised as blind ambition. I lied to my parents, told them I was accepted into some prestigious university far away. The training was brutal, but it fueled my resolve. It was there I met others, rebels disguised as loyalists, and together, we formed a resistance within the very heart of the King's domain. It was where I met Caleb."

My face fell. Caleb at Falcata? Was he a true believer, a wolf in sheep's clothing who had infiltrated the King's ranks for the purpose of dismantling the system from within? Or was there another explanation, a more cynical one? Had he simply used their resistance as a stepping stone to his own personal advancement?

Erin's voice, usually laced with spite, softened as she spoke of Caleb.

"He was...different from the others," she said, a hint of a wistful smile playing on her lips.

Different? That was one way to put it. A rebel simmering in the heart of the King's viper's nest – it defied logic.

"He dreamt of overthrowing the King," Erin continued, her eyes gleaming with a spark that mirrored the fire crackling in the hearth.

Overthrowing the King? The audacity of it both shocked and intrigued me. Caleb clearly had never been afraid to dream big.

"He actually talked like that?" I blurted out, unable to contain my surprise.

Erin's chuckle, dry and humorless, sent a shiver down my spine. "Like that and worse," she said.

A charismatic rebel with a way with words – a dangerous combination, especially within the King's ranks.

A spark flickered in Erin's eyes, a stark contrast to the weariness etched on her face. "He spoke of justice, of a world free from tyranny, even if it meant sacrificing himself."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We formed a small group, those of us who believed in Caleb's vision. We trained harder, pushed each other further, all the while plotting the King's downfall. It was a heady time, filled with hope."

"What about the others?" I leaned forward, my gaze intent on Erin. "Who were they?"

I doubted that Marcus, the gentle giant who had only joined the Ironfangs for the sake of his family or Finn, barely taller than my sword, were a part of the Elite Royal Guard back then.

Erin's eyes misted over, a stark contrast to the defiance that usually burned there. "There was a whole group of us who believed in the same cause. Just like us today," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

The weight of her words settled heavily on me. A larger rebellion brewing beneath the surface of Falcata? It fueled a flicker of hope, but it was quickly extinguished by the tremor in Erin's voice.

"But the King..." she trailed off, her gaze flickering to the fire as if seeking solace in the flickering flames. A tense silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken dread.

Finally, she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "He...executed most of them. Treason," she choked out, the word laced with a bitterness that sent a shiver down my spine.

The harsh reality of their situation slammed into me – a resistance brutally crushed, its members branded traitors and left to die.

"Caleb and I were the only ones who managed to escape," Erin finished, a hollow echo of her former defiance. Her eyes reflected a kaleidoscope of emotions – grief, anger, a flicker of hope that refused to be completely extinguished.