Chapter 109 Dangerous Truth
He opened his hand.
The silver dagger slipped from his grip, hitting the stone floor with a sharp, ringing clatter. It skidded across the floorboards, coming to a stop near Thorne’s heavy iron boots.
Thorne smiled, a nasty, triumphant twisting of his scarred face. He snapped his fingers.
"Bind him," Thorne barked. "Use the heavy iron. The suppressor chains."
Four guards rushed forward. They didn't just grab him; they tackled him. Klaus didn't fight back, but his sheer mass made it difficult for them to force him down. A steel gauntlet slammed into the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel on the cold stone.
"Klaus!" I screamed, lunging forward.
Two guards stepped into my path, their massive hands closing over my arms. The bruising, crushing grip of their steel gauntlets bit into my flesh through the sleeves of my ruined dress. I struggled wildly, kicking at their shins, twisting my torso, but I was nothing against their immortal strength.
"Do not touch her!" Klaus roared, his voice shaking the dust from the ceiling. He surged upward, tossing two of the armored guards off his back as if they were made of paper.
A heavy, rune-carved iron collar was suddenly slammed around his neck.
The metallic click of the locking mechanism was followed by a sickening sizzle. The runes burned hot against his pale skin. Klaus gasped, his eyes widening in shock as the suppressor iron immediately began to suffocate the magic in his blood. His strength vanished. He collapsed back to his knees, his head bowing as the heavy chains were locked into the collar and wrapped tightly around his chest and arms.
Through the bond, I felt the sickening, hollow drop of his power. It was like watching a fire being smothered by wet sand. The vibrant, steady thrum of his heartbeat grew faint, muffled by the suppressing metal.
I am fine, his voice whispered in my mind, weak but desperate to reassure me. Do not fight them, Nerissa. Save your strength.
I stopped struggling, my chest heaving as I stared at him. They had chained him like a rabid dog. The iron links dug into the fresh silver scars on his ribs, smearing his pale skin with fresh blood.
Thorne walked over to Klaus, looking down at him with undisguised contempt.
"The great Anchor," Thorne mocked, kicking Klaus’s side with the toe of his heavy boot. "You held the ocean, but you couldn't hold your own leash. Drag him up."
The guards hauled Klaus to his feet. He swayed slightly, the heavy iron weighing him down, but he lifted his head. His sapphire eyes, dulling slightly under the influence of the suppressor runes, locked onto mine. He didn't look at Thorne. He didn't look at the guards. He only looked at me.
"Bring the Siren," Thorne ordered, turning on his heel and marching toward the corridor. "The Emperor is waiting in the Throne Room."
The guards shoved me forward. I stumbled, my bare feet catching on the uneven stone, but the iron grips on my arms kept me upright. They dragged me out of the suite, out of the only sanctuary we had left, and into the freezing, torch-lit hallway.
The physical separation was an absolute agony.
As they marched Klaus down the corridor ahead of me, the distance between us stretched. The blood-bond, the invisible tether connecting our minds, pulled taut. It felt like a hooked chain buried deep in the center of my chest, dragging against my ribs. Every step that put more space between us sharpened the pain. I gasped, stumbling again, my hand flying to my chest as a wave of nausea rolled over me.
Breathe, his voice echoed faintly in my head, a distant, fading comfort. I am still here.
We marched through the winding, black marble corridors of the Citadel. The guards moved with a brutal, synchronized efficiency, their boots hammering a relentless rhythm against the stone. I kept my eyes fixed on Klaus’s broad back, watching the heavy iron chains swinging against his pale skin, watching the silver blood drip from his wrists.
The lords and ladies of the court lined the hallways. Word had spread rapidly. They stood in the shadows, their silk clothes rustling, whispering behind raised hands. They looked at Klaus with a mixture of horror and revulsion. The hero of the Empire was gone. In his place was a half-naked, scarred abomination branded with black veins.
I hated them. I hated their pristine clothes and their clear, unblemished skin. I wanted to open my throat and sing until their eardrums burst, until the black sludge filled their lungs and they choked on the rot they had forced Klaus to carry for three centuries.
But I kept my jaw locked. I kept the curse buried deep in my chest.
We reached the massive, towering obsidian doors of the Throne Room.
The guards halted. The air here was suffocating, thick with the smell of old blood, rotting orchids, and the cloying scent of fear.
Thorne stepped forward, placing his hands on the heavy bronze rings of the doors. He looked back at us, his scarred face twisting into a cold, expectant smile.
"The Emperor is not a forgiving man, Peregrine," Thorne said softly. "You chose the beast over the crown. Now, you pay the toll."