Chapter 5 The Game of Power

The heavy, damp air of the underground chamber clung to Zazeal as he entered, his footsteps soft, deliberate. A simple meal-a bowl of stew and bread-rested in his hand, the aroma of it drifting faintly in the cold, still air. His boots scraped gently against the stone floor, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence.

Queen Alendra sat on the far side of the chamber, her posture rigid as ever, but her once-immaculate robes now threadbare and worn. Her hands were folded in her lap, eyes fixed ahead but unseeing. She'd long since stopped asking for freedom, stopped pleading for her life. She knew now that no plea would reach Zazeal's hardened heart.

But even after all these years, she could not help but question.

Zazeal approached the stone slab where she sat, placing the food before her without a word. His gaze was cold, his face unreadable as always. For five years, this had been their routine. Five years of silence, of him delivering food and tending to her needs while offering nothing in return but disdain.

Alendra picked up the bowl, inspecting it as though it held the secrets of the universe. She didn't need to ask where the food came from; she knew it was Zazeal who made sure it reached her. Yet, his actions were nothing more than a show of power-a reminder that he controlled her fate.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. It wasn't a plea, not anymore. It was a statement, a question she had waited to ask for years. She had seen the way he ruled-efficient, ruthless, without hesitation-and yet, she still lived. Why?

Zazeal paused, his hand hovering over the door as if he considered leaving without a word. Instead, he turned back to her, his eyes narrowing.

"Because I need you to hear the stories," he said, his tone flat, emotionless. "You need to hear of what I've accomplished. What you could never have accomplished."

Alendra's brows furrowed slightly. She had long since stopped expecting love from Zazeal, but the bitterness in his voice cut deeper than the years of imprisonment. She had known him when he was young-when he had looked at his father with a mixture of admiration and jealousy, a boy hungry for power. Now, that hunger had consumed him.

"You've done nothing but take," she retorted, her voice steady despite the venom in it. "Nothing but destroy. What has your kingdom become under your rule, Zazeal? What legacy will you leave behind?"

Zazeal stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made Alendra's breath catch. "A kingdom of strength," he said. "A kingdom that no one dares to challenge. In five years, I have built an empire stronger than any that has come before it. The streets that once echoed with the cries of the oppressed now sing songs of my greatness. The farmers you looked down upon-those very same men now bow at my feet, their loyalty unquestionable."

His voice rose slightly, the weight of his words filling the chamber. "I have done in five years what others failed to do in decades. I have brought unity to this fractured land. I have forged alliances with kingdoms you thought would never bend. I have conquered lands that you, Queen, believed were out of reach."

Alendra's gaze sharpened. She could see the truth in his words, but it made her sick. He was no better than the tyrants he had replaced.

"And yet, you cannot rule yourself," she said, her voice rising now, a challenge in her words. "You may have built an empire, Zazeal, but you cannot even see the weakness in your own heart."

Zazeal's expression darkened, but he didn't flinch. "You misunderstand me, Alendra. I don't rule with my heart. I rule with my power."

He turned away from her then, pacing in the dim light, his back to her. "The kingdom you once knew is gone. The people are no longer subject to the whims of a noble class. They work, they toil, and they thrive under my reign. The land is strong. The people are strong."

He paused, turning slightly to look over his shoulder, his eyes cold and calculating. "And you? You are alive, not because of mercy, but because I need you to see this. To witness the rise of my empire, and to understand that your kingdom-your ideals-are dead."

Alendra's eyes narrowed, but she didn't respond immediately. Instead, she studied him, searching for any hint of the boy she had once known, the son she had raised. But he was gone. All that remained was this cold, calculating monarch-one who ruled with an iron fist, not out of necessity, but out of sheer will.

Zazeal's voice softened, but only just. "I could have killed you a hundred times over. I've had the opportunity. But I didn't. Not because I feared you, but because you must understand. I am not the boy you knew. I am not a prince, a son in need of approval. I am the king. I am the one who decides who lives and who dies."

Alendra watched him, her lips pressing together in a thin line. She had once believed that there was goodness in him-that he could be redeemed. But now, she understood. Zazeal didn't want redemption. He wanted power. And nothing would stop him from taking it.

"You're afraid," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "Afraid of what you've become."

Zazeal turned sharply, his eyes flashing with fury. "Afraid?" His laugh was bitter, hollow. "I am beyond fear. I have done what others thought impossible. I've taken the throne that was denied to me and built a kingdom from the ashes. I have no fear, Alendra. I have nothing left to lose."

He crossed the room, his steps deliberate, and leaned in close, his voice low and dangerous. "You will live, but only to hear the stories of my greatness. Of the empire I've forged. You will be here to witness the power I've claimed, and to understand that no one-not even you-can stop me now."

Alendra swallowed, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. She had always known that Zazeal was dangerous, but now, more than ever, she understood the depth of his ambition. There was no stopping him. Not now. Not in the future.

The silence in the room was deafening, filled with the unspoken truth that hung between them.

Zazeal turned to leave, his figure silhouetted against the doorframe. "I'll return tomorrow," he said, his voice distant, almost as if he were speaking to no one in particular. "And I'll bring more stories of my empire."

The door creaked shut behind him, and Alendra was left alone once more, the echoes of his words still ringing in the chamber.

Power. He had taken everything she had once known and twisted it into something unrecognizable. Her kingdom, her son, her hope-all had fallen to his ambition. And now, she was nothing more than a prisoner in his tale of conquest.

But even in the darkness, a flicker of resistance burned within her. She might be captive, but she was not broken. And one day, she would find a way to tear his empire apart.