Chapter 3 Pain

Selena stood just down the corridor, her pale blue eyes locked on him like she was studying a memory she couldn't place. She watched him intently, lips slightly parted. There was something familiar in the way he moved. In the weight of his gaze. But she couldn't name it.

James gave her the briefest nod. She didn't return it, just continued to stare, lost in thought.

Heavy footsteps interrupted his spiral.

Draven entered, his smile casual, his presence suffocating.

He looked at them, and smirked. "Getting close, are we?"

James straightened, masking his fury. "Of course. She's... a remarkable woman."

Draven chuckled and stepped closer. "I think so too. I plan to make her my queen one day. She'll bear strong heirs. Bloodthorn pups."

Then, with casual cruelty, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Selena's cheek. His hand settled on her shoulder, possessive and uninvited.

James's chest turned to ice.

His hands curled into fists behind his back. His mind was screaming. That's your sister. That's your sister.

But his face remained still, composed, a mask carved from stone.

He forced a tight smile. "You're a lucky man."

James sat there watching them unable to move.

The fury inside him had changed. It was no longer wild or reckless. It was focused. Sharpened.

This was no longer a fight for justice.

This was war.

"Time to go," he barked, striding toward Draven, who lounged in indifference on his stone throne, swirling wine in his goblet as if time bent to his will.

"We're due at the slave camp," Varek added, his tone edged with impatience.

Draven barely spared him a glance. "I won't be going today," he said, waving lazily. "Take Garrick. Let him see what we rule. Let him feel the weight of blood and chains."

James, hidden beneath the identity of Garrick, stepped forward without hesitation.

"I'm ready."

"I'll come too," Selena said, her voice firm as she stepped beside him.

James turned, surprised. "Are you sure?"

She met his eyes. "Yes. I want to see it with my own eyes."

So they rode, Varek leading, James and Selena close behind, down twisted, dusty paths flanked by dying trees and scorched grass. As they neared the camp, a voice rose like a war cry, loud and raw, ripping through the still air.

"Are you going to keep living like this?!" the voice shouted. "Aren't you tired of being slaves? Tired of the chains, the hunger, the suffering?!"

They rounded a bend, and there she stood.

She was barefoot, standing on a splintered crate. Her torn dress clung to her dust-streaked body, but her eyes... they burned. Fire and defiance radiated from her as she screamed into the open air, her fists trembling, her voice thick with pain and fury.

James froze.

The world tilted. She wasn't just a slave, she was a storm wrapped in skin. Beautiful, yes, but not in any delicate way. She was bold. Wild. Unbroken. A spark that refused to die.

"That's Sara," Selena said softly. "She's an orphan. Been here for years. Stronger than most men I know."

But before James could reply, Lord Varek's face twisted into rage. With a growl, he charged forward, grabbed Sara mid-sentence, and threw her to the ground. Without hesitation, he began to strike her.

She cried out, curling in pain, but refused to beg. Her eyes remained defiant even as blood pooled beneath her lip.

Varek left her on the ground "your death is not too far you orphan"

You will soon join your parents, He said and walked away

James froze, stunned by her strength even in pain he couldn't stop staring at her in excitement.

His awe turned to horror as he looked around. The other slaves, bones visible under torn skin, some collapsed from exhaustion. Then, two young men. Dead. Unburied. Unnoticed.

And then... a child. She staggered toward him, eyes hollow, whispering, "I'm hungry."

James' heart shattered. He reached for her, but Varek shoved the girl aside like trash.

"Die, you're of no use," he growled.

That was it.

James turned, trembling with rage. "I want to go back. Now."

"You pity slaves?" Varek taunted. "Then you are no Bloodthorn."

James didn't answer. He mounted his horse and galloped back without a word.

In the solitude of his chamber, he slammed the door shut and collapsed. The mask of Garrick fell away, and James wept. Rage. Grief. Powerlessness. His people, beaten, starved, forgotten. He had seen it before, but never like this. Never this close.

But there was no room for weakness.