A traitor to be executed. 

That’s what Walker Haines was to Kaidos, his kingdom. To his father. And while he stood in the shadows, shackled in the same tailored finery he wore fourteen days ago, he waited. 

Hands met rusted metal bars, the scent of damp earth searing his nostrils as he pressed his face against them, peering into the darkness. 

Cell upon cell upon cell, he was alone. 

Dim light spilled onto the landing, a pale orange flickering across the walls. The very walls he grew up in. One after the other, stoned steps spiraled toward marble floors. Toward luxury.

Toward death. 

And not a sound in the air.

Nothing but the same droplet of water in the corner since he’d arrived––_drip, drip, drip. _It was the only sound that had kept him sane in the dungeon, but he’d lost count of how many had fallen after the fifth day. 

Still, he waited.

He knew she’d come for him, his sister Lyla. She always did, regardless of how many times she was punished for it––locked in the north tower with no food for a week. 

He’d be whipped, she’d care for his wounds—an endless cycle it seemed. 

This time would be no different, even if it meant risking her own suffering. A part of him wished she didn’t, but each time she did, he loved her more.  

Perhaps his father knew she’d attempt to unshackle him, locking her away too. And since his execution was set for dawn in two days, he'd lost hope that Lyla would come at all. Not that Walker had much hope left anyway.

But with it was his happiness. Freedom. 

And he’d wasted it on aiding the enemy. Though thinking back on it now…well, he’d do it again if it meant the people of Wynthril were free of his father’s fire. 

The Aurens, the very people his kingdom was hunting.

Wrists burning, metal clinked as he dropped his hands and sighed. Hunger gnawed at him, his stomach twisting with it despite eating the moldy bread earlier, picking off what was edible. It wasn’t enough.

Sliding down the wall once again, chains smacked against the damp ground as he settled himself, drawing his knees to his chest. Fingers grazed his aching wrists, eyes focused on the magic-smothering shackles that kept his power at bay. 

Power that caused nothing but destruction, his father being proof of that as Wynthril burned beyond their borders. 

One of three neighboring kingdoms. 

He’d spent a year aiding their enemy, dismantling his father’s throne in the shadows. But if Walker died, everything he’d worked for would go with him. 

Wynthril would fall and the Aurens would continue to suffer the same abuse he did. What his mother and sister receive. What his past lovers received. 

His father was the King of Shades.

Though the longer he sat, time became a construct––seconds blending into hours, eyes drooping heavy with exhaustion. 

Then the faintest of footfalls echoed in the silence, quick breaths brushing the air. Walker stumbled to his feet then, gripping the bars as he peered down the corridor. 

A darkened silhouette emerged from the spiraled stairs, curls bouncing as she strode for his cell on pattering feet. His heart raced, eyeing the metal keys in her grasp and let out a long breath. She’d come for him, just as she always did.

“Lyla.” He croaked, clearing his throat. 

“We––we have to hurry.” Her voice wavered.

Hands trembling, she fumbled with the keys before finding the one she wanted and jammed it into the lock, twisting. The creaking metal swung wide.