———————————— •.The Death King By Penelope Barsetti.• ————————————

Our kingdom refused to kneel. For years, the Death King had conquered every continent beyond the Iron Sea, his armies unmatched, his name enough to make entire cities surrender. But my father would not bend, would not pay tribute or yield land. He called the Death King a tyrant, a myth inflated by fear.

He was wrong.

The castle had begun to fall when the soldier found me. “The king is dead,” he said, eyes darting toward my father’s study.

I turned sharply toward the voice in the hallway. A soldier stood outside my father’s study—one I’d known all my life, though his name escaped me now. “General Vitton is in command. He’s ordered everyone to abandon the castle and regroup.”

“What did you say about my father?” My voice cracked. The castle trembled under the dragon’s assault. Stone groaned. Dust rained from the ceiling.

“The passage is blocked. Lieutenant Finney’s gone.” He looked back toward the study. “I’m sorry, Princess. Run. There’s nothing left for you here.”

He vanished into the chaos, leaving me in the shaking corridor. I stepped into the study, heart hammering.

Father was slumped over his desk—still in the chair where he once pored over maps while I read by the fire. I rushed to him, shook him. “Father!” But he was gone. A glass vial slipped from his hand, yellow droplets clinging to its bottom.

“No…” My knees buckled. Tears carved hot paths down my face.

Then—footsteps. Not the clink of a soldier’s armor. Heavy. Measured. Terrifying.

The castle fell silent.

The Death King entered, black armor dull and ominous. His men followed, their presence suffocating. He approached my father’s body, plucked the vial from his fingers.

He was beautiful in a way that made the soul shrink. Tall, broad, clad in black armor that swallowed the light. A sword crossed his back, but he didn’t need it. His presence alone was a weapon—cold, immense, deliberate. His black eyes scanned the room, falling on my father’s corpse with disdain.

“Nightshade,” he said coldly. “A coward’s respite.”

His soldier found me crouched behind the chair. “Ooh… she’s pretty,” he sneered, grabbing my throat.

I fought back, slashing his neck. He stumbled, bleeding, but another guard struck me down. Pain exploded across my face.

“Gut her like an elk.”

The sword was raised.

“Enough.”

The Death King’s voice stopped everything.

He looked at me, quiet and calculating. “She’s suffered enough. Let her go.”

His gaze lingered—cold, unreadable. “I’ve seen evil… but to leave his daughter behind like this?” He scoffed. “He was the true monster.”

He extended his hand. I didn’t take it.

I ran.

Through bloodied halls, past fallen soldiers, into the night—with nowhere left to go.