The dungeon was built deep in the lower levels of the manor, far from any light or warmth. The air was damp and stale, filled with the sll of rust, and old blood.
The wall sconces cast light along the path as Ragnar descended the narrow stairway, stretching his shadow long and jagged ahead of him. Each step echoed softly, a asured rhythm.
The guards stationed by the iron door bowed when they saw him approaching, their eyes wary. They had been ordered not to speak or interact with the detained man.
"Open it," Ragnar said quietly.
The guards sprang into action, rushing to obey. The hinges groaned in protest as the door swung open, revealing the cell beyond.
The dignitary was slumped against the wall, wrists bound by chains that clinked faintly when he stirred. His once-fine robes were now streaked with blood and dried sweat.
Ragnar stood by the threshold, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his shadow stretching long and crooked against the stone floor. There was no fury in his eyes now, just icy calm.
The kind of calm that turned grown n into stumbling fools.
He stepped inside quietly and signalled for the guards that were inside the cell to leave.
The door clicked shut, leaving just the two of them alone.
The dignitary raised his head weakly when Ragnar approached. He looked less like a representative of the king and more like a man who’d already t his end and simply hadn’t realized it yet.
"Your Highness," he said, his voice hoarse from disuse. "I trust you’ve co to see reason."
Ragnar’s steps were unhurried as he crossed the floor, the soft scrape of his shoes against the stone louder in the stillness than any shouted order could be.
He stopped a few paces from him. "I ca to seek the truth."
"Please," the man tried again, his voice breaking. "I’ve told your guards everything I know. I swear, I had nothing to do with that assassin. I didn’t even know him."
Ragnar said nothing. He simply studied him, his expression unreadable.
There was sothing far more dangerous in his silence than in his rage.
"Let us not waste ti," Ragnar continued. "Your companion tried to kill . A man who, by all accounts, was ready to die for it. Now, tell , why would a visiting dignitary risk his life conspiring with an assassin?"
The prisoner’s lips parted. "Conspire? I was just a guest in your ho. I had no hand in what that fool did. I swear on the Marzen’s throne."
"You’re very eager to swear on sothing sacred." His words held no inflection. "You forget that your oaths an nothing to ."
"Do you know what I find interesting?" Ragnar said finally, his tone almost conversational. "You and your companion demanded an explanation when I brought in the assassin’s corpse. You called what I did an outrage."
He took another slow step closer.
The man swallowed hard, his chains rattling faintly. "Because I am innocent, Your Highness. Any man in my place would have been horrified."
Ragnar crouched before him, the movent controlled and graceful. His eyes t the man’s unfocused gaze.
"Innocent n fear punishnt," Ragnar said. "Guilty n fear discovery. Which are you?"
Days spent in captivity had the ability to affect a person’s way of thinking and help in loosening their tongues.
Ragnar could see the change in the man’s eyes. He was already beginning to crack, bit by bit.
The man tried to hold Ragnar’s gaze but faltered almost instantly, looking away. "I—I swear, I was only following orders."
"Orders?" Ragnar’s head tilted slightly. "Whose?"
The man hesitated, his lips parting, then closing again as though he had thought better of it.
Ragnar’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seed to drop. Shadows stirred faintly at his feet, drawn to the dignitary’s unease like hounds scenting blood.
"You misunderstand," Ragnar said evenly. "This isn’t a court, and I’m not a judge. I don’t need your confession to decide your fate. The only reason you are still breathing is because I am patient and because I value information more than I value convenience."
He reached out, and the man flinched violently, expecting a blow. But Ragnar rely rested a hand on one of the chains, tracing its length idly.
"Tell ," he murmured, his voice quiet enough that the prisoner had to strain to hear. "How much were you promised?"
The man’s breath quickened. "Promised?"
Ragnar’s gaze lifted to him again. "Coin. Power. Freedom. There’s always a price."
The prisoner’s resolve began to crumble. His eyes darted toward the door, then back to Ragnar, as though searching for rcy in a man who had none to give.
"Th—they said it would only be one," he whispered finally. "Just one life. That it wouldn’t co back to . That once it was done, we would be free to return to the capital."
Ragnar’s expression remained calm, but his jaw tightened slightly.
"Whose life?"
The man hesitated, trembling. "The Westerian princess, Your Highness. One human woman’s life felt inconsequential to us back then."
The silence that engulfed them stretched for long monts.
"So the assassin was sent for my wife," Ragnar said at last, his tone flat. "And you and your companion helped him sneak into my ho."
"I—I didn’t know he would strike so soon," the man stamred. "They said he was supposed to just learn the layout of your manor and that he would wait until we returned to the capital. I was only told to make sure he gained entry."
"By whom?"
The man hesitated again, shaking his head miserably. "If I speak their na, I’ll be dead by morning."
Ragnar rose to his full height, his shadow falling over the trembling man like a shroud. "If you don’t, you’ll be dead before I leave this room."
The prisoner’s composure shattered.
"His na is Narfor, that was what I was told," he cried, voice cracking under the weight of fear. "I don’t even know what he looks like. I never got the chance to et him; no one around knows him. He is like a ghost. Please, you have to believe ."
Ragnar’s gaze hardened, but he said nothing.
"Who is this Narfor?"
"He handles assassins for hire, like the one you killed days ago. His envoy said once the task was done, we’d be rewarded."
Ragnar turned away.
"Rewarded," he repeated under his breath, as though testing the word.
For a brief mont, he stood still, the silence heavy and absolute. Then he said, without turning, "You’ve been useful. I’ll decide later if that usefulness ans you deserve to live."
He began to walk toward the door, purposefully ignoring the sound of the man’s pleas.
"Keep him alive for now," Ragnar said to the guards outside. "He doesn’t eat unless I say so. He doesn’t sleep unless I permit it. And if he speaks to anyone besides , cut out his tongue."
"Yes, Your Highness," ca the imdiate reply.
Ragnar didn’t look back as the door slamd shut behind him. The iron bolts slid into place with a harsh tallic scrape, sealing the prisoner inside.
As he ascended the steps, his whole body burned with silent fury.
But just as he erged back into the common area of the manor, a staff mber ran up to him, face flushed and chest heaving with exertion.
"Your Highness, you’ve received a letter from Prince Jayran."
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