Chapter 324: Broken Neck

Darion followed her gaze. He finally remembered. Right. We aren’t alone.

Darion slowly lowered her, setting her gently on her feet. Seren stepped away and hastily straightened her clothes, trying to regain her composure. Darion cleared his throat, turning toward the crowd.

"Time to put this place in order," he said.

His expression changed immediately. The playful look disappeared, the warmth in his eyes freezing over. The conqueror returned.

Darion looked over the streets of Vrethka. There was work to do. The wounded needed to be separated from the dead. The prisoners needed to be freed. The surviving warriors needed to be dealt with. The settlement needed guards. And somehow, someone needed to take responsibility for this place while he returned to Percvale.

Darion opened his mouth. "First—"

"MY LORD!"

A voice suddenly rang out, cutting through the silence.

Darion turned. A young man came running through the street, stumbling over the broken cobblestones. Marrick.

But Darion’s attention immediately fell upon what Marrick was carrying. A body. An older man hung heavily over Marrick’s arms, his limbs dangling lifelessly. Darion recognized him. He had seen him among the prisoners earlier. The King of Harrowhold.

Marrick reached him and immediately dropped to one knee, laying the body of his father gently on the ground. Darion’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the corpse. Then at Marrick.

For a moment, Darion assumed the worst. His undead had been everywhere. The battle had been chaotic. Perhaps one of them had killed the man without Darion knowing. It was entirely possible in the madness of the fight.

Darion’s expression softened slightly, a touch of guilt bleeding through. "Your father?"

Marrick lowered his head.

Darion looked at the body again. "My apologies. My undead might have—"

"No." Marrick immediately interrupted, his voice sharp.

Darion paused.

Marrick looked down at his father’s body, his face hidden in the shadows. "He wasn’t killed by your undead."

Darion said nothing, waiting.

Marrick swallowed hard. "He died while trying to escape the prison." He looked toward the ruined prison building nearby. "The guards abandoned us when the fighting began. My father tried to escape." His voice became quieter, hollow. "He ran."

Marrick stared at the corpse, his eyes tracing the unnatural angle of his father’s neck. "But he slipped." He took a breath, his shoulders trembling slightly. "He fell badly."

Marrick’s hands tightened into fists. "And broke his neck."

Darion looked at the body again. There was no need to ask whether Marrick was telling the truth. The man was dead. And whatever had happened between father and son before this moment was no longer something Darion needed to concern himself with.

Marrick lowered his head further. "Chief Dross caused all of this."

His voice carried enough bitterness that several nearby warriors glanced toward him.

"He started the war. He brought us here." Marrick’s eyes remained fixed on his father. "He allowed Vrethka to become a place where people were treated like prisoners and warriors were thrown into battles they couldn’t win." He bowed his head. "And now he’s dead."

Darion watched him silently. Then his eyes shifted from Marrick to the body. Something clicked in his mind. He looked back at Marrick.

"Oh." Darion paused. "So..." His gaze settled on the young man kneeling before him, a new political reality forming in his mind. "That leaves you as king."

Marrick’s eyes widened. The realization hit him just as hard. He was no longer just the son of a prisoner.

Darion stared at him.

Marrick had just lost his father. His home was conquered. His army was broken. And now, through a twist of fate and a broken neck, he was the sole heir to a ruined kingdom.

Darion saw the fear in Marrick’s eyes. He saw the uncertainty. He saw a young man who was completely overwhelmed by the weight of the world that had just been dropped onto his shoulders.

But he also saw something else. He saw an opportunity.

A plan began to form in Darion’s mind, a puzzle piece sliding into place. He couldn’t rule Vrethka, Percvale, and Harrowhold all at once. He needed people. He needed loyal vassals.

And Marrick... Marrick was desperate. He had nothing. He had no allies, no army, no father. If Darion gave him Harrowhold, Marrick would owe him everything. He would be entirely reliant on Darion’s protection to keep his crown.

Darion looked down at the young king.

’If I play this right,’ Darion thought, ’I don’t just have one new territory. I have two.’

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MARRICK:

Marrick’s eyes widened.

His breath caught in his throat. For a moment, the entire ruined street seemed to spin around him, the world tilting on its axis.

King.

The word echoed in his mind, loud and terrifying and entirely unbelievable.

This was exactly what he had wanted to talk to Darion about. When he had run through the streets, dragging his father’s corpse, his mind had been racing through a dozen different scenarios. He had planned to beg. He had planned to bargain. He had been ready to surrender whatever shred of dignity he had left just to ensure his survival and the survival of his people.

But he never expected Darion to say it so casually.

Marrick had already considered the possibility that Darion would simply take Harrowhold for himself. After all, Darion had just conquered Vrethka.

Harrowhold was nearby. Its king was dead. Its army had already been defeated and humiliated by Vrethka. From Darion’s perspective, taking another weakened kingdom would make perfect sense. It was the logical next step for a conqueror.

Marrick had even prepared himself for another possibility. Darion might simply kill him.

After everything that had happened, why wouldn’t he? He was the son of the king who had gone to war with Vrethka. He was technically part of the enemy. A loose end. A potential future threat. Killing him would be the easiest way to secure the region.

Yet Darion had just apologized for his father’s death.

He apologized.

Marrick couldn’t understand it.