Chapter 334: Night in Vrethka

After finishing their discussion about Harrowhold, the heavy political tension in the throne room finally dissipated. But as the silence settled, Darion realized there was another, much more immediate problem to solve: Marrick had nowhere safe to go tonight.

Vrethka was still incredibly unsettled. Dross was dead, his head still lying in the dirt somewhere outside. Hundreds of warriors had just been defeated, forced to surrender to an enemy they had been trying to kill an hour ago. The remaining people were frightened, confused, and looking for someone to blame.

Marrick was technically supposed to become the ruler of Harrowhold, but right now, he was standing in the middle of an enemy settlement with almost nobody he could confidently call an ally. If he walked out into the streets alone, he was a walking target.

Darion looked at the young man. "You can stay in the palace tonight. I’ll have a room prepared."

Marrick’s eyes widened, and he immediately bowed so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. "Thank you, my lord! Thank you. You are incredibly generous. Truly, I am in your debt."

Darion almost laughed. The gratitude was so profuse it was bordering on comical.

Marrick straightened up, looking slightly embarrassed by his own outburst. "I apologize, my lord. It’s just... I was actually terrified of staying outside. I’ve seen what Vrethka’s warriors are like. I know many of them lost friends and family during the battle today." He let out a nervous, breathy laugh. "I figured I could accidentally rage-bait them into killing me simply by walking around and breathing the same air."

Darion found the comment genuinely amusing. He could understand the concern. Marrick wasn’t exactly wrong. Darion may have stopped the war and forced a surrender, but that didn’t mean every Vrethkan warrior suddenly liked him, or Marrick, the son of the king who had technically started this whole mess.

"Then staying here sounds like the safer option," Darion said lightly.

Marrick nodded vigorously. "Much safer. Yes. Thank you."

Seren watched the exchange from the side, her arms crossed. There was a faint hint of amusement in her eyes, watching how casually Darion handled the terrified prince.

Darion stood up from the throne, the heavy wood groaning slightly as he left it. "Come on. Let’s find you a room."

Darion, Seren, and Marrick left the throne room together, with Ghet Ulg and Edric Vorne trailing silently behind them like shadows.

This gave Darion his first real opportunity to examine the palace properly, rather than just seeing it as a hostile stronghold he needed to conquer.

He was surprised by how comfortable it was. The corridors were wide and well-lit, lined with thick carpets that muffled the sound of their boots. The furniture in the side rooms was sturdy and well-crafted, far better than anything in Percvale. There were large, airy rooms, private quarters, and storage areas filled with supplies.

There were still obvious signs that this was a warrior settlement. Weapons were mounted along the walls, armor stands stood in the corners, and Vrethkan banners hung from the rafters alongside old maps and scars from years of conflict.

Darion realized that Dross didn’t live like some primitive warlord. He had lived like an actual ruler. He had a palace with servants, private rooms, and everything expected of someone ruling a powerful settlement.

As they walked, Darion found the whole thing slightly surreal. ’Was this where Dross slept?’ he wondered. ’Did he walk these same halls every morning? Did he sit in that throne room planning his attacks on my home?’

A few hours ago, Dross was the undisputed ruler of this place. Now Darion was walking through his home, deciding where his former enemies would sleep.

Seren noticed Darion staring at a particularly ornate tapestry. "It’s strange, isn’t it?" she murmured, keeping her voice low so Marrick wouldn’t hear. "We’re just casually walking around the home of the man you killed."

Darion shrugged. "At least he had good taste in furniture. The chairs are comfortable."

Seren shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

Eventually, Darion found a suitable room for Marrick. It was comfortable, with a large bed, a window, and a heavy wooden door that could lock from the inside.

Marrick barely examined it. The moment he saw the bed, his exhaustion became painfully obvious. He walked over and basically collapsed onto the mattress. There was no ceremony. No attempt to maintain his royal dignity. He had been imprisoned, tortured, dragged through a war, and then watched his world collapse. His body was finally demanding rest.

Marrick turned his head toward Darion, his eyes already half-closed. "Good night, my lord."

"Good night," Darion acknowledged, stepping back into the hallway.

Seren gave a small nod. "Sleep well."

The door closed.

Darion stared at the closed door for a second. ’He didn’t even last five seconds after seeing the bed.’ He couldn’t blame him. After everything today, Darion felt like he could sleep for a week.

Once they were away from Marrick’s room, Seren let out a long, heavy sigh. "I desperately need a bath."

Darion looked at her and realized she had every reason to want one. They had spent the entire day traveling, fighting, getting covered in dirt, blood, sweat, and whatever else came with fighting hundreds of warriors. Her clothes were stained, her hair was a mess, and she had dirt smeared across her cheek.

"Go ahead," Darion said. "I’ll find a bathroom."

They explored the palace a bit more until they located a proper bathing room. It was surprisingly advanced, with large stone tubs and a system for heating water.

Seren disappeared inside, and Darion waited in the hallway, leaning against the wall with Ghet Ulg standing silently beside him. He didn’t want to make things awkward by lingering too close.

Once Seren finished, she emerged looking significantly cleaner and much more relaxed.

Darion took his turn, finally getting the chance to wash the battlefield off his skin.

As the warm water hit him, this was the first time all day he was actually alone with his thoughts. The adrenaline was completely gone. He processed everything that had happened. He went to investigate Vrethka.

He discovered the planned attack. He infiltrated their palace. He was exposed. He turned around and fought them. He emptied almost his entire undead inventory. He killed Dross. Vrethka surrendered. Marrick offered Harrowhold.

And now he was standing in Dross’s palace, taking a bath.

Darion let out a short, exhausted laugh. ’How ridiculous is my life?’

After bathing, Darion found Seren standing in a guest room, preparing to sleep. She looked tired, but ready.

Darion remembered something important. Seren was going to be separated from him tomorrow. She would travel all the way back to Percvale with the [Escort] undead. He wasn’t going to personally be there to protect her, and even though they had discussed the plan, he still felt a knot of anxiety in his chest.

"I’m going to assign a guard for you tonight," Darion said.

Seren looked at him. "A guard?"

"Yes. It will stand watch outside your door. Just in case."

Seren wasn’t actually reluctant. She trusted Darion’s undead. She knew they had saved her life multiple times during their journey. But the situation was undeniably creepy. Darion’s undead were essentially the exact kind of creatures many people in this world would call demonic. Dead warriors with empty eyes, decaying bodies, and silent movements.

"Darion," she said slowly. "You’re really having one of them watch me sleep?"

Darion rubbed the back of his neck. "He won’t bother you. He’ll just remain nearby and protect you."

Seren looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But if I wake up and he’s staring at me, I’m shooting him."

"He won’t stare at you," Darion promised. "He’s very professional."