The Stolen Heir’s Bond

The palace corridors stretched long and empty as Kael and Elaria slipped away from the ballroom.

The music faded behind them, replaced by the distant clanking of armored boots. Guards patrolled the halls. If they were caught, they wouldn't get a second chance.

Elaria moved close to his side. "Tell me we're not trusting the word of a woman in a red dress."

Kael's pulse was steady, but his grip on his stolen dagger was tight. "She knew who I was. And she knew about my father."

Elaria exhaled sharply. "Fine. But if this goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

Kael gave a half-smile. "You were already going to."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.

They reached the east wing, where towering columns lined the corridor. At the far end, a massive painting of the king stood framed in gold.

Elaria's eyes flicked toward it. "That's not subtle."

Kael stepped forward, running his fingers along the frame. If the woman's information was right, the entrance to the dungeons was hidden somewhere here.

Then—a small draft.

Kael's fingers curled around the edge of the painting and pulled.

With a low creak, the massive frame swung open, revealing a narrow stone passage leading downward.

Elaria let out a low breath. "I hate when you're right."

Kael smirked. "Come on."

They slipped inside, closing the entrance behind them. The air changed instantly—cold, damp, thick with the scent of stone and old iron. Torches flickered along the descending stairwell.

Each step echoed.

As they reached the bottom, the narrow tunnel widened into a dark corridor. Rusted prison bars lined the walls, and Kael's stomach twisted.

This was it.

The royal dungeons.

Elaria's voice was barely above a whisper. "Where do we start?"

Kael scanned the cells, heart hammering. "We find someone who knows where they're keeping him."

Then—

A voice. Weak, but sharp.

"If you're looking for the lost king… you're too late."

Kael spun toward the cell at the end of the corridor.

An old man sat in the shadows, his wrists bound in iron. His face was gaunt, but his eyes burned with recognition.

Kael stepped forward. "What do you mean, 'too late'?"

The prisoner coughed. "He's not in this prison, boy." His gaze flickered. "He's in the arena."

Elaria went rigid. "The king's arena?"

Kael's blood ran cold.

The arena wasn't a place for prisoners. It was a place for executions.

And if his father had been taken there…

Kael turned to Elaria, his voice sharp. "We don't have time."

The execution grounds were waiting.

And Kael wasn't letting his father die tonight.