Chapter 4: The Immortal King

The road to the Red Castle felt longer than it should have.

Elena Ross walked between armed guards while the citizens of the Crimson Kingdom watched from both sides of the street.

No one shouted.

No one stepped forward.

No one smiled.

They only stared.

Some with fear.

Some with curiosity.

Some with something that looked dangerously close to hope.

That last expression unsettled Elena most.

Hope meant expectation.

Expectation meant responsibility.

And responsibility was the last thing she wanted inside a kingdom that should not exist.

Rowan Blackwood walked beside her, silent and tense.

The woman in silver robes led the way.

Her movements were calm, almost floating, and the crowd parted for her before she reached them.

Elena leaned slightly toward Rowan.

Who is she?

Lyra Moonfall.

A noble?

A mage.

Elena almost stopped walking.

A what?

Rowan did not look amused.

You crossed a gate made of living mist and saw a shadowhound in the forest.

Mage should not surprise you.

Fair point.

Lyra glanced back as if she had heard them clearly despite the distance.

Her pale eyes rested briefly on Elena.

Then she turned forward again.

The city around them was astonishing.

Red-stone streets twisted between tall buildings with steep roofs and carved wooden balconies.

Blacksmiths worked beneath smoking awnings.

Children peered from windows.

Market stalls displayed fruit, cloth, candles, iron tools, and objects Elena could not name.

Everything looked medieval, yet not primitive.

There was order here.

Craftsmanship.

Beauty.

And beneath it all, a tension Elena could feel in the air.

A kingdom holding its breath.

The castle gates opened before them.

They passed into a courtyard paved with dark stone.

Crimson banners snapped from high walls.

Statues lined the entrance path: kings, queens, warriors, beasts, and figures whose faces had been deliberately scratched away.

Elena noticed the damaged statues immediately.

Rowan noticed her noticing.

Do not ask about those inside.

Why?

Because some names are still dangerous here.

Before she could ask more, Lyra stopped at the foot of a wide staircase.

The king waits in the Hall of Crowns.

Elena looked up.

The Red Castle rose above her like a mountain of stone and memory.

Its towers disappeared into mist.

Its windows glowed faintly gold.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

Inside, the air smelled of candle smoke, old wood, and something metallic.

Iron, perhaps.

Or blood.

Elena preferred not to decide.

They moved through corridors lined with tapestries.

Some showed battles.

Others showed forests, dragons, and a red crown glowing beneath a black sky.

One tapestry caught Elena's attention.

It showed a young king standing before a wall of mist.

Behind him, an army knelt.

Above him, a crimson crown burned like a star.

The king in the image had dark hair, sharp features, and eyes stitched in silver thread.

Elena slowed.

Alaric Vayne?

Rowan nodded once.

That tapestry is five hundred years old.

Elena looked closer.

The king in the tapestry looked no older than thirty-five.

How old is he now?

Rowan's answer was quiet.

Older than the kingdom remembers.

They entered the Hall of Crowns.

Elena forgot how to breathe.

The hall was enormous, built from red-veined stone and supported by pillars carved into thorned branches.

Above, narrow windows let in pale light.

Along the walls stood twenty empty pedestals.

Each pedestal held a crown.

Gold.

Silver.

Iron.

Bone.

Crystal.

All ancient.

All silent.

At the far end of the hall stood a throne of dark wood and crimson stone.

And on that throne sat King Alaric Vayne.

Elena had expected age.

A frail ruler preserved by legend.

A king bowed beneath five centuries of time.

Instead, the man before her looked no older than the figure in the tapestry.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Dark hair touched with no gray.

A face carved by authority and exhaustion.

His eyes were the strangest part.

Not cruel.

Not kind.

Old.

Terribly old.

As if centuries had passed behind them while his body refused to follow.

A crimson crown rested on his head.

It was not large.

It did not need to be.

The stone at its center glowed faintly, like an ember refusing to die.

Every guard in the room knelt.

Rowan knelt too.

Lyra bowed her head.

Elena remained standing.

Not from disrespect.

From shock.

A guard hissed.

Kneel before the king.

Elena blinked.

Right.

She lowered herself awkwardly to one knee.

King Alaric watched her without expression.

Rise.

His voice filled the hall without being loud.

Elena stood.

The king's gaze moved to her satchel.

You carry the map.

She swallowed.

Yes.

Show me.

Elena hesitated only briefly before removing the parchment case.

The guards reacted at once, hands tightening around weapons.

Alaric raised one hand.

They stilled.

Elena unrolled the map carefully.

The crimson ink brightened the moment it entered the hall.

A whisper passed through the watching guards.

Even Lyra's calm expression shifted.

Alaric descended the throne steps slowly.

When he reached the map, he did not touch it.

He only looked.

For the first time, emotion crossed his face.

Grief.

Anger.

Recognition.

Where did you find this?

In the archive of Saint Oran's Monastery.

Alaric's eyes sharpened.

Saint Oran still stands?

In ruins.

But yes.

The king looked away for a moment.

Five hundred years outside.

Five years inside.

Elena felt the words strike her.

Five years?

Alaric looked back.

That is all that has passed for us since the mist sealed the valley.

She knew the synopsis of the legend.

She had heard Malcolm say the kingdom vanished five hundred years ago.

But hearing the king confirm it made the truth feel impossible all over again.

Outside, centuries had passed.

Inside, only years.

Elena whispered.

How?

Lyra answered before the king did.

The Seal of Thorns bent time around the valley.

It was meant to protect us.

Elena turned to her.

From what?

Silence fell.

The kind of silence that meant everyone knew the answer but no one wanted to speak it.

Alaric finally said,

From extinction.

The word echoed through the hall.

Elena looked at the crowns lining the walls.

What happened here?

Alaric studied her.

That is not a question for an outsider.

Then why did your map bring me here?

Several guards shifted uneasily.

Rowan looked at Elena as though she had just stepped too close to a cliff edge.

But Alaric did not appear offended.

If anything, he looked interested.

You believe the map brought you.

It glowed.

It led me through a path that disappeared behind me.

Your gate took something from me.

So yes, I think it brought me.

Alaric stepped closer.

And what did the gate take?

Elena considered lying.

Then remembered Rowan's warning.

Whatever you do, do not lie to him.

She answered honestly.

It showed me my fear.

It did not take it.

Lyra inhaled softly.

Rowan looked sharply at her.

Alaric's expression changed.

That has not happened in a long time.

What does it mean?

The king looked at Lyra.

The mage did not answer.

Elena's frustration rose.

Everyone here speaks like a locked book.

A few guards looked scandalized.

Alaric almost smiled.

And you speak like someone who has never had to survive a court.

I haven't.

Good.

Court survival makes people dishonest.

The comment surprised her.

This immortal king was not what she expected.

He was cold, yes.

Dangerous, certainly.

But not empty.

There was a person beneath the crown.

A wounded one.

Alaric returned to the throne but did not sit.

Tell me, Elena Ross, mapmaker from the outside world.

What remains of Scotland?

The question caught her off guard.

Scotland?

Yes.

She thought of cities, highways, universities, ferries, airports, tourists, politics, music, and all the ordinary things impossible to explain inside this hall.

It remains.

Changed, but alive.

And the old clans?

Mostly history.

The kings?

Gone.

The wars?

Different now.

Alaric absorbed each answer silently.

Elena realized he was not asking from curiosity alone.

He was asking about a world he had lost.

A world that had moved on without him.

For the first time, she felt a flicker of sympathy.

Then he asked the question that turned the hall cold.

And the name Vayne?

Elena searched her memory.

She had seen many old names in archives.

Vayne was not one she remembered from modern Scotland.

I don't know it.

Alaric's face hardened.

Extinct then.

I didn't say that.

You did not need to.

The crimson stone in his crown pulsed once.

The air shifted.

Every torch in the hall flickered.

Elena felt pressure settle over her skin.

Power.

Raw and ancient.

The king was not merely immortal.

He was tied to something dangerous.

Lyra stepped forward.

Majesty.

The warning in her voice was gentle but firm.

Alaric closed his eyes.

The pressure faded.

When he opened them again, the old exhaustion had returned.

You will remain in the castle until we understand why the map chose you.

Elena stiffened.

I'm not a prisoner.

No.

Alaric's voice was calm.

You are a guest who cannot safely leave.

That sounds very close to prisoner.

Rowan muttered.

It is better than dead.

Elena ignored him.

I need answers.

So do I.

Alaric looked toward the map.

That is why you are still alive.

The room went silent again.

At least he was honest.

Lyra took the map from Elena's hands carefully.

I will examine it.

Elena started to protest.

Alaric raised a hand.

The map remains within these walls.

Elena met his gaze.

So do I, apparently.

A faint smile touched his mouth.

For now.

Then the smile disappeared.

Rowan.

The warrior bowed his head.

Majesty.

You found her.

You will guard her.

Rowan's expression tightened.

As you command.

Elena looked at him.

You don't sound thrilled.

I was hoping for a quiet day.

She almost laughed despite herself.

Alaric turned toward the guards.

Clear the hall.

The guards began moving immediately.

Lyra carried the glowing map toward a side chamber.

Rowan gestured for Elena to follow him.

But before she left, Alaric spoke once more.

Elena Ross.

She turned.

The king stood alone beneath the crowns of dead rulers.

For one brief moment, he looked less like a monarch and more like a man trapped inside his own legend.

Do not mistake wonder for safety.

His voice lowered.

This kingdom is beautiful because the mist hides the scars.

Elena felt the warning settle over her.

Then from somewhere deep beneath the castle, a low sound echoed.

A growl.

Not loud.

Not human.

The guards froze.

Rowan's hand went instantly to his sword.

Lyra stopped in the doorway.

The crimson stone in Alaric's crown flared bright red.

Elena looked around the hall.

What was that?

No one answered at first.

Then King Alaric Vayne spoke.

Something that should still be sleeping.

The floor trembled beneath Elena's feet.

Far below the Red Castle, something ancient had heard the map-bearer's arrival.

And it had begun to wake.