Kartiga sat in silence.
Then—he met Kai's eyes.
The man stood near the column wearing black robe. He looked to the children. Then back at Kartiga. A question passed between them, wordless but enough.
Kartiga's gaze shifted to the huddled group.
Small bodies. Tear-streaked faces. One of the boys clutched his sister's hand like a lifeline. Another stared blankly at the floor, already past the edge of understanding.
He closed his eyes.
Just for a breath.
Then spoke.
"Give them a painless death."
The words was soft, but final.
A sharp gasp can be heard.
Eleanor Mooton had risen. Her voice cracked as she stepped forward.
"My lord, spare—"
She never finished.
A Kage moved, his palm struck her chest—not to kill, just enough to break her balance.
She collapsed to the stone.
The hall fell still again.
Eleanor pushed herself up slowly, one trembling hand on the floor. Blood ran from her lip. She looked up at Kartiga—not with hatred, but something worse.
A plea. Raw. Unfiltered.
He could not hold her gaze for long.
"You are the daughter of my enemy," he said at last. His voice was quiet. Measured. "And they—" his eyes moved to the two older boys "—they are heirs to him."
The children clung tighter to each other. One began to cry harder. Another did not seem to hear at all.
"If I leave you behind, you will rise against me. Someday. In your father's name. And I do not need more enemies."
Eleanor's head bowed.
She shook.
"Please..." she whispered. Once. Twice. The word fell from her lips like rain on stone. "Please..."
No argument. No threat. Just the desperate, breaking voice of a girl who had nothing left to offer.
Kartiga's jaw clenched.
He could feel the weight of the templars behind him. The eyes of the shinobi. The silence pressing inward like a vice.
He turned his face away.
"Take them," he said.
The Kage moved. The templars followed.
Eleanor screamed once, hoarse and helpless. Then begged until her voice broke.
Kartiga said nothing.
He did not move until the doors shut behind them. Until the crying was gone. Until the sound of footsteps faded into the corridors.
Then he leaned back.
Just slightly.
He exhaled.
His hands trembled. Barely. But it was enough.
The war had already begun. And there was no path back.
His voice was low when he spoke again.
"Poison them."
A pause.
"Make it painless."
That was all he could give.
All he could bear.
-----------
Tanaka stood in the corridor beyond the throne room.
The cries had faded. The doors were closed. The stone walls held in the silence like a tomb.
He watched as the descendants of Lord Mooton were dragged away—small, broken things wrapped in the remnants of nobility. One of the boys looked back over his shoulder, eyes glassy with tears. The girl no longer struggled.
Tanaka didn't blink.
He had killed their father with a single stroke. Efficient. Merciful, in its way. This—this was something else. And even shadows had limits.
Footsteps approached from behind. Measured. Unhurried.
Kartiga.
He didn't speak right away. His expression unreadable, gaze fixed on the far end of the corridor where the captives had disappeared.
Then—he looked at Tanaka.
"When are we leaving?"
His voice was low. Calm. But there was tension beneath it. The kind that came after blood had already been spilled.
Tanaka said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Kartiga exhaled, shoulders tight.
"It won't be long before the neighboring lords catch wind," he said. "Even if we seal the gates. Even if we silence every tongue in the city—word will slip. It always does."
Maidenpool had burned.
Not just its harbor, not just its lord—but its name. Its place.
This had never been meant to last.
"We take the ships," Kartiga murmured. "Take what loot we can carry. And go."
There was no throne here worth holding. No castle sturdy enough to weather the wrath that would follow.
The goal had never been conquest for its own sake.
This city was only a means. A point of departure. A wound on the map meant to buy them time, space—and blood.
Across the sea, a future waited. A queen not yet crowned. A fire not yet lit.
Kartiga turned.
His cloak swept behind him.
"We leave before first light," he said.
And then he was gone.
Tanaka lingered a moment longer, staring down the corridor where the children had vanished.
-------------------------
Morning hadn't come yet.
But the ship was already being loaded.
Men moved quickly, carrying crates filled with silver, cloth, grain, and weapons—treasures worth more than fifty thousand gold dragons. No one spoke unless they had to. They all knew time was running out.
Far behind them, the castle of Maidenpool burned.
The fire lit up the sky before the sun could. Flames climbed the walls, turning the tall towers into bright, falling shadows. The heart of House Mooton was being destroyed, just like its name.
Kartiga stood on the ship's deck, watching the fire.
His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp.
He knew the other lords would come soon. Soldiers from nearby lands. Angry men with swords and banners, seeking justice. Even if they had locked the gates and quieted the city, word always found a way to escape.
This wasn't meant to last.
It was never about ruling Maidenpool. Just about taking what they needed—and leaving.
He glanced back toward the dock. His knights were loading their horses, tying them down for the sea trip. The ship creaked under the weight of so many people, animals, and supplies.
Then he heard the noise.
Shouting.
From the far end of the harbor, people were coming. Some were villagers, holding bags and crying children. Others held tools like weapons—ready to fight or flee. It was only a matter of time before they would reach the ship.
Kartiga didn't react.
He knew the templars couldn't hold them forever. They had already done too much. Held the blades too long. A line had been crossed the moment the castle doors were broken.
The ropes were pulled. The sails caught wind. The ship began to move—slowly, then faster.
As the ship drifted away, Kartiga turned for one last look.
The castle burned bright behind him. Smoke rose like a black cloud. On the road beyond the walls, he saw riders approaching. Too far to see clearly, but he didn't need to. They were riverlords—coming too late to stop what had already been done.
He took a slow breath.
"Guess I'm lucky," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "Another day, and they'd have torn me apart."
He didn't smile.
There was nothing to feel proud about.
Only that he was still alive.
As the ship sailed toward Pentos and the sea opened wide before them, Kartiga looked ahead.
There was no turning back.
And no forgiveness waiting.
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