The Truth

The tall doors of the court creaked open just as the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the floor. Draven sat at the head of the long marble table, sipping dark wine from a silver goblet, bored and half-lost in thought, when Lord Varek barged in without being announced.

Draven raised an eyebrow lazily. “Someone forgot how to knock.”

Varek ignored the remark. His face was flushed with anger, his jaw tight.

“You’re not going to believe what happened,” he hissed.

“Then say it already,” Draven said, twirling his goblet in his hand.

Varek walked towards Draven, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Garrick… he interfered. I was delivering punishment to that defiant slave, Sara, the rebel, and he dared to stop me. He stood between us like some savior… and defended her.” His eyes burned with restrained fury.

The wine in Draven’s goblet stilled. He leaned forward slightly. “Defended her?”

“Yes,” Varek snapped. “Pulled me away like I was the villain. Told me I’d kill her. Said she was just a girl.”

A long silence followed. Draven’s face hardened, his wine now forgotten.

“And?” Draven asked slowly.

“She spat in his face,” Varek continued. “Told him we’re all the same. But he just looked at her like, like he admired her.” He stepped closer. “There was something in his eyes, Draven. That wasn’t the Garrick we knew. The Garrick who slaughtered rebels without blinking wouldn’t hesitate. This one hesitated. He protected her.”

Draven rose from his seat, setting his goblet aside with a gentle clink. His voice dropped low. “Do you think he’s not who he says he is?”

“I’m saying,” Varek growled, “that we brought a serpent into our nest.”

Draven walked slowly toward the tall window, looking out over the walls of Bloodthorn. The wind stirred the heavy drapes beside him.

“I had my doubts,” he muttered. “But the markings... the eyes... the voice... it all felt like Garrick.”

“People can be made to look like anyone with the right tricks and spells,” Varek said sharply. “What if he’s someone else entirely? A spy. A pretender.”

Draven clenched his fists behind his back. His jaw ticked.

“If he’s not Garrick,” he said coldly, “then someone went through a lot of trouble to plant him in our midst.”

Varek stepped forward again. “We should strip him of his title. Lock him up until we find out the truth.”

“No,” Draven said quickly, turning back. “Not yet. If he is Garrick, we’d lose him. And if he’s not...” he smiled faintly, “then we watch. We wait. We let him believe he’s safe. That’s when people make mistakes.”

“And if he tries something again?”

“Let him,” Draven said, voice dark and sharp. “But next time, I’ll deal with him myself.”

Varek nodded, though his anger still simmered. “What about the girl? Sara?”

“She’s no concern. Let her rot,” Draven said dismissively. “But keep an eye on her. If she ever gets close to him again, kill her quietly.”

As Varek turned to leave, Draven poured himself another goblet of wine and murmured to himself, “Let’s see who you really are, Garrick... or whatever your name is.”