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CHAPTER 40 _ THE NIGHT THAT BREATHES WITH SHADOWS
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2025-12-23 21:26:01
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THE BASTARD SON OF THE VIKINGS CHAPTER 41 - THE PAIN THAT SPEAKS IN SILENCE
THE PAIN THAT SPEAKS IN SILENCEThe tent smelled of smoke, roasted meat, and the lingering sharp tang of spilled wine. Lanterns swayed gently in the warm night air, throwing shadows that danced across the canvas walls. Latina’s wrists burned where the ropes bit into her skin, her chest heaving with each breath.Enzo pressed the poisoned cup against her lips. His eyes flicked to Lucia’s son, seeking silent approval.“Drink,” Lucia’s son said, calm, measured. “Do not make this more painful than it needs to be.”Latina glared at him, defiance etched across her face. “You can’t do this,” she spat. “I am not yours to command. You son of a bitch, bastard son of a thousand father latina cursed breathing heavy…No matter how fierce or strong a woman is…her tongue is hardly tamed….Lucia's son said“Shut it,” Enzo snapped, his hand tightening. He tilted the cup and forced it against her lips. Latina gagged, choking as the liquid slid down her throat. Her stomach clenched violently. Her vision s
THE BASTARD SON OF THE VIKINGS CHAPTER 40 _ THE NIGHT THAT BREATHES WITH SHADOWS
THE NIGHT THAT BREATHES WITH SHADOWSThe night in Palermo had a quiet that was almost cruel. Vanguard stood in the dense brush, every sense heightened, every muscle coiled. His boots pressed against soft earth, leaves crunching lightly beneath them, but he barely noticed. He had not eaten. He had not drunk. His body was tight with tension, mind spinning with one relentless question: where was she?Latina.He replayed the last moments they had shared in his mind, every touch, every glance, and every laugh. He should have felt satisfaction, closure, even a fleeting sense of triumph—but he felt nothing but anxiety. A gnawing fear that something had gone wrong, that she had vanished into darkness he could not pierce.And yet, when he finally emerged into the faint light of the city, standing before the palace gates for the so-called celebration, he tried to mask it. His chest rose and fell evenly, his hands folded lightly, his face unreadable. He raised a small cup of wine to his lips, bu
THE BASTARD SON OF THE VIKINGS CHAPTER 39 - THE DEAD DO NOT LAUGH—UNTIL THEY DO
THE DEAD DO NOT LAUGH—UNTIL THEY DOThe rumor reached Lucia before the truth ever could.It came carried by fear, by excitement, by men who spoke too fast because they wanted to be the first to say it.“Your son is dead.”Lucia stood by the tall window of her chamber when the words arrived. Morning light spilled across the marble floor, pale and calm, betraying nothing of the chaos crawling through Palermo’s streets.She did not turn.She did not ask questions.She did not breathe faster.“Poison,” the messenger continued nervously. “In the camp. His men turned on each other. Enzo dragged him into the tent but—”“That will be all,” Lucia said quietly.The messenger hesitated. “My Empress… should we—”“You may leave,” Lucia repeated, still facing the window.The door closed.Lucia remained where she was, fingers resting lightly on the stone ledge. From the outside, she looked like a woman absorbing loss with cold dignity. A mother hardened by power. A ruler already moving on.Inside he
THE BASTARD SON OF THE VIKINGS CHAPTER 38 -WHEN THE MASKS FALL
WHEN THE MASKS FALLThe camp had been alive moments ago. Fires crackled, embers danced, laughter erupted around the roasting deer. The scent of meat, smoke, and ale wrapped the men in a deceptive comfort.And then the cup shattered the illusion.The chicken collapsed first, twitching violently. Blood poured from its eyes, its beak, and its cloaca. Men recoiled, stumbling backward in horror, screams slicing through the night air.Latina’s chest rose and fell slowly. Her lips curved into a triumphant smile, but inside her, something sharp pricked at her resolve. This was supposed to be subtle—his death without suspicion. Yet now, in the chaos, the truth had broken free.From the corner of her eye, she saw him—the man whose very presence demanded war. Lucia’s son convulsed violently, collapsing to the dirt with a thud that shook the circle of men around him. Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. His breaths came shallow, ragged, irregular.Enzo’s voice tore through the panic like s
THE BASTARD SON OF THE VIKINGS CHAPTER 37 - THE POISON
THE NIGHT THAT SMILES BEFORE IT KILLSThe corridor breathed silence.Vanguard moved through it like a shadow that had learned the palace by heart. The stones were cold beneath his boots, the torches dimmed low enough to cast more darkness than light. He had just left a room still warm with stolen closeness, the kind that tasted of danger and familiarity.He reached the corner.Then—“Sneaking again?”The voice stopped him mid-step.Lucia’s.Low. Calm. Certain.Vanguard’s body reacted before his mind did. His shoulders stiffened. His hand flexed at his side. He turned slowly, schooling his face into something neutral, something amused.“I was not sneaking,” he said evenly. “I was checking on the guards.”Lucia stood a few paces away, dressed simply, her presence heavier than the stone walls themselves. She did not move closer. She did not need to.“Checking,” she repeated softly. “Through the back corridor?”Vanguard lifted his chin. “There have been rumors. I wanted to ensure nothing
THE BASTARD SON OF THE VIKINGS CHAPTER 36 - THE EVIL THAT WALKETH IN THE NIGHT.
THE EVIL THAT WALKETH IN THE NIGHT The camp had not yet settled when Enzo vanished into the dark. Lucia’s son stood where Enzo had left him, staring at the empty path, jaw tight. The laughter behind him still rang, loud and careless, but something sharp pressed against his chest. A sting. Brief. Easily ignored. He turned back to the fire. “Enough,” he said. “Drink. Sleep. Tomorrow we move.” The men obeyed quickly, relief washing over them. Fear forgotten. Suspicion buried under wine and noise. Latina watched it all. She watched how easily the night swallowed Enzo. She watched how easily the others followed their leader’s laughter instead of their instincts. And she smiled. Not openly. Just enough for herself. Lucia observed from the palace balcony, wrapped in silk and shadows. The wind teased her hair, carrying distant echoes of laughter from the encampment below the hill. She closed her eyes. So the cup had failed. Interesting. Her lips curved slightly. Failure ofte
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