Chapter Six: The Banquet of Ghosts

Dominic’s eyes snapped open. They weren't hazy or weak anymore; they burned with the cold, silver fire of a sovereign. He sat up slowly, his muscles protesting, but his will overriding the pain.

"Regnar," Dominic rasped, his voice returning to its authoritative baritone. "Report."

"The explosion was a targeted strike, Sire. Kaelen has seized temporary control of the Council, claiming you are missing or dead. We suspect he is working with a third party to destabilize the Human-Beastkin treaty, but he has covered his tracks well. We are gathering evidence, but it is slow."

Dominic’s jaw tightened. "Keep my survival a secret. If Kaelen knows I am alive, he will send an army to this sector. I will stay here until my strength is fully returned." He looked toward the door Rhea had exited. "Stay close to the sanctuary. Protect her, Rhea and her friends. They are under my personal protection now."

"We have already moved, Sire," Regnar said. "She has gone to look for food and wine. I have already ordered my men to 'prepare' a cache for them to find. It will appear as if they stumbled upon a hidden treasure, but it is our way of paying for your hospitality."

"Good," Dominic said, his eyes darkening. "And Regnar... stay in the shadows. I am investigating something here. Something about the girl."

Regnar bowed and vanished, his men following like smoke. Dominic lay back down, his mind racing. But as he drifted toward a light sleep, he heard the door bolt slide back.

Hours later, the basement was flooded with noise. Tess and Leo practically fell through the door, lugging bags that were overflowing.

"I don't believe it! I actually don't believe it!" Tess was shouting, her face flushed with excitement. "It was right there! Behind a false wall in the old deli. Bottles of pre-collapse wine, canned hams, and real chocolate!

"It was too easy," Leo added, though he was grinning broadly. "It was as if the ruins were handing us gifts. Is the Ghost King suddenly being nice? Does he have his 'Men in Black' going door to door now?"

Tess laughed, throwing a bottle of wine onto the table. " I mean, look at this! Why do the High Towers only give us those measly supplies once a month? If the leaders in the Citadel actually cared about the Fringe, we’d have this every day. He’s probably sitting on a throne of steak while we fight over crumbs."

Cough.

A loud, violent cough erupted from the cot.

The trio froze and ran to Dominic’s side. He was sitting up, his face flushed not with fever, but with a cold, terrifying fury.

Once a month? Dominic’s thoughts were a storm of rage. He had signed the "Daily Provision Act" two years ago. He had ordered that every sector in the Fringe be stocked with fresh water and protein daily. If the people were only seeing supplies once a month, it meant the Council the "loyal" ministers were stealing from the mouths of the hungry.

"Are you okay?" Rhea asked, her hand pressing against his forehead. "You look... angry."

Dominic looked at her, his silver eyes softening just enough to hide his power. "I... I'm fine," he managed to rasp, though his voice was tight.

"Look at all this, Tess said, oblivious to the internal war he was fighting. She held up a vintage bottle of Bordeaux. "The Ghost King might be a stingy myth, but today, we eat like we're the ones wearing the crowns!"

Dominic watched them cheer, his heart heavy. He looked at Rhea, who was trying to smile for her friends despite the hollow look in her eyes.

They think I am a ghost who has forgotten them, Dominic thought, his fingers curling into the sheets. But by the time I am through with Kaelen and the Council, they will know exactly what a King’s mercy looks like.

The basement of the industrial bakery had been a cold, airless tomb for days, but tonight, it felt like the beating heart of a forgotten world. The air was thick and heavy, saturated with the rich, savory scent of roasted ham and the sweet, fermented tang of the vintage wine Regnar’s "ghosts" had planted in their path.

Rhea moved through the dim space with a flickering candle in her hand, her movements steady despite the hollow ache in her chest. She stopped by the cot to check the stranger’s vitals, her medical instincts overriding her grief. As she peeled back the corner of the sterile bandage on his chest, her breath hitched.

The jagged, purple bruising that had mapped his torso just forty-eight hours ago had faded to a faint, dull yellow. The deep lacerations wounds that should have taken weeks to knit were closing with a terrifying, beautiful speed.

"You’re a fast healer," she whispered, her fingers grazing the heated skin of his shoulder. "Almost too fast."

Dominic looked up at her, his silver eyes catching the amber light of the candle, reflecting a depth of intelligence that made her pulse jump. "I’ve always been... resilient," he rasped. His voice had lost its shattered edge, returning to a deep, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate in the very floorboards beneath her feet.

"We’re having a party," Rhea said, a small, tentative smile finally breaking through the mask of the weary doctor. "Marcus took the truck and the pride, but he didn't take our spirit. If you feel up to it, you should join us.