Slaughter Grounds Book 1: The Condemned Descent
For his crimes of defending the innocent, death is his sentence, under the guise of a fair battle
The chains bit into Lucian’s wrists as he stood in the dock, the cold iron a constant reminder of how thoroughly the system had already decided his fate. Around him, the Valdris High Court hummed with the barely suppressed excitement of spectators who had come to watch justice performed.
Performed. That’s the word for it.
The prosecutor’s voice droned through the charges, each word landing like a hammer blow on an already-driven nail. “Assault upon a nobleman of the realm. Conduct unbecoming of a citizen of Valdris. Dishonoring the Crown through violent action against one of its favored sons.”
Lucian kept his face blank, a skill his father had drilled into him during countless training sessions. Control what you can. Let go of the rest. He couldn’t control the words. He could control his reaction to them.
The courtroom was packed. Nobles occupied the choice seats near the front, their fine clothes a riot of color against the dark wood paneling. Commoners crowded the back, standing-room-only, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of today’s entertainment.
Lucian scanned the gallery with deliberate casualness, noting faces, positions, and expressions.
Third row from the front, seated among the silk-and-velvet crowd.
Oswald Hargrove looked pristine, unmarked. The bruises Lucian had put on his face were gone, probably healed by expensive magic within hours of the beating. The bastard wore a thin smile that said he knew exactly how this would end and was enjoying every moment of the journey.
I beat you bloody for what you did to that girl, and you sit there looking like you’ve never been touched.
The prosecutor continued his litany. “The defendant did, with malice aforethought, strike Lord Hargrove repeatedly about the face and body, causing grievous injury and public embarrassment to a member of the nobility.”
Public embarrassment. That was the real crime, wasn’t it? Not that Hargrove had cornered a serving girl in an alcove. Not that he’d torn her dress while she begged him to stop. No, the crime was that a bystander had seen fit to stop him and made it public. Had embarrassed one of Valdris’ “favored sons.”
The prosecutor droned on, but Lucian had stopped listening. He watched Hargrove instead, noting how the man’s smile widened slightly with each charge, how his fingers drummed a satisfied rhythm on his thigh.
You think you’ve won, and maybe you have, but I’d do it again.
The prosecutor finally wound down his performance and stepped aside with a small bow to the bench. The courtroom fell silent, waiting.
Judge Aldric cleared his throat with rehearsed gravity. The man had the look of a bureaucrat going through motions he’d performed a thousand times before. Bored, professional, utterly indifferent to the life he was about to destroy.
“The defendant will rise.”
Lucian was already standing, but he straightened his spine anyway.
“Does the defendant wish to make a statement?”
Lucian’s court-appointed advocate, a nervous man in a worn coat, stepped forward. He’d met with Lucian exactly once, for perhaps ten minutes, and had spent most of that time apologizing for how busy he was.
“Your Honor,” the advocate began, his voice carrying all the conviction of wet paper. “My client is… That is to say, he has demonstrated, um…” The man shuffled through papers that clearly contained nothing useful. “He is not entirely without merit as a person.”
Gods above. They didn’t even try to make it look fair.
The advocate trailed off, apparently having exhausted his prepared defense. Judge Aldric waited, then turned his attention back to Lucian.
“Does the defendant wish to speak for himself?”
Lucian opened his mouth. The words were there, ready to spill out. Hargrove was assaulting a woman. I stopped him. The only crime here is that I’m in chains and he’s sitting in silk.
Movement in the gallery caught his eye. His mother sat near the back, among the commoners. Elena Chevalier, once the wife of an exiled military hero, now bound by a disgraced name. She was thinner than he remembered, older. The past years had carved lines into her face that hadn’t been there before.
She looked at him and shook her head. Slightly, but enough.
Don’t make it worse.
Lucian closed his mouth. The words died unspoken.
The silence stretched. Judge Aldric raised an eyebrow, waiting. When it became clear no statement was forthcoming, he gave a small nod.
“Very well.”
The judge straightened in his seat. His eyes were empty of anything resembling consideration. This verdict had been written before the accused ever entered the room.
“Lucian Chevalier. For the crime of assault upon a nobleman of the realm, for conduct unbecoming, for dishonoring the Crown through violence against one of its citizens, this court hereby sentences you…”
The pause was theatrical. Lucian didn’t flinch.
“…to the Slaughter Grounds.”
Gasps erupted from the commoners in the back. Lucian’s mother’s face paled, and her hands gripped the railing in front of her until her knuckles went white. Among the nobles, satisfied nods rippled through the crowd. A few actually smiled.
The death sentence they call justice.
Lucian kept his face blank, but his hands shook in the chains. He pressed them together, using the cold iron to steady himself.
The Slaughter Grounds. Everyone knew what that meant. You went in, you fought, and you died. A few survived. Even fewer emerged as Archons, the kingdom’s elite warriors. For every Archon who walked out, a hundred bodies stayed behind.
The kingdom called it a proving ground, a chance at glory, a path to power. Lucian knew what it really was. Pest control with a lottery ticket attached.
Judge Aldric was already gathering his papers, the verdict delivered, his duty complete. Another day, another life disposed of in accordance with Valdris’ gleaming, rotting justice system.
Guards approached from either side of the dock. Their hands closed on his arms, firm but not rough. They’d done this before, too.
As they turned him toward the side door, movement caught his eye. Judge Aldric had looked up from his papers. His gaze tracked across the courtroom to the gallery.
To Hargrove.
A tiny nod passed between them. A flicker of shared satisfaction, there and gone in an instant.
I knew it. The fix was in before I ever entered this room.
His father had told him, years ago, before the disgrace and the exile. “The system doesn’t serve justice, son. It serves power. Never forget that.”
Lucian hadn’t believed him then. He’d thought his father was bitter, broken by what had happened to their family.
He believed him now.
The guards guided him through the door, into the corridor beyond. The sounds of the courtroom faded behind him.
Lucian walked quietly, letting the guards set the pace. His wrists ached where the chains had bitten deep. His throat was tight with words unspoken.
Cold clarity settled in his chest, patient and hard.
Not despair, but resolve.
They want me dead. They expect me to die in that hole, fighting monsters until one of them gets lucky. They’ve already written me off and moved on to their next victim.
The corridor stretched ahead, ending in another door. Beyond that, the holding cells. Then, the Slaughter Grounds.
Fine.
He’d survived his father’s training, and the streets after the disgrace. He’d survived watching everything his family had built crumble to nothing.
He’d survive this, too.
Someday, when he walked out of those Grounds, he’d remember the look on Judge Aldric’s face, the nod he’d shared with Hargrove, the nobles’ satisfied smiles.
He’d remember all of it.
The guards opened the door at the end of the corridor. Cold air hit him. The holding cells waited beyond, filled with others who’d received the same sentence.
Lucian stepped through without hesitation.
Behind him, the door swung shut with a sound like a coffin lid closing.
He didn’t look back.
Will Lucian accept his fate, or go out swinging? Find out when Slaughter Grounds Book 1: The Condemned Descent is released. Until then head over to Amazon and pre-order it today.
