Chapter 4 - THE WRATH OF THE SAHARA
The following morning, the palace grounds echoed with the thunderous roar of warhorses and the clanking iron armor of General Seti's legions.
Adrian and Vanessa were dragged into the secondary temple court, forced onto their knees before the grand dais. I stood there, dressed in a magnificent royal gown of white silk and gold thread, my wounds carefully tended to by the royal physicians. Beside me stood my father, a towering figure with a jagged battle scar across his cheek, his hand resting on the hilt of his heavy bronze khopesh sword.
"Adrian Vale," my father’s voice rumbled like thunder. "Did you truly believe your power was self-made? Every bar of gold you touched, every title you held, was bought with the blood of my soldiers and carried by the reputation of my daughter."
Adrian raised his tear-stained, dirt-caked face, crawling pathetically toward me. "I was wrong... I was blinded by her! Please, think of our three years together..."
Beside him, Vanessa wailed, trying to use her pregnancy as a shield. "I carry his child! You cannot do this to me!"
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I looked down at them, my gaze as frigid as the Nile in winter.
"The child is innocent. It will be raised by the high priestesses within the temple, far away from your filthy greed. As for the two of you..." I turned my back on them, refusing to spare them another glance. "Let the desert pass its judgment."
