Chapter 15: The Weight of a Crown
The golden light of the throne room had faded, replaced by the quiet shadows of Seraphina's private chambers.
She stood before the tall windows, staring out at the city below. From this height, the empire looked peaceful—a lie wrapped in moonlight.
Her hands curled into fists.
Duke Valen had been the first.
But he would not be the last.
A sharp knock at the door.
"Enter," she said, her voice steady.
Rhys stepped inside, his dark cloak trailing behind him. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp blue eyes held an unspoken question.
"You're thinking about what comes next," he murmured.
Seraphina did not turn. "What else is there to think about?"
Rhys sighed, stepping closer. "You sent a powerful message today. The nobles are rattled. Some are already discussing alliances—others are wondering if they'll be next."
"Good," she said simply.
Rhys hesitated. "But they are also afraid."
Seraphina finally turned, her gaze piercing. "They should be."
She moved past him, crossing the room with quiet grace. "For too long, they ruled through whispers and poisoned wine. They thought me weak, a fool to be manipulated. I let them believe that. And now?"
Her lips curled into a slow, sharp smile.
"Now, they see the truth."
Rhys watched her carefully. He had known Seraphina for years, but this version of her—the one who had returned from death itself—was something different.
"You're making enemies," he warned.
"I'm making examples," she corrected.
Her fingers trailed along the edge of a wooden desk, where a sealed letter lay waiting.
Rhys's gaze flickered to it. "What is that?"
She tapped the wax seal. "An invitation."
"To whom?"
Seraphina looked up, her golden eyes gleaming.
"To the next snake in my garden."
The Council of Shadows
The following evening, a group of nobles gathered in a dimly lit chamber beneath the palace. Candles flickered against the stone walls, casting eerie shadows over their faces.
Duke Castiel, a man with a sharp jaw and even sharper ambition, leaned forward. "We cannot allow this to continue."
"She executed Valen without hesitation," another noble muttered. "If she knows what we have done…"
A tense silence filled the room.
They all knew what that meant.
Lady Mirella, her crimson lips twisted into a smirk, toyed with the rim of her goblet. "Perhaps we underestimated her."
"Understatement of the century," Castiel muttered.
"Then what do you propose?" another asked.
Mirella tapped a single nail against the wooden table. "If we cannot control her… we must remove her."
A slow murmur of agreement spread through the room.
Castiel exhaled. "Then it's decided."
But just as he lifted his goblet in silent agreement, the door to the chamber swung open.
A cold breeze swept in.
And standing in the doorway, cloaked in the shadows of her own making—was Seraphina.
The air shifted.
Nobles froze, their faces draining of color.
Mirella's smirk vanished.
Seraphina stepped forward, the click of her heels echoing like a death toll.
Her voice was calm—dangerously so.
"I expected treachery," she murmured. "But I thought you'd at least have the decency to do it behind closed doors."
Castiel shot to his feet. "Your Majesty, we were only—"
Seraphina lifted a hand.
A silent command.
The guards at her back unsheathed their blades.
Cold steel glinted in the candlelight.
"You had your chance," Seraphina said, her golden eyes burning. "Now you will learn what happens to those who conspire against the crown."
The chamber erupted into chaos.