The Court in Panic
The air in Elaria's royal court had grown stale. What once smelled of rosewater and incense now carried the sharp scent of ash and fear.
King Alaric paced before the grand mirror in his chambers, jaw clenched so tight his molars ached. The mirror had been covered for weeks—ever since the night he'd seen her in it. Vex. Hair like a wildfire at dusk, those fire-red eyes reflecting judgment. She didn't speak. She only looked.
Worse, she smiled.
He hadn't slept since.
A tremor ran through his hands as he yanked the curtain down again and faced his own reflection. No ghosts. No flames. Just his own aging, hollow-eyed face and the paranoia bleeding through his skin.
"Your Majesty," came a voice from behind the door. "The council is assembled."
Alaric didn't answer. He didn't need to. They would wait. They always did.
⸻
Inside the council chamber, the air was thick with tension. Duke Ravion, the same bootlicker who had once toasted Vex's execution, now stood as pale as milk, holding a sealed letter in trembling fingers.
"She's gaining support in the east. Three minor houses just defected. The nobles are calling her the Phoenix Queen." He tossed the letter onto the polished mahogany table like it burned him. "They say she haunts glass. That she's—watching."
"Do you hear yourselves?" Alaric barked, storming in. "You sound like peasants. Superstition and cowardice."
The high priest, a gaunt man who had grown even more hollow in recent days, raised a shaky hand. "Then what of the mirror in the chapel? It cracked itself in two after a child claimed to see her. She recited Vex's last words before the trial—verbatim."
Silence.
"Enough." Alaric gritted his teeth. "She's using tricks. Illusion. Fear."
"She's winning," Ravion muttered.
"What did you say?"
The duke raised his chin, voice colder this time. "You had your chance to kill her, Alaric. You framed her. Lied. Paraded her downfall for your politics. And you failed."
Alaric's chair screeched as he stood.
Ravion met his glare, unfazed now. "She's not coming for your throne. She's taking your court. One terrified soul at a time."
A tremor ran through the room. Not from outside—but from within. A slow crumbling of certainty, of power.
The king didn't scream. He simply turned, walked to the mirror beside the court doors, and smashed it with a golden goblet. The sound echoed like a curse.
But no one spoke of it.
They all saw the reflection behind the king just before the mirror shattered.
A pair of glowing red eyes, watching.
⸻
Part Four: Intimate Aftermath – Vex and Rhydir
Back in the Hollow, there was no fear. Only silence and a kind of slow, methodical satisfaction.
Vex sat at her desk, one leg crossed over the other, absently twirling a knife between her fingers. In her other hand, a letter. The seal had already been broken, the contents read and memorized. A minor noble—House Darrin—had just pledged full support. They offered land, coin, and men.
They called her "Queen" in the letter. Not as a title.
As a fact.
The candle beside her flickered. Not from wind. From fire that lived, breathed—Agni curled on the bookshelf, tail swishing like a cat too smug for its own good.
She barely noticed when Rhydir entered.
He didn't knock. He never did anymore. She didn't want him to.
He set down a bottle of deep red wine with a flourish and slid into the seat across from her. His shirt was rumpled, his silver hair still damp from his training. He looked unfairly good like that—slightly wild, as if he belonged to no one but her.
"How many more?" he asked, voice low.
"Enough," she replied without looking up.
He leaned back, watching her. "They'll fear you."
Her eyes met his, calm and unshaken. "They already do. Now they'll start to believe me, too."
There was no gloating in her voice. No pride. Just the serenity of truth laid bare.
He reached out, steady, sure, and took her hand. His fingers were calloused, hers smooth but cold with power that had learned patience.
"They'll fear me too."
That earned a smile. Soft. Rare. The kind only he got to see.
"Good," she said. "They should know we come together."
A pause.
"Like a curse?" he teased, lips curving.
She hummed. "Like judgment."
He poured the wine into mismatched cups—no pretense. No court. Just them.
"You still feel guilty," she said after a while, voice quiet.
Rhydir sighed, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. "For letting them twist your name? Every day."
"But not for leaving them behind?"
"Never."
She turned fully to him now, one leg drawn beneath her. "Your mother cursed me."
"She curses everyone. I've heard her call our hounds devil-born."
Vex laughed softly, almost startled by the sound. "You don't doubt us? Not even now?"
He met her eyes without flinching. "Vex. I watched you be destroyed, and then I watched you rise. There's no force in this realm or the next that could make me doubt you."
Her voice dipped low. "You understand what this means, don't you? We're not just allies. Not just lovers. You cut your bloodline for me."
Rhydir's smile was feral now, a wolf's pride glowing in his silver eyes. "Wolves mate for life."
"And the kind of vampire I am?" she whispered, leaning close. "We love only once."
He kissed her fingers, reverent. "Then they don't stand a chance."
Vex tilted her head. "Do you want them to?"
"No," he murmured. "But I want them to try. Just once. So they know what it means to come for you."
Her eyes gleamed. "They'll learn. Slowly. Painfully. Elegantly."
"Cruel and beautiful," he murmured. "Just like you."
She quirked a brow. "Flattery doesn't exempt you from watch duty."
"I was hoping seduction might."
Vex chuckled and rose, taking her cup with her. "Then try harder next time, my wolf."
As she left the room, her silhouette wrapped in firelight, Rhydir watched her go—utterly hers.