Chapter 5: The Crypt Beneath the Throne

The royal crypts sat beneath the palace.

Buried deep enough that even the servants whispered about them like ghosts.

Lyra learned that quickly from the silence alone.

Nobody spoke as they descended the spiral staircase beneath the eastern wing. Not the guards. Not the trembling servant carrying a lantern ahead of them. Not even Lucien.

Only boots against stone.

And somewhere far below—

Scratching.

A foul smell thickened the deeper they went. Wet earth. Rotting flowers. Old water trapped underground too long.

Cassian walked ahead with one hand resting on his sword.

He had not looked at Lyra once since the servant mentioned the missing kings.

That bothered her more than it should have.

Lucien drifted beside her instead, casual despite the tension pressing through the stairwell.

“You’re thinking loudly,” he murmured.

“I’m deciding which one of you is more irritating.”

“Careful. That answer changes hourly.”

Lyra glanced sideways at him. “You joke too much for a prince.”

“And Cassian broods enough for both of us.”

Ahead of them, Cassian’s voice cut through the dark.

“I can still hear you.”

“Good,” Lucien replied.

The staircase finally opened into a massive underground hall.

Lyra stopped cold.

Rows of black stone tombs stretched beneath vaulted ceilings carved with ancient symbols. Hundreds of candles flickered weakly along the walls, their flames bending strangely toward the floor.

Toward the dark.

The royal crypts looked less like a burial chamber and more like a cathedral built for dead gods.

And every tomb stood open.

Empty.

The guards spread out instantly.

Steel whispered free from sheaths.

One man crossed himself beneath his breath.

Lyra moved slowly farther inside.

The stone floor was scratched deeply in places.

Drag marks.

As though something heavy had been pulled through the crypt.

Or crawled.

The servant suddenly whimpered.

“There,” she whispered.

At the far end of the crypt stood a throne.

Not ornate.

Not royal.

Ancient black stone shaped from a single slab. Thick cracks split across its surface like old lightning scars.

And beneath it—

A hole.

Dark.

Breathing cold air into the crypt.

Lyra stared at it.

Something inside her chest tightened painfully.

The shadows around the pit moved differently.

Hungrily.

Cassian noticed her staring.

“Don’t go near it.”

“Why?”

His jaw flexed once.

“Because I said so.”

Lucien sighed dramatically. “You see? This is why people prefer me.”

“No one prefers you,” Cassian answered.

“Mother did once.”

Silence hit instantly.

Sharp.

Ugly.

Lyra looked between them carefully.

Ah.

That wound was still bleeding.

Before anyone could speak again, one of the guards shouted.

“Movement!”

Everyone turned.

A figure stood between the tombs.

Tall.

Still.

Wearing ancient royal armor blackened with age.

Its face remained hidden beneath a cracked crown helm.

But its eyes—

Empty darkness.

The dead king tilted its head slowly toward them.

Then another figure stepped from the shadows beside it.

And another.

Lyra’s pulse stumbled.

The missing kings.

All of them.

The corpses moved unnaturally beneath rusted armor, jerking slightly like puppets dragged by invisible strings.

One still wore gold rings on skeletal fingers.

Another dragged half a broken jaw behind him.

The servant screamed.

The dead kings charged.

Chaos exploded instantly.

Guards rushed forward.

Steel clashed against ancient armor.

One corpse king slammed a soldier into a pillar hard enough to burst bone through skin.

Lucien moved like silver lightning.

Twin daggers flashed through the dark, cutting black tendrils from a corpse’s spine.

Not blood.

Shadow.

Cassian met the largest king head-on.

Sword crashing against rusted steel.

The impact shook the crypt.

Lyra backed away instinctively—

Then stopped.

The shadows weren’t attacking her.

They were avoiding her.

One corpse king lunged toward her suddenly, crown hanging crooked over its skull.

Its dead mouth opened.

Not to bite.

To speak.

“Heir.”

The word scraped out wetly.

Lyra froze.

The corpse king dropped to one knee before her.

Every other dead king stopped fighting instantly.

Silence slammed through the crypt.

Even Cassian looked stunned.

The kneeling king lowered his head.

Then all the others followed.

One by one.

Ancient rulers bowing before her.

Fear crawled slowly up Lyra’s spine.

“No,” she whispered.

The shadows beneath the throne pit began moving faster.

The dead kings remained kneeling.

Waiting.

Listening.

Then a voice rose from the darkness below.

Female.

Soft.

Beautiful enough to make Lyra’s skin crawl.

“My child.”

The entire crypt shook violently.

Cracks split through the floor.

The guards panicked immediately.

Cassian moved toward Lyra fast. “Get away from the pit.”

Too late.

Black shadow erupted upward from the hole beneath the throne.

It wrapped around Lyra’s wrist before anyone could stop it.

Cold slammed through her body.

Visions tore across her mind.

A woman sitting upon the Bone Crown.

Kingdoms burning beneath black skies.

Mountains of corpses.

And Cassian standing before her throne covered in blood while the world collapsed around them.

Then the woman smiled.

Not kindly.

Possessively.

“You found my heart,” the voice whispered inside Lyra’s skull.

Pain exploded through her chest.

Lyra screamed.

Silver light burst beneath her skin.

The dead kings raised their heads sharply.

And Cassian shouted her name for the first time.

“Lyra!”