King Of Eldoria: Reborn To Be His

The great hall of Eldoria’s royal castle smelled of smoke, blood, and spilled wine. Banners that had flown for generations lay trampled under boots. Broken swords and shattered shields covered the stone floor. Outside, horses screamed as the last of Ravyn’s loyal men were cut down.

King Ravyn Voss was on his knees in the middle of it all, one hand pressed hard against the deep gash in his side. Blood ran between his fingers and pooled beneath him. His black hair stuck to his sweaty face, and his crown had already been ripped off and tossed aside like garbage.

Prince Caelian knelt beside him, arms wrapped around the king’s shoulders, trying to hold him up. Caelian’s own tunic was soaked red from a wound across his chest. He was crying openly, the kind of raw, ugly sobs that came from a man who had held everything in for years.

“Stay with me,” Caelian whispered, voice cracking. “Please, Ravyn. Just stay.”

Above them stood Princess Liora, her golden hair still perfectly arranged even after the fighting. She wore a deep crimson gown, the color of victory. Next to her was Duke Darian Blackthorn, her secret lover for years, his sword still dripping. A group of Valthorne guards surrounded them, laughing and kicking over whatever pieces of Eldoria’s pride they could find.

Liora smiled down at the dying king. “Look at you. The great King of Eldoria. Reduced to this.”

Ravyn coughed hard, blood flecking his lips. His vision was starting to blur, but he could still see her clearly enough. The woman he had thrown everything away for. The woman who had never loved him back.

He turned his head slowly toward Caelian. The prince’s face was pale, tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt and blood on his cheeks. Five years. Five years of cruelty, of public humiliation, of flaunting Liora in front of him like a prize. And still, here Caelian was, holding him while they both bled out.

“I…” Ravyn’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He gripped Caelian’s arm with what little strength he had left. “If I had another chance… I wouldn’t do it again. Not like this. I was a fool.”

Caelian shook his head, fresh tears falling. “Don’t talk. Save your strength.”

But Ravyn kept going, the words spilling out like they had been waiting for years. “I’m sorry, Caelian. For every damn day. For treating you worse than a dog. For choosing her.” He looked up at Liora with pure disgust now. “She never even wanted me. Just the crown.”

Liora laughed, sharp and cold. “And I have it now, don’t I?”

Ravyn ignored her. He pulled Caelian closer, their foreheads almost touching. His hand trembled as he cupped the prince’s face. “I love you,” he said, the words rough and broken. “I should have said it years ago. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

For a moment, something like peace crossed Caelian’s face. Then Ravyn’s body went slack. His hand slipped from Caelian’s cheek and hit the floor with a dull thud. The King of Eldoria was dead.

Caelian let out a scream that echoed off the stone walls. It wasn’t a word, just pure pain torn out of him. He clutched Ravyn’s body tighter, rocking slightly as if that could somehow bring him back.

Liora rolled her eyes. “Pathetic. Even at the end, you’re still clinging to him.” She motioned to one of the Valthorne guards. “Finish it. We have a kingdom to take.”

The guard stepped forward without hesitation. He raised his sword and drove it straight through Caelian’s back. The prince gasped once, body jerking, then slumped over Ravyn’s corpse. His eyes stared blankly at nothing.

The hall fell quiet except for the guards’ low chuckles and the distant sounds of looting.

Liora wiped a speck of blood from her sleeve. “Clean this mess up before the rest of the court arrives. I want the throne scrubbed and ready by morning.”

Duke Darian slid an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. “My queen,” he murmured.

She smiled.

---

High above the mortal world, in a place where the lines between heaven and hell blurred, two figures stood watching the scene unfold like it was playing out on a stage below them.

The devil lounged against a marble pillar, arms crossed, a lazy smirk on his face. Tall, dark haired, with sharp features and eyes that glowed faintly red. He wore black robes that looked too expensive for someone who spent most of his time causing trouble.

The angel stood beside him, arms folded tight, white wings tucked neatly behind his back. His golden hair and calm expression made him look almost too perfect next to the devil’s chaos.

“Well,” the devil said, chuckling. “What a shit ending.”

The angel didn’t smile. “He begged for a second chance,” he said quietly, eyes still fixed on the two dead men lying together on the cold floor. “Right at the end. You heard him.”

The devil snorted. “He was stupid. Spent five years kicking the only person who actually gave a damn about him. Now look where it got them both.” He pushed off the pillar and moved closer to the angel. “He doesn’t deserve another shot.”

The angel turned to glare at him. “Everyone deserves a chance to do better.”

Before the angel could say anything else, the devil slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him in. The angel scowled and tried to push him away, but there wasn’t much force behind it.

“Stop that,” the angel muttered.

The devil only laughed, low and warm, leaning in until his lips brushed the angel’s ear. “A second chance it is, then. For both of them.”

The angel sighed but didn’t pull away this time. Below them, the bodies of the king and prince lay still in the ruined hall while Liora and her people celebrated their victory.

The devil’s smirk widened.

“Let’s see if the bastard can do any better the second time around.”