Chapter 63

Elouera

The tall stained glass dome above the High Council chamber didn’t simply break. It shattered completely, sending sharp pieces of glass and lead raining down onto the marble floor like a deadly storm.

Vane’s mercenaries had attached a heavy iron grappling hook to the stone platform. The chains groaned under its weight, but the expected group of Black Cell mercenaries never came down.

Instead, Vane’s armored figure disappeared into the shadows among the high roof beams, hidden by the thick cloud of glass dust and smoke.

It had all been planned. Vane had used himself as a distraction to frighten the remaining guards and throw them into complete panic.

In the middle of the huge chamber, everything seemed to slow down. The silence and tension became almost unbearable.

I moved back into the deep shadows of a marble pillar near the eastern entrance. The high lace collar of my velvet tunic felt like hot iron against my neck. Beneath it, the golden lines of my mark were glowing and pulsing rapidly under my skin.

Beside me, Jace stood like a solid wall, his short sword drawn. His large body blocked me from view as I remained hunched over, pretending to be weak.

On my other side, Stirling’s thick wool mantle covered my shoulders. Its strong scent of cedar, winter frost, and lightning mixed together, hiding my true Omega scent beneath the powerful smell of two dominant Alphas.

From the shadows, I watched as the royal family began turning against one another.

Empress Cynthia had not retreated. She stood on the second step of the golden platform, her silver-threaded gown still perfectly neat despite the glass scattered across her shoulders.

But her face had changed completely.

The calm, proud expression she usually wore was gone, replaced by a pale face twisted with uncontrollable anger. Her violet eyes burned with a cold, frightening fury as she stared down at her eldest son.

Crown Prince Callan stood five steps away, dragging his broadsword across the dusty floor. The bloody tip left a dark, uneven trail on the marble.

He no longer looked like a prince who was supposed to inherit the throne. His dark military tunic was torn, his hair was soaked with cold sweat, and his mouth hung slightly open, revealing his long, sharp canines in the flickering torchlight. His eyes glowed completely red, showing just how much control he had lost.

He wasn’t looking at his mother or the broken glass above them. His bloodshot eyes remained fixed on the shadow where I stood. His chest rose and fell as he took deep, uneven breaths, struggling to control the wild Alpha instincts taking over his mind.

“How dare you turn your back on your own family?” the Empress whispered. Her voice was cold and dangerous, loud enough to be heard over the alarms still ringing throughout the palace. “The Outback is burning, Callan! Our military camps are falling! And you’re standing here, growling like a mad dog over a sickly, dying prince?”

“I don’t give a damn about the Outback, Mother!” Callan snarled. His voice was so rough and deep that he sounded almost like a monster.

He took a heavy step toward her, his iron chest armor scraping against its straps.

“Send the Northern House. Send the mercenaries. I don’t care who you send. I’m not leaving this palace. I’m not leaving her.”

Those last words hung in the air, heavy and dangerous.

Near the chancellor’s podium, Archduke Holden let out a quiet, mocking laugh. He leaned casually on his brass cane, his eyes shining with cruel satisfaction.

“How touching,” Holden said with a smile. “The great Crown Prince of New Avalon, brought to his knees not by an invading army, but by the scent of a hidden Omega.”

“Silence, Holden!” the Empress screamed, finally losing the last bit of her royal composure.

Cynthia turned back to Callan and walked down the steps of the throne until she stood right in front of him. She raised her hand and pointed her long fingers, covered in silver rings, at his chest.

“You are my son!” Cynthia snapped, her voice shaking with anger. For thirty years, her powerful voice had made an entire continent obey her.

“You were born to wear that crown! You will take the First Division, get on your horse, and march to the western pass before dawn! If you refuse, I will take away your title and declare you a traitor to the royal family before noon!”

Callan didn’t move. He didn’t lower his head or show any sign of fear.

Slowly, he raised his broadsword.

He didn’t point it at Holden or toward the tall archways.

He pointed the bloody sword straight at his own mother’s throat.

The few high lords still trapped near the side exits gasped in shock.

“Go ahead and try,” Callan whispered. His red eyes glowed even brighter, becoming terrifying to look at.

“Take away my rank, Mother. Call me a traitor. Send your guards after me if you want.”

He moved the sword slightly closer to her throat.

“But the moment any man tries to come between me and my mate, I will cover these golden stairs with royal blood.”

His eyes burned with rage as he stared directly at her.

“And you will be the first to die.”

“Callan!” Cynthia gasped, her violet eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

This family was full of people who stole power, used poison, and murdered their own relatives to keep the throne. Now, they were turning against each other.

For thirty years, the Empress had hidden my existence to protect her throne. Yet now, her own favorite son, an Alpha, was holding a sword to her throat because of the very Omega she had tried so hard to erase.

A cold feeling spread through my chest as I finally understood what was happening.

This was Holden’s real plan.

He hadn’t simply wanted Night bloom to cause a scandal. He had planned something much worse. He had slowly pushed the entire royal family toward their own destruction.

He had allowed the Empress to become blinded by her pride. He had let Callan lose himself in his dangerous obsession with me. And now, he was standing back and watching the Imperial Family tear itself apart.

They’re going to destroy each other, I thought, gripping Stirling’s thick mantle so tightly that my knuckles began to hurt. And when they fall, they’ll drag the entire empire down with them.

Beside me, Jace shifted closer, his broad shoulder pressing against mine. His eyes followed Callan’s sword, watching every movement carefully, ready to act if necessary.

“We need to move now, Elouera,” Jace whispered into my ear, his voice rough and low. “While they’re busy threatening each other. The servant passage behind the tapestry is clear.”

“No,” Stirling murmured from my other side.

He placed his hand over mine and pressed his thumb firmly into my palm, as if trying to keep me calm.

“Look at the high gallery, Commander.”

I raised my eyes toward the dark stone balconies surrounding the top of the chamber.

Moving quietly through the shadows above us were forty Vanguard executioners. They weren’t pointing their crossbows at Callan or the Empress.

Their weapons were aimed directly at Jace, Stirling, and me.

Holden slowly stepped away from the chancellor’s podium. The metal tip of his cane struck the floor with a sharp sound as he walked.

“Did you really think I was depending on the Crown Prince to obey you, Your Majesty?” Holden whispered, looking up at the Empress with a frightening smile.

“Or did you actually believe I trusted the Northern House to keep my secrets?”

He raised his pale hand, covered by a leather glove, and signaled the archers waiting above us.

“The Vanguard answers to me now,” Holden announced. His voice echoed through the silent chamber like a death sentence.

Then he gave his final order.

“Bring the Second Prince to me alive. Kill everyone else.”