Chapter 5 — The Mask Beneath the Crown

The throne room was silent, save for the rhythmic click of Aria’s boots against the obsidian tiles. Each step echoed like a warning. The twelve figures of the High Council stared down at her from their crescent dais, cloaked in crimson and gold, their faces obscured by ornate masks. Above them, the great Voss sigil—an iron wolf devouring a serpent—loomed on a black banner.

She stopped when she reached the base of the stairs. Her heart beat fast but steady. Control was survival here.

Damien Voss watched her from his place on the throne. Unlike the others, his face remained bare. His expression unreadable. A king carved in midnight.

“You walk freely in the Empire, Miss Vale,” Mirell spoke first, her voice like velvet draped over daggers. “A curiosity, considering the whispers that follow you.”

“I imagine there are whispers about all of you as well,” Aria replied coolly.

Several councilors stiffened.

Damien’s eyes gleamed with the hint of a smile. “Bold.”

“I’m useful,” she said. “Boldness is a necessary part of the job.”

Damien stood, descending the throne with measured grace. “So you claim. Yet your presence here, your timing, your origin—”

“Is it the truth you want, or the version that makes me less threatening?” Aria asked.

The tension thickened. Cassian leaned forward from his seat at the edge of the dais, his fingers tapping lazily against his jaw. “Let’s start with how a nobody from the outer ring managed to infiltrate one of the Empire’s most secure vaults.”

“Not a nobody,” Velan interjected, his milky eyes never blinking. “She’s Vale-blooded. Confirmed.”

Aria turned her head slightly toward him. “Didn’t think you’d find that so soon.”

“You underestimated our reach,” Damien murmured as he stepped closer, until he stood just a few paces from her.

His proximity forced her to still. The air between them was taut, bristling with unspoken danger—and something else neither dared name.

“You carry the blood of traitors,” Mirell said. “Why should we allow you to breathe within these walls?”

Aria’s lips curled faintly. “Because your empire is built on worse.”

That drew a quiet chuckle from Damien. “You don’t deny it.”

“I’m not here to grovel. I’m here because you summoned me. Because you want something only I can give.”

“And what is that?”

Aria stepped forward, lifting her chin. “The names of the conspirators hiding in your cities. The ones who’ve already begun carving out your empire from the inside.”

Cassian stood abruptly. “She lies—”

“Enough.” Damien raised his hand, silencing the room.

He studied her face, searching for something. Aria didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. If he was testing her, she would pass.

After a long silence, Damien turned toward the Council. “She’s under my protection now.”

Whispers erupted behind the masks.

“You can’t—” Mirell began, but Damien’s voice cut sharper.

“I can and I have. She will remain within the High Tower until I say otherwise.”

His tone left no room for argument.

Aria’s heart thudded as she realized the implications. He was pulling her in—not pushing her out. Was it to use her… or to control her?

As the court began to empty and the masked council members vanished into the shadows, Damien lingered. Aria turned toward him slowly, the weight of his gaze still on her.

“You just put a target on my back,” she said.

“I’ve made you a pawn,” Damien said flatly. “For now. The real game has yet to begin.”

“And when it does?”

Damien stepped even closer, his voice a whisper against the silence. “You’ll either sit beside me… or fall like the rest.”

He turned away before she could answer, his cloak trailing like smoke behind him.

Aria stood alone in the throne room, aware that she had just taken the first irreversible step into the blood empire’s core.

And the wolves were watching.

The moment Damien left the throne room, the walls seemed to breathe again, the pressure releasing just slightly. Aria exhaled slowly, scanning the empty space around her. The black marble beneath her feet gleamed, too perfect, too pristine—like a lie polished over centuries.

Footsteps echoed behind her. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Alec Rowan, the King’s head of internal intelligence and Damien’s closest advisor, approached with a look of controlled contempt. His sharp cheekbones, slicked-back hair, and tailored midnight suit made him look like a predator born for politics.

“You should watch your tongue, Vale,” he said, voice cool and edged. “The Council has long memories. And even longer knives.”

“I’ll be sure to add that to the list of threats I’ve received today,” she replied dryly.

He stepped closer, too close. “You think you’re clever, playing both sides. But you’re in over your head.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be.”

A flicker of something passed over Alec’s face—respect or suspicion, she couldn’t tell.

He gave a tight smile. “The King is dangerous when he’s curious. And right now, you’ve got his full attention.”

“He’s not the only one,” a voice drawled from the shadows”.

Aria turned sharply.

Rhea Draeven, the Empire’s emissary and a woman with the mind of a serpent and the smile of a saint, strolled in. Her heels clicked delicately as she moved, golden eyes sparkling with veiled amusement. Her ink-black gown hugged her frame like armor, and her coiled braid glittered with silver pins shaped like thorns.

“I’ve been waiting for a reason to study you up close,” Rhea said, circling Aria like she were inspecting a new piece for the royal collection.

“Enjoying the view?” Aria asked flatly.

Rhea’s smile widened. “We’ll see how long your confidence lasts inside the Tower.”

“She’s not ready,” Alec said bluntly. “We don’t even know what she truly wants.”

“She wants what all the broken things want,” Rhea said, brushing a speck of dust from Aria’s shoulder with delicate fingers. “A place to belong. Or a kingdom to burn.”

Rhea’s touch lingered for a moment too long, then withdrew. “Come, little raven. Let’s find you a cage fit for royalty.”

Later, in the High Tower…

The Tower loomed high above the rest of Voss Citadel, its upper levels piercing the clouds like fangs. Aria’s new quarters were far from humble—luxurious even, with carved obsidian walls, velvet drapes, and a view overlooking the sprawl of the city below. But it wasn’t comfort—it was a gilded prison.

She wandered the room, fingers trailing along the bookshelves, the antique daggers, the crystal decanter filled with crimson liquor. Everything was designed to impress or intimidate.

A knock sounded.

When she opened the door, it was Kael Draven, Damien’s enforcer—silent, loyal, and known for never failing a mission. He handed her a small envelope without a word and left.

Inside was a folded parchment. Five words in Damien’s hand:

“Midnight. North Wing. No guards.”

Beneath it, a second line, fainter.

“You’re not the only one watching.”

Aria’s pulse quickened. Damien wanted a private meeting. But the warning… someone else was tracking her. And if she was a pawn in his game, someone out there might already be moving to strike her off the board.

She folded the note and burned it in the fireplace, watching the flames devour the paper until only ash remained.

One thing was clear—trust was a currency she couldn’t afford to spend lightly.

And the deeper she walked into the empire’s heart, the more she realized—

This bloodstained game wasn’t about survival.

It was about domination.