Chapter 2: The Queen No One Prayed For

An uneasy silence gripped the courtyard as every pair of crimson eyes remained fixed on the woman standing upon the ancient altar. No one moved. No one dared speak above a whisper. The sacred ceremony that had united every Vampire King with his destined queen for over a thousand years had become something no living soul had ever witnessed before.

The woman stood perfectly still, her silver eyes slowly taking in the towering castle, the sea of horrified faces, and the crimson moon hanging above them. There was neither confusion nor fear in her expression. Instead, she looked almost… saddened, as though she had awakened in a place she had hoped never to see.

Then her gaze settled on the glowing mark around her wrist.

The silver symbol pulsed once beneath her pale skin before falling still.

Across the altar, Lucien instinctively looked down at his own hand. The crimson marriage mark that had appeared moments ago was changing. Before the eyes of the entire court, streaks of silver spread through the crimson crest until both marks became identical.

The bond had accepted them.

A collective gasp swept through the nobles.

“No…” one council elder whispered, shaking his head repeatedly. “The Crimson Vow cannot make mistakes.”

“It has never chosen anything except a vampire,” another noble argued, his voice trembling. “This… this creature cannot be our queen.”

“Creature?” the elderly duke who had fallen to his knees whispered hoarsely. “You fools have no idea who stands before us.”

His words only deepened the panic.

High Priestess Selene stared at the woman as though every lesson she had ever learned had suddenly become meaningless. Her hands trembled beneath the sleeves of her robes while ancient prayers raced through her mind, searching for an explanation that refused to come.

“This should be impossible,” she murmured. “The ritual calls only those bound to the blood of the Night Empire.”

The silver-haired woman finally spoke again, her voice carrying effortlessly across the silent courtyard despite its softness.

“It was never meant to call me.”

Every vampire shivered.

There was nothing threatening about her voice, yet it carried the weight of countless centuries. It sounded like quiet snowfall over forgotten graves, gentle and mournful all at once.

Lucien studied her carefully. Every instinct sharpened by centuries of battle warned him that she possessed unimaginable power. Yet she made no move to attack. She neither demanded answers nor attempted to escape. She simply stood there as though burdened by an invisible sorrow.

“You know who you are,” Lucien said evenly.

She met his eyes.

“I do.”

“Then tell us.”

For several long moments, she remained silent. It was not hesitation but reluctance, as though speaking the truth would bring consequences she desperately wished to avoid.

“My name is Nyx.”

The name echoed through the courtyard.

Several nobles frowned in confusion, but others visibly paled.

One elderly scholar covered his mouth with both hands.

“Nyx…” he breathed. “That name appears in the First Scriptures.”

A murmur spread through the crowd.

“The forbidden texts?”

“I thought they were myths.”

“The First Scriptures were sealed centuries ago.”

The old scholar slowly lowered himself to one knee, unable to take his terrified eyes off the woman before him.

“They speak of the one who walks beside every soul at its final breath.”

His voice cracked.

“The one even immortals cannot escape.”

Silence followed.

Then, almost as one, dozens of nobles stepped backward.

Someone dropped a ceremonial spear, the sharp clang against the stone startling everyone.

Prince Caelan pushed through the crowd, his handsome features twisted with disbelief. Unlike the others, he looked not only afraid but furious.

“This is madness!” he shouted. “The ritual has been corrupted.”

His accusation echoed throughout the courtyard.

He pointed directly at Nyx.

“She is an impostor.”

Lucien’s expression remained unreadable.

“You accuse the Crimson Vow of failure?”

“I accuse someone of interfering with it,” Caelan replied without hesitation. “The throne cannot be tied to… whatever she is.”

Nyx watched the exchange quietly, showing neither offense nor anger.

Instead, her gaze drifted beyond the castle walls.

Her expression changed.

For the first time, genuine concern flickered across her face.

“They’re waking.”

The words were barely louder than a whisper.

Before anyone could ask what she meant, a deafening church bell rang from the distant city below.

Then another.

And another.

The bells were not announcing celebration.

They were warning of disaster.

A terrified guard sprinted into the courtyard, stumbling to his knees before the king.

“Your Majesty!”

His chest rose and fell violently as he struggled to breathe.

“The royal cemetery…”

Lucien stepped forward.

“What about it?”

The guard swallowed hard, his face drained of all color.

“The graves…”

His voice broke.

“The graves have opened.”

Fear rippled through the assembled court.

Another guard rushed in before the first could continue.

“It’s not only the royal cemetery,” he shouted. “Reports are arriving from every province. Every burial ground across the empire is the same.”

The courtyard erupted into chaos.

Nobles shouted over one another, each trying to make sense of the impossible.

“The dead are rising?”

“That cannot happen.”

“Our protective wards are still active.”

“It’s a curse!”

“It’s an omen!”

Lucien raised one hand.

The courtyard fell silent instantly.

“What exactly did you see?” he asked.

The second guard looked as though he wished he had never witnessed it.

“The dead are climbing out of their graves, Your Majesty.”

A heavy stillness settled over the courtyard.

“They’re not attacking anyone,” the guard continued shakily. “They’re just… wandering.”

Every eye slowly turned toward Nyx.

She lowered her gaze, and for the first time, regret clouded her silver eyes.

“I warned them this would happen,” she whispered.

Lucien heard her.

“Who?”

“The ones who created the Crimson Vow.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You know about the ritual.”

“I know more than anyone alive.”

She lifted her head and looked directly at him.

“The moment our bond was completed, I could no longer stand where I have stood since the beginning of time.”

A cold realization crept through Lucien’s mind.

“You mean…”

Nyx closed her eyes briefly before answering.

“There is no one guiding the souls of the dead anymore.”

A violent tremor shook the castle, sending cracks racing across the ancient altar beneath their feet.

Far beyond the towering walls of Blackthorn Castle, a low, haunting roar echoed from the direction of the Veil.

Nyx’s eyes snapped open.

Her calm expression finally gave way to alarm.

“They’ve found the crack.”

Lucien frowned.

“Who has?”

She looked toward the dark horizon where the earth itself seemed to pulse beneath the blood-red moon.

“The things that were never meant to escape.”

The roar came again.

This time, it was much closer.