All Chapters of Sacrifice Of The Heart: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Elara’s lungs burned as she pushed forward, the uneven forest floor testing her every step. Her body screamed for rest, but she knew stopping wasn’t an option. Not now.She had to keep moving.Her escape from the Wraith King’s grasp had cost her—draining her magic and leaving a dull, throbbing ache behind. But worse than that was the lingering sensation of his presence wrapped around her like a phantom chain.Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel him. Watching. Waiting.The bond had changed.She wasn’t sure how, but something had shifted in those brief moments their magic had clashed. He was closer now, as if a wall between them had crumbled. The very thought sent ice crawling through her veins.She could not let him catch her again.A rustling in the trees sent her heart slamming into her ribs. Elara skidded to a stop, her breath coming fast.Silence.Then—a footstep.Elara spun, her magic sparking instinctively at her fingertips. The shadows between the trees shifted, parti

Elara’s world narrowed to the figure standing before her.A face from the past. A face that should have been buried beneath the weight of time and death.Lucian.Her breath caught. The sharp planes of his face were the same, his storm-gray eyes still held that quiet intensity—but something had changed. There was a coldness in his gaze, a dangerous stillness in the way he held himself.Vesper moved instinctively, stepping in front of her. His presence was a wall, a shield between her and the specter from her past.“Elara,” Lucian’s voice was smoother than she remembered, his lips curling slightly. “It’s been a long time.”Too long.Memories crashed into her—nights spent strategizing, whispered promises of loyalty, a mission gone terribly wrong… and blood. So much blood.Elara swallowed hard. “You’re supposed to be dead.”Lucian chuckled, stepping further into the chamber. “And yet, here I am. Surprised?”Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms to keep herself grou

The night air was thick with tension as Elara, Vesper, and Lucian rode toward Valmere. The moon hung low, casting long shadows across the abandoned road, and the wind carried whispers of the past—ghosts of a city long turned to ash.Elara tightened her grip on the reins of her horse, her pulse steady but alert. Every hoofbeat against the dirt felt like a countdown to something inevitable.“You’re sure this path is safe?” she asked Lucian, breaking the silence.Lucian, riding just ahead of her, glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Of course not.”Vesper let out a sharp breath, muttering a curse under his breath. “Fantastic.”Elara ignored them both. She focused on the road ahead—jagged rock formations, twisted trees, and the faint, eerie glow of Valmere in the distance. The ruined city loomed on the horizon like a graveyard of forgotten history.She could feel it even from here.The weight of something unnatural.A shiver ran down her spine.“The city is cursed,” Vesper said, his v

The whisper slithered through her mind like a serpent, its voice cold and ancient.“You are mine now.”Elara’s body froze. A sharp, unnatural chill spread from her chest to her fingertips, coiling around her spine. She could still feel the lingering presence of the throne’s magic inside her—a dark pulse, steady and insistent, like a second heartbeat.She tried to breathe through it, but the weight of it crushed her lungs.“Elara?” Vesper’s voice cut through the haze.She blinked hard, her vision sharpening just enough to see him crouched in front of her. His grip on her shoulders was firm, grounding. His gaze burned with an intensity that sent warmth through her frozen veins.“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice low. “What’s wrong?”She wasn’t sure how to answer.If she told him the truth—that the throne’s magic hadn’t died with the city but had latched onto her—he would never let it go.Neither would Lucian.She glanced up to find the rebel prince watching her too, suspicion flickeri

The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and old magic. Deep beneath the grand halls of the palace, where forgotten whispers clung to the walls like specters, Princess Elara stood before the entrance to the Forbidden Vaults. The eerie glow of enchanted torches flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch toward her like clawed hands.At her side, Vesper Moretti, the Phantom Heir, exuded a quiet intensity, his calculating gaze fixed on the ancient doors. His presence was like a dark promise—unshakable, unreadable, and entirely lethal.“The moment we step inside, there is no turning back,” he murmured, voice low and edged with warning.Elara’s grip tightened around the dagger hidden in the folds of her cloak. “Then let’s not waste another breath hesitating.”With a slow, deliberate motion, she pressed her hand against the cold metal sigil in the center of the doors. A surge of power erupted from the contact, sending a tremor through the chamber. The vault responded, crea