All Chapters of Kingdom of Ash and Blood : Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

The city awoke to red banners. They hung from half-burned towers and broken cathedrals, painted with the sigil of the Queen — a serpent biting its own tail, coiled around a bleeding sun. Her followers called themselves The Children of Bloodlight. They prayed at the ruins of embassies, lit fires beneath her name, and spoke her decrees like scripture. “Her blood was our birthright. Her fire, our redemption. The world ended, and she began.” Cassian stood at the balcony of the Istanbul fortress, watching the sea of fanatics gather below. Thousands of them. Some wore makeshift robes, others bore scars shaped like her mark. “She’s become their god,” he murmured. “And gods don’t stay merciful.” Inside the War Room Amara’s presence filled the air like electricity. She no longer walked — she glided, almost detached from her body. Her aura burned faintly crimson, every movement echoing the power she couldn’t contain. On the table before her, holograms flickered — live feeds fro

Death was quiet. Amara had expected screams, fire, or the echo of Luca’s name in the dark — but there was only silence. And then, a heartbeat. Not hers. Not human. Something older. A voice rippled through the void: You broke the throne. Now, become what replaces it. One Week Later — The Fortress of Silence The fortress had changed. Every mirror was covered. Every candle burned black. Luca hadn’t left her chamber in seven days. Cassian guarded the door while physicians came and went, offering nothing but useless prayers. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t alive. Amara lay on the silk-draped bed, her skin pale as glass, a faint golden pulse still flickering beneath her sternum where the crown had fused. Luca sat beside her, eyes hollow. “You once told me power was a curse. You were right.” Cassian entered quietly, holding a letter sealed in ash. “From Dante.” Luca didn’t look up. “He’s still alive?” Cassian nodded. “Barely. He found Ezra Vale. Said he has the key t

The storm hadn’t left Palermo. It had simply gone quiet — the kind of silence that only came before something truly catastrophic. By dawn, the Moretti estate was restless again. Guards moved in pairs, whispers crawled through the halls, and every door felt like it hid a secret. Amara hadn’t slept. The crypt’s chill still clung to her skin, the image of that fractured sigil burned behind her eyes. The Varela crest beneath the Moretti emblem — her family’s mark, buried and forgotten, sealed away like a sin. Now she knew why “The Veil” used that name. They weren’t outsiders. They were descendants of the old houses — Varela loyalists, perhaps even her mother’s hidden followers. And they wanted what they believed was rightfully theirs: not just power… but truth. The truth Luca had kept from her. By the time she entered the war room, the men inside went silent. Matteo, Dario, and half the inner circle turned toward her as if she’d walked in wearing fire. She didn’t sit. She s

The silence that followed his name was sharp enough to cut. Luca stood frozen, every breath a fracture. Lorenzo Moretti — the cousin he’d buried ten years ago — was standing in front of him, very much alive. The last time Luca saw him was in a coffin. Lorenzo had been the golden boy of the family. Brilliant. Manipulative. Dangerous in the way only the truly gifted could be. When he’d been “killed” in a botched hit, the family had fractured. Luca had inherited the crown of ashes that remained. Now that ghost was smiling at him, his tailored black suit perfectly unwrinkled, his silver ring gleaming beneath the dim light of the underground chamber. “Impossible,” Luca breathed. But the tremor in his voice betrayed him. Lorenzo tilted his head, eyes glinting. “That word doesn’t exist in our family.” Amara watched in silence, her pistol never lowering. Every instinct told her to shoot — and yet, something in Lorenzo’s calm terrified her more than his gun would have. “You’

AMARA The car cuts through the storm like a blade. Rain lashes the windshield, lightning carving open the Sicilian sky — but inside, everything is too quiet. Luca sits beside me, half-conscious, blood drying across his temple. His hand twitches against mine, a tremor that breaks me in places I thought were already shattered. Every breath he takes feels like a countdown I can’t stop. Matteo drives fast, too fast, but not fast enough. The coast disappears behind us — and with it, the last illusion of peace. “The Veil,” I whisper, staring at the blood on my gloves. “What do they want?” Luca’s voice is gravel. “What every ghost wants. A name… and a reckoning.” He coughs, pain ripping through him. I reach for him, but he grabs my wrist — not gently. “Don’t pity me, regina mia.” His eyes, heavy-lidded but defiant, pin me in place. “If they’ve come for us, it means I failed to finish what I started.” I shake my head. “No. It means they were never finished with us.” Becau