Semua Bab The Ruthless King's Possession:Fated To The Untamed Beast : Bab 51 - Bab 60

The throne room was empty again.No courtiers. No scribes. No messengers.Just silence — that dreadful, suffocating silence.Drakonios sat motionless on the obsidian throne, his back straight, his eyes fixed on the marble floor beneath him. It had been hours. Maybe longer. The sun had risen and set without his notice.He hadn’t moved.Not since she left.The memory of her face haunted him.Not when she smiled. Not when she slept beside him. Not when she laughed under moonlight with Seraphina.But that last look — the betrayal in her eyes when he gave the order.That was the one that shattered him.He clenched his jaw and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.“What have I done…” he whispered.His palms burned. He could feel the blood under his skin, boiling with self-loathing. Fire begged to be released — to scorch the air, the walls, the memories.But he held it back.He deserved the pain.He deserved to suffer.He could still hear her voice — breaking, pleading, shaking."Pl

Elianna stood at the highest balcony of the crystal citadel, the soft wind teasing her curls, the scent of blooming moon flowers carried on its back. Below, Xaerath glowed like a dream awakened — no longer cursed, no longer lost.But as her eyes swept over the grandeur, her heart cracked. Not with awe, but sorrow.Tears spilled down her cheeks, uninvited. She collapsed to her knees on the cold marble floor, her chest heaving with sobs. This kingdom — this breathtaking wonder — had always belonged to her. Yet she had known nothing of it. While others slumbered in magic, she had grown up hiding, unloved, unaware of who she truly was.“I was born for this…” she whispered. “And I never knew…”The spirits watched in silence. The people had begun to rejoice, to sing, to call her name with voices filled with hope. But she… she mourned.She mourned the stolen years.She had been robbed — of heritage, of truth, of love. And though Xaerath now rose from ruin, something inside her remained broke

The great hall of Xaerath had not seen light in over three decades.Now, it blazed.Gold flames danced along tall crystal sconces, bathing the ancient stones in shimmering warmth. The air was thick with magic — old magic — like the breath of a sleeping goddess finally awakened. Flowers that hadn’t bloomed in a generation now lined the marble aisles, opening their petals toward the throne at the end of the hall.And there, beneath an arched ceiling etched with stars, stood Elianna.Dressed in robes spun from threads of emerald and moonlight, her long hair braided with leaves, silver charms, and pieces of the old crown melted down and reforged into something new. She looked both young and timeless, like a dream reborn in flesh.She had not wanted this.Not at first.But the land had chosen her. The people had remembered her blood. And deep within her — beneath the pain, the exile, the heartbreak — she had remembered herself.The last queen of Xaerath had died in chains.She would rise i

The first strike came at the Valley of Aros — a human stronghold under Qombinian protection. It fell in two nights to a vampire horde that moved like smoke and drank everything in their path.When Drakonios arrived, there were no negotiations.No mercy.He walked into the valley alone.The vampire soldiers laughed. Arrogant. Drunk on blood.“It’s true,” one of them mocked. “The dragon has gone soft. Where’s your queen, oh great flame? Did she melt your bones before she left you?”Drakonios raised his head.And the sky answered.Lightning cracked like a whip across the valley.The air shifted.Then, in one breath, he released his fury.The ground around him exploded — molten cracks splitting through stone and steel. A shockwave of flame erupted from his chest, turning a dozen soldiers to ash before they could blink. He raised his hand, and the skies responded, conjuring storms of fire, ash, and burning light.He did not transform that day.He didn’t need to.He was already more than ma

By the fifth month, the world knew better than to whisper his name lightly.Drakonios had become more than legend. He was now a storm wrapped in flesh, a king no longer bound by crown or castle. The winds carried his wrath. The ground remembered his steps. And wherever he went, the air trembled as if creation itself feared his breath.But even gods must finish what they start.There was only one last stronghold left — the fortress-city of Drelvara, the last united bastion of both vampire and witch bloodlines. A place carved into mountains, fortified with shadow and enchantment, built to withstand centuries of siege.They thought he would not come.That after four months of flame, even the Omni Draco would be worn, weakened, weary.They were wrong.He arrived at dawn, cloaked in smoke, his armor scorched and glowing at the seams. His golden eyes burned brighter than the sun. His presence alone shattered the sky’s calm.Drelvara’s gates had never fallen.But they had never faced him.Kae