All Chapters of CROWNED BY BLOOD: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The wolves no longer answer my call.I stand in the courtyard where they once gathered at my summons. The space feels cavernous now, empty in ways that go beyond the absence of bodies. Even the wind seems reluctant to fill the silence.Now their oaths have broken, scattered like bones bleached white by sun and time. The supernatural compulsion that once drew them to my side has dissolved, leaving them free to choose their own paths for the first time in years. Some fled into the deep forests where they can run wild and forget they ever served a crown. Some bent knee to other lords, trading their loyalty for safety and the promise of simpler service. Others simply vanished into silence, disappearing so completely that I wonder if they ever existed at all.Perhaps I should hate them for this abandonment, should rage at their betrayal the way the old Luna would have. The Tyrant Queen would have hunted them down one by one, made examples of their disloyalty that would be whispered about f

The graveyard is quieter than the throne ever was.No courtiers bowing with false smiles. No whispers slithering through tapestried halls. No accusations hurled the council chambers where loyalty was bartered like grain. Only rows of stones, each one a weight pressing against my chest, each one a testament to the price of my choice.The iron gates hang on rusted hinges, their ornate scrollwork now twisted and broken. Once, this place was tended with reverence to the royal cemetery where heroes were laid to rest with ceremony and honor. Now it lies forgotten, abandoned like so much else in the wake of my reign. Weeds choke the pathways that once gleamed with polished marble. The grand mausoleums that housed my ancestors stand crumbling, their carved angels weeping tears that have painted their faces black with age and neglect.I trace my hand across the nearest headstone, the letters worn but familiar. The marble is cold beneath my fingertips, worn smooth by wind and rain and time's re

The nursery smells of dust and old sorrow now. No one has entered this place for months, not since the walls echoed with laughter and the soft patter of tiny feet racing across worn wooden floors. The door handle turns stiff under my grip, while trying to open.I pushed it inside and the silence hits. This was once the loudest section in the castle filled with squeals of delight, demands for stories, arguments over toys, and the endless chatter of children who believed the world was built for their wonder. Now it feels like a tomb, sealed away from the living world and left to gather the dust of abandoned dreams.The air is stale, thick with the weight of months and neglect, but when I close the door behind me and lean against its solid wood, I swear I can still smell the Milk spilled, honey cakes cooling on the windowsill while small hands waited impatiently, the faint lavender soap I used to scrub little fingers clean after they'd been exploring the garden or the kitchen or whatever

The forest was silent when I entered it, not that peaceful silence of sanctuary, but the hollow silence of a wound that has festered in the earth for years, refusing to heal despite the passage of seasons. This silence presses against my skin, heavy with memory and thick with the kind of sorrow that seeps into soil and remains there.This is where the curse that now defines my existence first seeped into me like venom from a serpent's bite, spreading through my veins with deliberate malice until it reached my heart and transformed everything I had ever been.The memory rises unbidden, as vivid now as it was then. Celeste's face in the moonlight, her eyes wide with betrayal and terror as she realized what I had chosen to become. The weight of the dagger in my hand, foreign and terrible until the moment it became familiar. The sound she made when the blade found its mark something between that has haunted my dreams ever since, the flashes were so real and exact.The rain begins as it n

They drag him into the broken hall in chains that ring against stone with each labored step, though the metal restraints feel far too noble for what Marcus has proven himself to be. The sound echoes through Hollowshade's damaged corridors like a death knell, announcing the arrival of treachery made manifest. Seraphina leads the capture detail, her blade still gleaming with fresh blood from the fight that brought him down, her eyes burning with a righteous fire I recognize as something she learned from watching me endure betrayal after betrayal throughout her young life.Alexander flanks her with the measured precision of a seasoned warrior, his silence more menacing than any threat he could have spoken aloud. The weight of Marcus's betrayal presses heavy across his features, aging him in ways that battles against external enemies never could. Behind them, palace guards maintain formation, but their faces show the same mixture of disgust and disbelief that comes from discovering a serp