All Chapters of CROWNED BY BLOOD: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The throne room is quiet around me, but it is not the kind of quiet that comes from peace. It is the suffocating stillness of a place that no longer belongs to the living, the hollow silence of a tomb that once housed celebrations, where laughter has died so completely that even the echoes have given up trying to find their way out. The great hall stretches before me like the ribcage of some massive beast, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows that seem to move independently of any light source.Shadows cling to the marble pillars like parasites, whispering in voices that aren't voices at all, fragments of conversations from courtiers who no longer exist, snippets of laughter from children who have learned to fear their own joy. The air itself feels thick, oppressive, reeking faintly of iron and something else, something that reminds me of the smell that clings to battlefields after the crows have finished their work.The banners that once proclaimed our family's honor hang in

The moon bleeds red over Hollowshade tonight, its crimson light seeping through the stained glass windows of my throne room like spilled wine. I can taste the shift in the air bitter, metallic, carrying the scent of approaching storm and the copper tang of violence yet to come. It's like the moment before a blade is drawn, when the world holds its breath and waits for the first drop of blood to fall.They think I don't know. They think their whispers are safe behind sealed doors and warded walls. How naive they are, how foolishly they underestimate what I've become. Wards crumble under my claws like parchment in flame. Locks bow before my will as if they were made of morning mist. The shadows have become my spies, my servants, my eyes and ears in every corner of this realm and beyond. They whisper to me constantly now, a chorus of darkness that tells me everything: every plot, every plan, every desperate hope my enemies dare to nurture.The curse has given me gifts they cannot fathom.

The throne room is a mausoleum tonight. The pillars lean like watchmen carved from shadow and bone, their ancient stonework weathered by centuries of bloodshed and broken promises. The torches burn lower than they should. Every shadow feels alive, writhing with whispered accusations and the ghosts of those I have slaughtered in my ascent to this cursed seat of power.My wolfguard kneel before me in perfect formation, their amber eyes reflecting the dying light as they await my command. Even though I can sense their unease, the way they shift almost imperceptibly when they think I'm not watching. The curse has changed me, twisted me into something they recognize but no longer truly know. I am their Alpha, their Queen, their god of war and shadow, yet even they cannot fully hide their fear of what I have become.I dismissed them with a flick of my hand, the gesture as casual as swatting flies, though each one of these warriors could tear apart a dozen men without breaking stride. They sc

The curse clawed at me earlier than usual today, its familiar agony arriving with the morning light instead of waiting for nightfall's embrace. It used to be predictable in its cruelty, this thing that lives under my skin like a second skeleton made of thorns and shadow. The transformation would come with twilight, when decent people shut their windows and mothers pulled their children close. But now, as if sensing my growing weakness, it feeds on the sun itself, drawing strength from the very light that once brought me comfort.By midday, my bones ached with the terrible pressure of the shift that threatened to tear me apart from within. The pain radiated outward from my spine in waves. My vision doubled, then tripled, overlapping images creating a kaleidoscope of reality that made navigation treacherous. Blood painted the edges of everything I saw, a crimson halo that pulsed in rhythm with my racing heartbeat. Even the air itself seemed to conspire against me, growing thick and heavy

Sleep abandoned me. My bed had become a battlefield where exhaustion warred with terror, where every attempt at peace was met with visions that clawed at the edges of my sanity. The silk sheets that once brought comfort now felt like burial shrouds.Each time I closed my eyes, I felt the rift like my body was a house with two doors, one opening to the throne room, the other to the Forsaken Gate. And something walked freely between them. The sensation was nauseating, a constant vertigo that left me perpetually off-balance. I could feel myself existing in multiple places simultaneously: here in my chamber, there in that grey wasteland, and somewhere else entirely that I couldn't name but instinctively feared.The palace walls groaned around me, responding to the fractured nature of my being. Even the shadows seemed wrong, too deep, too alive, reaching for things that weren't there. Or perhaps reaching for the parts of me that were no longer here.The Cursemaker's voice slid into me lik