All Chapters of BOUND TO THE BLOOD KING: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

“Don’t smile, Bianca. They’re waiting for a crack.”“I don’t smile for men who think peace is a performance.”Bianca’s voice was low, controlled, as the double doors of the Geneva Summit Hall swung open before her. Cameras exploded in a frenzy of flashes, capturing the rebirth of a legend who was supposed to have died twice. Matteo walked a step behind her, no longer the shadow of a king, but a weapon wrapped in control. Together, they looked untouchable.The hall was a cathedral of glass and iron, suspended above the Swiss skyline. Flags from every continent hung in silent judgment, and beneath them sat the faces of the world’s power brokers presidents, ministers, oligarchs, warlords cloaked as philanthropists.A hum of whispers rippled through the crowd as Bianca approached the central table.“Blood Queen,” someone muttered under their breath.“She survived the siege?” another whispered.Bianca ignored them all. Her black suit was tailored like armor, her hair pulled back into a sle

The rain hadn’t stopped in three days.Matteo sat alone in the communications vault, the hum of encrypted satellites whispering above him like restless ghosts. A single holo-screen flickered to life, illuminating his face in cold blue.“Authorization code: Ashfall Zero.”The line clicked. A new voice measured, foreign, the sort that never spoke without leverage.“Commander Voss.”Matteo’s jaw tightened. “Just Matteo now.”“That’s what worries us,” the voice replied. “Without her, there is no control. We need the Blood Queen contained before another rebellion rises.”He leaned forward, hands clasped. “Containment isn’t your concern anymore. I’m offering you peace.”A short silence. Then: “Terms.”“Safe passage for Bianca and our daughter. New identities. Off-world relocation under diplomatic amnesty.”“And in return?”Matteo stared at the floor, feeling the weight of the words before he said them.“I’ll dissolve the Blood Legion. Transfer access codes to the coalition. You’ll get the k

“Matteo,” she whispered again, but only the wind replied.The ridge where the figure had stood was empty now, bathed in the first gold of dawn.Still, her pulse refused to settle. She could feel his presence, the gravity of him pulling at the edges of the world like memory refusing to die.By the time Bianca reached the shuttle, Luna was awake, rubbing sleep from her eyes.“Mama, who were you talking to?”“No one, love,” Bianca murmured, brushing curls from her daughter’s face. “Just ghosts.”But as the engines roared to life, a voice cracked over the private comm channel.One she hadn’t heard in months.“Bianca.”Her hands froze midair. Her chest went cold.“Matteo?” she breathed.Static answered first, then the low, steady rhythm of his voice hoarse, urgent, alive.“You can’t come back. Not yet.”Tears welled before she could stop them. “You’re alive ”“I don’t have long,” he cut in. “They’re watching everything. Listen carefully. We have one move left, and it ends tonight.”The air

“Don’t look up,” Matteo said quietly, eyes fixed on the gray sky. “They only circle when you notice.”Bianca lowered her gaze from the clouds, though the hum of the drones still trembled faintly above the waves. Weeks had passed since that first appearance, but their shadows returned often silent, watching, patient.Still, they pretended.The garden had started to grow. Bianca knelt in the damp soil behind the cottage, fingers deep in the earth. Rows of thyme and rosemary lined the path, their scent mingling with sea salt and smoke. Matteo called it healing. She called it a distraction.“Lunch at ten!” he shouted from the porch.Inside, the table was laid out with a simplicity she could almost resent fresh bread, wild tomatoes, fish grilled in butter. The man who once ruled continents now whistled while cooking. His hands, once built for war, had learned tenderness.Luna sat at the table, her hair tangled from the wind, coloring a paper with crimson and gold.Bianca lingered at the do

“Turn back now, Bianca,” a voice crackled through her earpiece, static-laced, urgent, male. Matteo’s tone was equal parts command and plea. “The fortress is wired. You’ll never get out alive.”She smiled faintly beneath her hood. “You’ve said that before.”The night bled across the horizon as Bianca crouched atop the iron perimeter wall, eyes fixed on the fortress below a black citadel carved into the ruins of Vienna, glowing red with furnace light. Every window pulsed like a heartbeat. Every guard moved with military precision. And yet, none of it felt foreign. The symmetry, the control, the cold elegance of fear all of it was hers once.Now it belonged to someone else.She dropped soundlessly into the courtyard, landing in the shadow of a marble angel. Her boots sank into ash instead of snow. A faint scent of rose oil clung to the air, sickly sweet, mocking. She slipped past a row of crimson banners fluttering in the wind. They bore her crest twisted: the Ashford sigil inverted and