Todos os capítulos de Godless Prince: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Flashback: CaelumAshan Throne Room, The Offering CeremonyYears before the collar, before the shame, before he knelt trembling beneath a vampire's touch—he stood in velvet shoes on marble floors, condemning innocents with a diplomat's grace.The moon above Ashan Palace was a voyeur's crescent that night—pale, knowing, complicit. It hung low over the spires like a witness savoring secrets too dark to speak.Caelum stood at the edge of Velarium Hall, spine straight as a blade, watching the offerings arrange themselves like beautiful sacrifices on blood-colored silk. Ten of them. Ten chosen souls, displayed with ceremonial perfection beneath the amber caress of candlelight.

Velis stepped closer, his presence commanding absolute attention. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of unquestionable authority."Hands behind your neck. Spine bowed. Knees apart."Caelum blinked through the lingering haze, struggling to process the command. "I—I can't—"A sharp crack split the air. The trainer's cane kissed his thigh in warning—a promise of what would come if he continued to resist."You will learn," Velis said, his tone flat and absolute. "Or bleed learning."The bridle was brought forward by one of the crimson-robed attendants—not a gag, but something designed specifically for humiliatio

Chapter 25: The Alchemy of BetrayalYears ago, Ashan had burned that night. Not with fire, but with the kind of grief that carved hollow spaces in souls and left them echoing with rage.The war horn's final note still hung in the air when Commander Myris Vane crashed through her chamber doors—armor cracked like broken promises, blood painting abstract art across his breastplate. Behind him trailed ash and the metallic scent of slaughter.Isabella lay propped against silk pillows, her nightgown still damp with the evidence of loss. The midwives had barely finished cleaning away the signs of stillbirth—her son's blood, her blood, the mingled evidenc

 The messenger's boots echoed against marble as he approached the Iron Throne—a seat carved from meteorite steel that had been cooled in the blood of traitors. Queen Isabella Salutregui sat with perfect posture, her silver hair braided with threads of gold that caught the afternoon light streaming through stained glass windows. At forty-three, she remained beautiful in the cold, precise way of a blade honed to perfection.The court had emptied hours ago. She preferred receiving certain reports in private."Your Majesty." The messenger dropped to one knee, his leather satchel bearing the wax seals that marked correspondence from the border territories. "Word from the Crimson Gates."

“Do you know why they whisper my name even centuries after the blood wars ended?” he purred, dragging the serrated edge of the hook across Caelum’s ribs, careful not to pierce too deep. “Because I perfected the art of unmaking a man without granting him release. Because I made kings beg to be slaughtered rather than endure another hour in my hands. Because when I burned a nation, there was not even ash left for the widows to scatter.”Caelum’s voice cracked, raw from pain, but Velis only smiled—eyes half-lidded, intoxicated by each ragged gasp. “I am the knife that history itself flinches from. That is why I am legend.”He tore another sound from the prince’s throat, exquisite in its desperation. Yet