Todos los capítulos de King Of Eldoria: Reborn To Be His: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

The day of the Year Ball dawned gray and restless.From the first light, Eldoria Castle moved like a living thing under pressure. Maids hurried through the corridors with armfuls of fresh linens, polished silver, and last minute floral arrangements. The great hall itself had been transformed overnight, long tables draped in deep green and gold, the colors of Eldoria, with the black wolf banners hanging heavy from the rafters. Candles by the hundreds waited in iron stands, ready to be lit at dusk. Outside, the courtyard never stopped moving. Carriages rolled in one after another, wheels clattering over stone, horses snorting as grooms took their reins. Guests from the northern highlands, the coastal cities, the border provinces, and even a few distant kingdoms stepped down in travel stained cloaks that were quickly exchanged for formal attire.Guards changed shifts in tight, disciplined rotations. Captain Garrick had doubled the usual numbers. Men stood at every entrance, every stairwe

The arrow came out of the shadows like a black streak of lightning. For a single frozen heartbeat the great hall seemed to hold its breath. Guests closest to the royal party saw only a blur. Then Ravyn moved. His free hand had already closed around the hilt of the sword at his hip, the one he never attended any large gathering without. Steel flashed upward in a hard, precise arc. The flat of the blade met the shaft of the arrow with a sharp metallic crack and sent it spinning harmlessly into the nearest table, where it buried itself deep in the wood with a solid thunk. Chaos erupted. Screams tore through the hall. Women clutched at their skirts and husbands. Men shoved backward, knocking over chairs and goblets. Wine spilled across the polished floor in dark red sheets. At the same moment the main side doors and two of the smaller service entrances burst open. Masked men in dark clothing poured in, more than a dozen at first glance, blades already drawn. They moved with the grim ef

The silence that followed Ravyn’s question stretched taut between the three of them. Liora stood just inside the doorway, still breathing a little too quickly from her hurried arrival. For a brief second her eyes flicked to Caelian, to the way he remained curled against Ravyn’s chest, face half hidden, one hand fisted in the king’s tunic, and something sharp and ugly flashed across her expression. Then she smoothed it away and turned her full attention to Ravyn, arranging her features into a look of soft concern. “My king,” she said, voice carefully gentle, “I heard what happened at the ball. The fighting. The arrows. I was so scared. I came as quickly as I could to check if you were all right.” Ravyn’s mouth curved into a humorless smirk. He did not loosen his hold on Caelian. “You came to check if I was all right,” he repeated slowly, “or if I was dead, princess?” The words landed like a slap. Liora’s body went rigid for half a heartbeat. The mask of sympathy nearly slipped; so

Ravyn had not even reached the first landing when Captain Garrick’s voice called him back. He stopped on the damp stone steps, one hand resting against the cold wall. The air rising from the lower levels still carried the thick stench of the cells. Garrick stood in the open doorway of the interrogation room, torchlight cutting harsh lines across his face and the drying cut on his cheek. Behind him the sounds had changed. The earlier stubborn silence had broken into overlapping, urgent voices, pleading, arguing, the rough scrape of chairs as bound men shifted in desperation. “They’re talking, Your Majesty,” Garrick said. “All four of them. Started the moment you left the corridor.” Ravyn turned and descended again without a word. Each step brought the smell back stronger, old blood, urine, wet stone, and the sharper metallic scent of iron. He had walked these passages often enough in both lives that the stench no longer turned his stomach. It simply settled into his lungs like any o

For the first time in days, the castle felt almost quiet. No emergency councils. No blood on the great hall floor. No frantic reports arriving every hour. The prisoners were dead, the cover story was already moving through the servants’ halls, and the remaining dukes were still too shaken by the morning’s public execution to cause immediate trouble. Ravyn had ordered the outer doors of the royal wing sealed to everyone except a handful of trusted guards. Today, he had decided, belonged to Caelian. They had barely left the bed since waking. Late morning light filtered through the half drawn curtains, soft and gold. Caelian lay half on top of Ravyn, head resting on his chest, one bandaged arm carefully arranged so it wouldn’t press against anything. The burns were healing, still tender, but no longer the sharp, constant pain of the first day. Ravyn’s fingers moved slowly up and down the length of Caelian’s bare spine, tracing the line of it under the thin sleep shirt he hadn’t bother