บททั้งหมดของ King Of Eldoria: Reborn To Be His: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The air in the chamber was not air as mortals understood it. It was thicker. Older. It carried the taste of ash and cold iron and the faint, sweet rot of power that had been left to ferment in the dark for centuries. No windows broke the black stone walls. No ordinary flames lit the space. The only illumination came from veins of dull crimson light that pulsed slowly through the rock itself, as if the room were the interior of some vast, sleeping heart. Shadows clung to the corners with a density that suggested they might, if given sufficient reason, peel themselves free and take shape. A great table of polished obsidian dominated the center. Around it sat the kind of beings most human nightmares had the good sense not to invent. They were not men, though some of them wore shapes that could almost pass for human if one did not look at the eyes, or the hands, or the way the light bent wrong around their shoulders. Others had abandoned the pretense entirely. There were lords whose sk

The news moved through Eldoria Palace the way spring moved through frozen ground, quietly at first, then all at once, and with a force that left nothing untouched. By the second morning after the physician’s confirmation, there was no corridor, kitchen, or guard post that had not heard some version of it. The royal consort was with child. A man. Pregnant. The details varied depending on who was telling the story and how much wine had been involved, but the core of it remained intact and astonishing. Servants who had spent years moving through the royal wing with carefully lowered eyes now lingered a fraction longer when they delivered linens, as if proximity to the miracle might transfer. Guards who had bled on the courtroom floor for the king’s return stood a little straighter at their posts. Even the restored dukes, men who measured most events in terms of advantage and risk, found themselves speaking of the matter with something closer to genuine wonder than calculation. In living

The meeting hall deep within Lucifer’s palace had never been a place for soft words.Black stone walls rose into shadow, veined with the same slow burning crimson light that ran through most of the older structures in the capital. The great obsidian table reflected the faces gathered around it in distorted, blood tinted fragments. No servants stood along the walls tonight. No lesser attendants waited with wine or records. Only the high lords of the major clans occupied the long seats, and at the head of the table sat the Devil himself.Lucifer’s expression was carved from something harder than stone. The heavy horns that swept back from his temples caught the crimson glow. His hands rested motionless on the arms of his chair. He had not spoken since the last of the lords took their places. The silence that filled the chamber was absolute, the kind of silence that made even ancient beings measure their breathing.No one smiled.The air itself felt brittle.At last one of the older lord

The messengers had only arrived an hour ahead of the carriages.A neighbouring kingdom, Marenhold, had long kept steady relations with Eldoria. Trade moved cleanly between their borders. In the old wars they had stood on the same side more often than not. When the outer gates reported that King Aldric of Marenhold and his daughter were approaching with a light escort of twenty guards, the palace shifted into the familiar rhythm of receiving allies rather than threats.Ravyn stood at the base of the main entrance steps as the first carriage rolled to a stop. The afternoon light was clear and cool. Household guards lined the approach in neat ranks. Behind them, servants waited to take travel cloaks and lead horses to the stables. Ravyn’s expression was the controlled, welcoming one he used for friendly courts, not warm enough to invite presumption, not cold enough to give insult.King Aldric stepped down first. He was a broad man in his late fifties, gray threading his dark hair, the ki

“Touch my husband again and it will be your head rolling on the floor.”The words hung in the dining room with the weight of a drawn blade. King Aldric of Marenhold and Princess Seraphine both froze where they stood. Seraphine’s hand, which had been lifting again toward Ravyn’s shoulder, stopped in mid air. Aldric’s face went carefully blank, the expression of a man who had just watched a political calculation collapse in real time. Ravyn’s mouth curved into a light, unmistakable smirk. He made no move to correct or soften what Caelian had said.Caelian was still seated, posture straight, eyes fixed on Seraphine with a cold clarity that did not match the quiet, accommodating consort many in the court still expected him to be.“He has already told you he is not interested in your marriage proposal,” Caelian continued, voice even. “Do not try to force the matter. You are visitors in this palace. Conduct yourselves accordingly.”He stood, took Ravyn’s wrist without looking away from the