In the Shadow of the Crown

A single breath.

That was all Eliza could take before the tension in the grand hall coiled around her throat like an invisible noose.

Raen stood at the heart of it, the storm in his silver eyes daring anyone to challenge his claim.

No one moved.                        

Not the nobles, who watched with rapt anticipation, caught between fear and fascination.

Not Queen Lysandra, whose grip on her goblet remained unyielding, betraying the smallest flicker of intrigue.

Not Elric D’Arcy, Lord of Varemon, whose composed façade remained intact, though his fingers tightened behind his back.

And certainly not King Edric, who sat upon his gilded throne with the quiet, simmering fury of a man who did not take kindly to defiance.

Eliza felt the weight of every gaze upon her.

[The game is changing.]

She had spent years maneuvering within the court’s treacherous web, navigating whispers, sidestepping unseen daggers. She had been careful, always careful to be neither too bold nor too meek, to be seen but not vulnerable, to be desired but never owned.

And now, in the span of mere moments, Raen had undone it all.

[Belongs to me.]

She should have been furious. She should have trembled with outrage, demanded that he hold his tongue. But as she stared at him, at the barely restrained violence in his stance, at the madness gleaming beneath his composed mask. She felt something far more dangerous than anger.

She felt fear.

[Not for herself.]

[For him.]

"You overstep, Castian." The king’s voice was quiet, but the force behind it could crack stone.

Raen did not bow. Did not yield.

"I merely speak the truth," he said, his voice even. "Eliza and I were promised to each other long before this court sought to rewrite history."

Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Lies and truths tangled together, spreading like wildfire.

"Your promises mean nothing," King Edric said coldly. "My will is law. I have chosen Lord Elric for her, and the matter is settled."

"Settled?" Raen let out a slow, humorless laugh. "How convenient, to declare it so after ensuring my absence."

Eliza flinched.

She had not spoken of it…had not dared…but she knew what Raen meant. His recent campaign, the one that had taken him to the distant borders, had not been a mere strategic deployment.

[It had been an exile.]

[A carefully orchestrated scheme to remove him from court at precisely the right moment.]

[And now, here he stood, having returned against all odds, against the will of the very man who had cast him away.]

She saw it now. The fire burning beneath his carefully composed mask. [He knows.]

"The king’s word is final." Elric’s voice cut through the tension, smooth as polished steel. "Your claim is irrelevant."

For the first time, Raen turned his gaze to Elric.

The two men stood in stark contrast.

Elric, draped in elegance. His navy-blue coat embroidered in gold, a symbol of lineage and untouchable prestige. A noble bred for diplomacy, for calculated moves made in candlelit chambers rather than bloodstained fields.

Raen, wrapped in darkness - a wolf in a court of peacocks, his silver-threaded doublet a mockery of refinement, a mask barely concealing the warrior beneath. A man who had earned his place not through inheritance, but through blood and blade.

"You speak with great confidence, Lord Elric," Raen mused, tilting his head slightly. "But tell me…" his voice dipped lower, sharper. “Would you die for that confidence?"

The words sent a shiver through the hall.

Eliza’s pulse quickened.

Elric did not so much as blink. "If the king commands it," he said smoothly, "then yes."

[Liar.]

Eliza saw the truth in his eyes. [He was not a fool. He knew the kind of man Raen was the kind that did not bluff.]

Raen took a slow step forward.

"Good," he murmured. "Because that is exactly what will happen."

[Enough.]

"Raen!" Eliza’s voice finally broke through, sharp as a dagger’s edge.

He stilled.

She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. "You…" She hesitated, feeling the weight of the court’s eyes upon her. She could not be reckless. Not here. Not now. "...You disgrace yourself with this display."

[A calculated blow. One that should have wounded his pride.]

But Raen only smiled.

It was a slow thing, dangerous in its amusement. "Do I?"

"You question the king’s judgment. You undermine his authority," she continued, her voice stronger now. "Do you think there will be no consequences?"

"Consequences?" Raen echoed, stepping closer. "Tell me, Eliza…" his voice dropped to something only she could hear, something intimate and damning, "…Are you truly afraid of the consequences? Or are you afraid of something else?"

Her breath caught.

"Enough of this," King Edric snapped, his patience at its end. "Duke Castian, you will leave this hall at once."

Raen did not move.

A flicker of something sharp passed through the king’s gaze. "Or must I remind you of the cost of defiance?"

Eliza felt the shift before it happened.

The air thickened, the weight of unseen forces pressing against her skin.

[Magic.]

[The court’s greatest secret.]

There was no open practice of sorcery in Luvein, not after the purge that had cleansed the kingdom of its cursed wielders. And yet… the king had always been different.

His power was subtle, insidious. It was not fire or ice, not the violent forces that once painted history in red. [It was binding magic.]

Magic that did not destroy, but ensnared.

Eliza saw it, felt it the invisible threads lacing through the air, seeking Raen like a spider spinning its web.

Raen stiffened.

[No.]

Panic surged in Eliza’s chest. She had seen this before. She had watched men falter beneath the king’s will, their minds bending, their bodies kneeling against their own desires.

[But Raen....]

[He was too strong.]

She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. If she did nothing, if she simply stood there, Raen would...

"Wait," she said abruptly.

The king’s gaze snapped to her.

The magic wavered, unfulfilled.

"I…" Eliza forced herself to breathe, to make this moment hers before it was stolen. "I will speak to Duke Castian."

Gasps rippled through the court.

The king’s eyes narrowed. "You will do no such thing."

Eliza lifted her chin. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, if he will not yield before the court, then perhaps he will yield before me."

[A bold lie. A reckless one.]

But she saw it the flicker of consideration in the king’s eyes. The calculation.

"You will handle this?" he asked, voice laced with warning.

Eliza turned to Raen, meeting his gaze. "Yes."

A challenge passed between them.

The king exhaled. "Very well. But know this, Countess…if he does not relent, if he dares to continue this defiance…" his voice lowered to something ice-cold, "…then you will bear the price of his rebellion."

The finality in his tone sent a chill through her.

But she only lowered her gaze, curtsying in perfect obedience. "Understood."

The king waved his hand. "Take him. Speak. But do not test my patience."

The guards stepped back.

Raen arched a brow. "How generous."

Eliza shot him a warning glare. "Come."

He did not hesitate.

And as they walked from the hall, side by side, Eliza knew this was only the beginning.