The night invited secrets. The hidden. That which was never meant to be discovered.
In one of the most secluded chambers of the castle, far from the guards and the prying eyes of the court, two bodies moved in a rhythm as ancient as the world itself. They were not titles or ranks. They were simply two intertwined shadows, breathing in unison, sharing a sin that had no way back.
His hands traced across her skin a map he knew by heart, yet always longed to explore again. Every curve, every shiver was a reminder that this territory was still his—and at the same time, something he yearned to conquer once more.
She welcomed him without words, with the trust of someone who had surrendered many times before and yet felt that each encounter was different. What they shared was forbidden, powerful, dangerous. A secret as delicate as any political conspiracy.
He, who had always been rational and calculating, found in her the only thing he could neither analyze nor control. He knew she was both his blessing and his curse. His downfall. The boundary between his sanity and the abyss. He also knew that without her… there would be no "him."
The mere thought of another hand touching her skin ignited a dark fire within him—a kind of jealousy he had never wanted to experience. But she was the only exception to all his rules.
When the final tremor passed through their bodies, they remained entwined, breathing heavily. He held her for a moment longer, refusing to let her go, as if the world would claim her the instant they separated.
Little by little, exhaustion took over them, and they fell asleep as a single shadow beneath the faint light of the window.
Until, without warning, the thunder of bells shattered their rest.
At first, the sounds were distant. Then deeper. Louder. Vibrating through the stone walls.
She opened her eyes abruptly, so shaken that for a moment she didn't recognize where she was. He was already rising, his expression tense, grabbing the clothes that had been discarded in desperation the night before.
The bells would not stop. If anything, they rang at shorter and shorter intervals.
They were the voice of the kingdom when something irreversible—or of great importance—had occurred.
They dressed quickly. The problem was obvious: that chamber was far too distant from the rest of the castle. There would be no excuse for both of them appearing together from that corridor.
And yet… they had to go.
Meanwhile, in the throne room, the three princes had already gathered.
Caelium, the eldest, stood upright like a statue, his face devoid of emotion.
Darian, restless, his hands trembling at his sides, like someone who feared being accused simply for being present.
Marcus, the third, calm… far too calm for someone who had just lost his father.
"Is everyone present?" Caelium asked.
"Two people are still missing," a noble replied, "but they are not essential."
Darian stepped forward.
"The king is dead," he said bluntly. "And it was no accident. He was murdered."
A murmur spread through the hall like an electric shock.
"A king is dead—long live the king," another noble added. "It is the law."
Caelium nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on his brothers.
Marcus raised his hand calmly.
"Before choosing the next king," he said, "we should hear the opinion of the wisest man in the kingdom. My father trusted him. His judgment was always crucial in matters of succession."
The room fell silent.
Marcus spoke slowly, weighing each word.
Too calm.
Too certain.
Suspicion began to rise.
Not outward.
Between them.
Who had killed the king?
Who had enough access to do so without resistance?
By definition, all three princes were trusted men… and yet, no one could stop themselves from wondering if perhaps—
Caelium, rigid.
Darian, impulsive.
Marcus… inexplicably calm.
"Until the Master arrives," Marcus insisted, "any coronation would be premature."
The air grew heavy. Eyes met with distrust.
Someone opened their mouth to respond—but was interrupted by a loud crash.
The doors of the hall burst open.
Two figures rushed inside.
Silence fell instantly.
The man was Daniel, the most brilliant scholar in the kingdom, the youngest advisor ever trusted by a king.
At his side, breathing hard from the run, was Bella—the eldest daughter of Prince Marcus.
They had arrived together.
Late.
From the same corridor.
The murmur that followed was almost a contained roar.
On the very day of the king's assassination…
the most respected scholar
and the eldest daughter of one of the princes
had appeared together from the same part of the castle.
The fate of the kingdom had changed the moment those doors opened.
And none of those present had any idea just how much the future of Axia was being altered in that very instant.
The throne room doors slammed open again.
The murmur snapped, like a taut thread torn from the air. Two figures crossed the threshold, breathless after running through endless corridors: Daniel, the youngest scholar of the kingdom… and beside him, Bella, Marcus's firstborn.
They entered together.
Too close.
From the upper gallery, someone held their breath.
Adria—Bella's younger sister—gripped the railing, her fingers tightening until her knuckles whitened. Her jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle trembled along her neck.
She didn't shout.
But her silence burned.
Her eyes were fixed on them both, as if she had been waiting all night for this moment—to hate them just a little more.
Bella caught sight of her for a brief second and felt her stomach twist. She had seen jealousy in her sister before… but never that mixture of rage, pain, and something sharper, darker.
But nothing could be done.
She tried to fight it—but the inevitable cannot be avoided.
And they… were inevitable.
Daniel did not stop. He walked straight toward the center of the hall, toward the king's body—covered by a dark cloth—awaiting judgment.
Prince Caelium, the eldest, was the first to break the silence.
"The throne belongs to me, by right of primogeniture," he declared, his voice solemn and cold. "This discussion is unnecessary."
The councilors shifted uneasily. The eldest among them, an old man with a trembling voice but a steady gaze, spoke cautiously:
"Prince Caelium… the king has died violently. The kingdom needs prudence and stability, not haste."
The remark stirred irritation in Caelium, who clenched his fists so tightly they began to bleed.
Then another voice rose.
Calm.
Balanced.
Too perfect.
Marcus.
"We do not need extended deliberation," he said. "Caelium is the rightful heir. It is only proper that he take the throne. It is his right."
The hall reacted as though those words alone were enough to ease their fears.
A prince without ambition.
A man who did not seek power.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Bella felt a chill run down her spine.
Father… you already knew you would say that before entering this room. I know you too well. There are only two possibilities: either you are the culprit… or you intend to take advantage of this to seize power.
The councilors began to nod, as if Marcus had spoken the obvious solution.
But then, of all present, Darian—the youngest—spoke:
"The longer we wait, the weaker the kingdom becomes," he said, frustration and fear laced in his voice. "Let's end this now."
The tension in the air grew thinner… more fragile.
The elder councilor, ignoring Darian's outburst, turned his gaze to Daniel.
"Master Daniel," he said. "Your opinion is crucial under these circumstances."
The entire hall made way.
Daniel stopped before the empty throne, his eyes scanning the three princes. Caelium seemed on the verge of losing control, Darian twisted with impatience… and Marcus bore that dangerously calm expression that revealed nothing.
Finally, he spoke:
"The king did not die by misfortune or accident. He was murdered.
And, as we all know, the male line of House Celestis bears the curse of madness."
The words fell like iron.
"If we choose based solely on primogeniture," Daniel continued, "we may be handing power to the very man who killed the king.
Or worse… to an heir who has already lost his sanity."
Caelium flushed red.
"Watch what you're implying!"
"I am not implying," Daniel replied calmly. "I am stating."
"The killer is here. In this room.
And most likely… it is one of you three."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Some stepped back, as if the danger had taken physical form.
Marcus did not flinch.
He did not defend himself.
He did not raise his voice.
He knew it would serve no purpose.
Instead, he simply inclined his head…
as if he fully understood the gravity of the situation.
Bella saw his expression.
Calm.
Too calm.
Are you enjoying this? she thought, swallowing hard.
Daniel continued:
"I propose a solution:
A vote.
Let the members of the Council—those who served the king—choose the new monarch.
With transparency.
With a clear mind.
With responsibility."
A heavy silence filled the hall. Then:
"I agree."
"It is prudent."
"It is necessary."
—The harsh truth was that none of them wanted to be the sole one responsible for the consequences of the decisions made in that room—
The councilors began to align themselves like pieces on a board.
Caelium clenched his teeth.
Darian rolled his eyes.
Marcus… smiled faintly.
A tiny smile.
Almost a twitch.
But Bella saw it.
And something inside her tore apart.
Automatically, the twelve councilors took their seats before the empty throne.
A scribe unrolled a parchment.
The first spoke:
"My vote is for Caelium."
The second hesitated.
"My vote is for Marcus."
The third chose Caelium.
The fourth chose Marcus.
The fifth did the same.
By the sixth, the atmosphere had grown tense.
"The kingdom needs stability," he said.
"I vote for Marcus."
Caelium breathed as if the air were being ripped from his lungs.
Darian looked on the verge of exploding with nerves.
Bella's hands were ice cold.
The seventh councilor, after thinking far too long, said:
"Marcus."
The eighth, ninth, and tenth repeated that name with increasing certainty.
The eleventh did not even hesitate.
"Marcus."
The last councilor stood up, took a deep breath, and said:
"May the ancestors forgive me…
But I vote for Marcus."
The scribe lifted the parchment.
"The new king shall be Marcus of Celestis… and therefore Bella of Celestis rises as Crown Princess."
The hall held its breath.
Caelium took a step back, defeated.
Darian burst into laughter—one no one could quite interpret.
Marcus lowered his head with theatrical modesty.
"To accept the throne will be my duty," he said. "Not out of ambition… but for the well-being of Axia."
The councilors relaxed.
Bella felt the ground shift beneath her feet.
He's lying.
Daniel turned slightly toward her and saw in her eyes the very same thought crushing his own chest.
The elder councilor declared:
"Marcus will be crowned at dawn."
As everyone began to disperse, Daniel noticed something on the floor before the throne.
An arcane line.
Almost imperceptible.
A magical residue that only someone of royal blood could have left behind.
He felt a presence behind him.
"Is there something you wish to say, Master Daniel?"
It was Marcus's voice.
Calm.
Far too calm.
Daniel lifted his head, meeting those dark eyes that showed not a trace of guilt.
He thought of what he had just seen.
He thought of Bella.
He thought of the crown.
"No…" he finally replied.
"Not yet."
And as Marcus walked toward the empty throne, Daniel understood a truth that struck him like a blade:
Perhaps Axia had not chosen a king.
Perhaps…
it had chosen a monster.
Its next executioner.
And he… was partly responsible.
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