«CHAPTER 37—44
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She's dead.
The thought echoed in Melissa's mind, cold and absolute.
Any slight hesitation… any stutter… would be enough to condemn her. Suspicion already hung over her like a shadow, tightening with every passing second. She had to be flawless—every word precise, every detail seamless—so convincing that even the palace itself would accept her truth.
They were already watching her. Especially him. The demon standing before her.
If she lied, he would know. He would see through it instantly. That was the weight of his title—the Eclipse. Nothing escaped him.
Lies could not exist in his presence.
They were not merely exposed, they were punished, and the price of deceit was not gentle. The tongue that dared to form falsehoods would be torn from the mouth that carried them.
Melissa swallowed hard, forcing the ruthless thought away as it clawed at her sanity.
No mistakes.
Not now. Not ever.
Her throat tightened, dry and unyielding, as if even her body feared what came next.
Melissa forced a slow breath into her lungs, steadying herself, though her heart continued to hammer violently against her ribs. She could feel his gaze—heavy, suffocating—pressing into her, peeling back every layer she tried to hide behind.
Speak.
The command was unspoken, yet it rang louder than any shout.
"My lord…" she began, her voice controlled—carefully measured, stripped of all tremor. "That night, Her Majesty had retired early. I was assigned to prepare her evening tonic…"
Her words flowed, deliberate and precise, each one chosen with surgical care. No pauses. No faltering. She could not afford even a breath out of place.
"I was not in the room when the queen was bitten," Melissa said, her voice controlled despite the tension tightening her chest. "I was stationed behind the door, as always. I saw no snake enter the chamber. I remained alert, standing guard outside."
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to maintain eye contact.
"It was only when I heard her scream… and the sound of her body hitting the floor… that I rushed inside," she continued. "But when I entered, I saw no snake. Nothing."
Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides, though she tried to keep her composure intact.
"I only heard later—from the others—that it was a Venom Crown Cobra, my lord."
Her voice softened at the end, betraying the fear she struggled to suppress.
Duncan's lips curled slowly into a ruthless, predatory smirk—one that sent a cold shiver racing down her spine.
Melissa instinctively took a small step back.
Her heart pounded violently in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears as beads of sweat formed along her forehead, sliding down her skin under the crushing weight of his gaze.
"Regarding who administered the snake antidote," Melissa began, her voice steady though every word trembled with suppressed fear, "it was the royal physician—but he… he died the following day. The antidote failed because it arrived too late at the palace."
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue, eyes locked on Duncan's, unwavering.
"I… I stood beside her bed the entire time, my lord. I played my part—remaining at her side until her final breath left her," she murmured, bowing deeply.
Duncan's silver eyes lifted, a faint, dark chuckle escaping his throat—but no sound followed. His silent amusement was colder, sharper, more predatory than words could ever convey.
Melissa's chest tightened further, and she pressed her hands to her sides.
"Who else entered my mother's chamber besides the king and the physician?" Duncan asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Melissa swallowed hard, her heart hammering violently in her chest. She struggled to form words, her mind racing desperately for a safe answer. She remained silent—any slip could spell her doom. The name Alaric could not escape her lips; to speak it now would drag the truth into the open and seal her fate.
Duncan's eyes narrowed, and in an instant, his hand shot forward with terrifying speed. He slammed Melissa against the cold wall.
The impact shook the room, sending a sharp shock through her body. Blood trickled from her nose, and her face drained of color, pale and trembling.
Melissa's body pressed painfully against the cold wall. Her chest heaved as she fought for air, each inhale sharp and ragged. Duncan's silver eyes bore into her, unblinking and merciless, reading every flicker of fear, every hesitation.
"Answer," he said, his voice low, like grinding steel. "Now."
Melissa's lips parted, but no sound came. Her mind scrambled. Every instinct screamed to speak—but the wrong word could mean death. Her hands trembled against the wall, knuckles white, heart hammering against her ribs like a war drum.
Duncan tightened his grip, her eyes popping out, her face red more blood escaping from her nose, his nails digging on her neck.
"Nobody else… Your Highness," she muttered, breathless, and Duncan's lips curled into a dark, merciless smirk—the exact answer he had been waiting to hear.
Alaric, Varokron, and Iskaria were not the only conspirators—there was a fourth who had a hand in the queen's death.
They would all pay dearly for daring to interfere with his household; their very existence on this earth would become a curse, and their end would be nothing short of miserable.
Melissa had claimed that the venom crown cobra was responsible, insisting she saw no snake enter the chamber herself and that no one else had come near the queen. She said it was the royal physician who administered the antidote.
But Duncan knew the truth—Alaric had orchestrated everything, and the physician had died that very night. Every lie Melissa spoke, every detail she concealed, fit perfectly into the narrative he had long suspected.
Her story, carefully spun, explained everything he needed to hear—and nothing more.
She would come to regret ever standing before him and daring to speak lies. After revealing only the necessary truth and disclosing her true identity, she would meet her death—the aura surrounding her was far too toxic to escape unscathed.
He released her, and she crumpled to the floor, clutching her neck weakly. Painful tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to cough, each breath jagged and shallow.
Duncan squatted before her, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto hers, as if staring straight into her soul. She struggled for every breath, clutching her reddened neck, trembling beneath the weight of his merciless gaze.
Duncan leaned closer, his silver eyes gleaming with a predator's cruelty, and his voice dropped into a chilling, bone-deep whisper.
"You'll regret ever standing beside my mother until her final breath… and you'll regret ever knowing this royal household."
Her breath caught sharply, frozen in her chest, as the weight of his words pressed down on her like a stone.
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CHAPTER 39&40
Albaton Palace, Book of Records
Inside the palace archives, Thailra flipped carefully through the pages of the ancient records.
Her eyes scanned each line with precision, seeking the entries concerning the late queen. She needed to be certain that the account her personal maid had given was truthful.
If even a single twist had been omitted—or if a lie had been woven into the records—the palace itself would be living in deception, and the truth she sought would be buried beneath layers of falsehood.
But now a troubling thought gnawed at her—she had yet to find the record of the late queen. Had it simply not been recorded?
If the queen's record was missing, that meant the truth remained buried, hidden from the world. Everything Sylara had told her could be a lie—or a twisted rumor she had overheard.
Thailra let the roller she had been holding slip from her fingers. She folded it carefully and placed it back where she had taken it, then reached for another.
She let the roller fall and exhaled sharply, her eyes scanning the endless shelves lined with thousands of records. Beads of sweat traced down her forehead as the weight of the search pressed heavily on her.
Suddenly, a memory struck her like lightning. She staggered toward the shelves, clutching her head in a mix of realization and dread. In her haste, a record from above tumbled down, landing with a dull thud at her feet.
She glimpsed a man clad in pristine white royal attire, flanked by three ladies in elegant princess gowns, bowing deeply before him.
Beside him, another lady in regal dress smiled widely, radiating authority and grace.
The scene shifted violently.
A bleeding arrow protruded from a chest, flames devoured the surroundings while distant royal members watched helplessly.
A dragon-emblazoned banner fluttered in slow motion, ominous against the chaos.
A massive cauldron of charms bubbled with ruthless energy, incantations whispered through the air as bells rang in eerie harmony.
A black shrine loomed, crowned with a jagged magical staff, pulsating with a dark, consuming power.
Thailra clutched her head with both hands, struggling to keep her eyes open as the vision continued to flash before her.
Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, gasping, her breath ragged and heavy, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her chest.
"AHHH!!!" she screamed, a raw, piercing sound that shook the chamber. The walls trembled, small cracks spiderwebbing across the stone. The heavy door burst open, and Kealric rushed inside, eyes wide with alarm, taking in the chaos.
"Lovie," he whispered, dropping his sword gently to the floor. He cupped her face in his hands, but her eyes remained tightly shut, her fingers tangled stubbornly in her hair as if refusing to let go of the world around her.
Kealric's gaze fell to the record lying on the floor beside her. He glanced at her, then at the parchment, and carefully picked it up. His eyes scanned the pages—it was the record of the late queen, Queen Ilyra.
Without hesitation, he folded it, a dark certainty in his movements.
He cast a sweeping glance across the room. No one was watching. His eyes flicked to the door, and with a subtle, commanding glare, the door locked with a heavy, final click.
He turned his gaze back to her, his hands firmly cupping her head. Shadows twisted around them as black flames began to circle, licking the air with a dark, ethereal hunger.
His eyes, once their normal color, deepened into an abyssal black, piercing and infinite.
He closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause.
Slowly, as if drawn by an unseen force, Thailra's eyelids lifted. Her eyes ignited with a brilliant and luminous silver.
The memories suddenly sharpened, crystal clear this time, and everything from the beginning came rushing back.
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CHAPTER 41&42
Arabella glanced up at the sky. The second eclipse was about to begin—a disaster looming on the horizon. Her fists slowly clenched.
What was her brother doing now? She had to stop it by any means necessary, or he would die.
She burst out of the kitchen, and Lina's eyes followed her, curiosity flickering as she wondered where Arabella was rushing to.
Then her gaze shifted upward to the sky. Her eyes widened in shock. Half of the sky was cloaked in darkness, while the other half remained bright.
The shadow stretched from the east—and the east led directly to Morazona Town. Why was the second eclipse beginning in the east, not over the western skies of Ashkaroth?
Her eyes widened further as she caught sight of Arabella barreling toward the palace entrance.
Without a second thought, Lina wiped her hands clean and dashed after her, colliding with a maid carrying a tray.
The plate and utensils tumbled to the floor, shattering with a sharp crash—but Lina didn't even glance back.
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LADY SEMINA'S ROOM
Cassandra, Helena, Aurelia, and their mother, Lady Semina, stood together in the room, their eyes locked on the sky.
"Mother what the heck is that darkness coming from the east, could it be another eclipse?" Cassandra asked.
Lady Semina's expression darkened, her brows knitting tightly. "It's… unlike any eclipse we've seen before, Cassandra. This darkness—it feels alive, almost as if it's reaching out."
Helena stepped closer to the window, her fingers brushing the cold glass. "It's moving fast. Why from the east? Eclipses usually appear over Ashkaroth, not from Morazona."
Aurelia's eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. "Then it's not natural. Someone—or something—is behind this. And it's aiming for the heart of our lands."
"Perhaps the Morazonas are preparing for war. I have a very bad feeling about those Laborers," Lady Semina said, glancing down from her window, her eyes fixed on Arabella as she ran, glancing around frantically.
The daughters followed her gaze and exchanged worried glances. Their eyes widened, and Aurelia dashed out immediately, the others following close behind.
Lady Semina's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk as her eyes lingered on the locked door. The red ribbon of the letter caught the flickering candlelight, gleaming like a warning.
Her gaze sharpened as she untied it carefully and unfolded the parchment. Each line she read seemed to deepen her amusement and curiosity in equal measure.
"I'll always remain on your side, little niece," she murmured aloud, the words rolling off her tongue like a secret promise.
She closed the letter, returned it to the drawer, and snapped it shut. Moving to the wall, she traced the outline of a rectangular panel, removed a hidden roller, and then secured the panel back in place.
A short, dark chuckle escaped her lips as she opened the roller—inside was the original record of the late queen's death.
Memories of how she had stolen it from the Albaton record library a few months ago flooded back. She had replaced it with a counterfeit copy, ensuring that the truth behind the queen's death would remain buried.
It was a promise she had made to her niece: under no circumstances would the secret ever be revealed.
A wicked laugh tore from her throat, echoing through the room as a maddening flash of lightning split the sky.
A flash ignited in her eyes, and the record began to burn mercilessly in her hands.
Flames curled and blackened the parchment as she held it high, her laughter rising—wild, unrestrained, and almost inhuman—filling the room with a chilling echo.
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CHAPTER 43&44.
Duncan ripped the door from its hinges with ruthless force and lunged inside, grabbing Kealric and dragging him outside.
Inside, Thailra collapsed, unconscious, her breath finally steadying.
Duncan slammed Kealric against the wall, his hands gripping his neck with unrelenting fury, raining blow after blow in maddening, beastly rage.
"How dare you, Morazona prince, barge into my kingdom to claim what is mine!" Duncan roared, his voice like thunder shaking the very foundations of the palace, his eyes blazing a blood-red fury.
Blood trickled from Kealric's nose, yet he only let out a dark, mirthless chuckle—an act that only poured gasoline onto Duncan's inferno of anger.
Duncan's voice cut through the chaos, low, guttural, like a predator savoring the hunt.
"You should have stayed in Morazona. You have no idea the consequences of trespassing in my domain."
"I came for a reason, Duncan Tharagon, and I will leave with her. I do not fear you. If it's a fight you want, then a fight you shall have. Thailra belongs in Morazona, not here in Ashkaroth, and I will take her—even if it costs me everything!" Kealric roared, and with that, the deadly battle erupted.
Kealric's eyes blazed as he channeled the full force of Morazona's magic into his sword. Energy coiled around the blade like a living serpent, radiating golden heat as it lashed toward Duncan, attempting to shove him back.
The very air sizzled from the intensity, the marble beneath them cracking with each pulse of power.
But Duncan was far from ordinary.
With a guttural roar, his body twisted, bones cracking as shadow and fury reshaped him into his beastly, demonic form. Black flames licked his limbs, eyes blazing like molten coals, and he summoned his own sword—a jagged, obsidian blade that thrummed with dark magic.
"Then welcome your own death," Duncan muttered, his voice a low, terrifying growl.
The blades met with a deafening clang, sparks of fire and shadow exploding outward, sending shockwaves through the room. The collision forced the very walls to tremble. Each strike was ruthless, a battle of raw, unrestrained power, steel against steel, magic against magic.
Arabella froze, her chest tightening as she watched the chaos unfold.
Lightning struck outside, jagged bolts illuminating the sky as if nature itself was bearing witness to the fury below. Half the sky had already been swallowed in darkness—the second eclipse creeping across the horizon.
Her heart sank.
If the Moon fully cloaked the Sun, the timing would seal her brother's fate. Thailra and Duncan were destined to be.
Any interference could be catastrophic.
She pressed her hands to her mouth, her breath frozen in her lungs, as the room shook from the ferocity of their battle.
Flames, shadow, and raw magical energy twisted around the two princes, encasing them in a whirlwind of death and fury.
Arabella's eyes darted to the sky again, her resolve hardening. She had to stop this—she had to protect her brother—but the scene before her made her doubt whether even she could intervene without risking everything.
The fight was no longer just about power. It was about destiny, about survival, about life itself hanging by a thread.
Lina hid behind a pillar, peering cautiously from her cover. Aurelia, Helena, and Cassandra stood ready in their armor, swords gripped tightly in their hands.
They could hardly believe their eyes—yet their mother had been right. The Laborers had come with a mission, and all the signs of war were unmistakable.
Aurelia gritted her teeth, her jaw tight with tension. The palace guards and the armies of Ashkaroth were already mobilizing, preparing for the inevitable conflict.
Cassandra's hands slowly clenched into fists, tears slipping down her cheeks. The man she loved—the one she had trusted—was a villain. How cruel fate could be, to twist her heart so sharply in the midst of war.
"He's your brother, isn't he?" Aurelia asked, drawing her sword from its sheath. Arabella's eyes widened, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.
Helena unsheathed her own sword, pressing the tip lightly against the back of her neck, her stance cautious but unwavering.
"You're both from Morazona, aren't you? Kealric Valemont of Galveston, and you… Arabella Velemount," Helena continued, her voice sharp, "disguised as Laborers for what purpose? Could it be the Silver Stone?"
Arabella swallowed hard, her fist clenching tightly at her side. She could feel the weight of their accusations, and the truth pressed dangerously close to slipping.
Cassandra's gaze, however, remained fixed on Kealric, who bled from the clash, her eyes dark with a mix of fear, anger, and disbelief.
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«AVIALYN—FOREST»
Iskaria, Lady Evelyne, Alaric, Veydrath, and Prince Dracula stood among thousands of soldiers arranged in eight perfectly straight lines.
Iskaria and her sister held their magical staffs firmly, their power radiating in measured pulses. Alaric and Veydrath mirrored them, staffs glowing with controlled energy.
Prince Dracula remained silent, his gaze sweeping across the shrine, carefully observing every detail and movement around him.
Iskaria stepped forward, her silver staff glowing brighter than ever, its light reflecting off the forest canopy.
Her eyes, fierce and unyielding, swept over the assembled soldiers. She raised her hands, letting the energy of the enchanted staffs hum through the air, vibrating in unison with the soldiers' own auras.
"Soldiers of Morazona and Avialyn clan," she declared, her voice sharp and commanding, echoing across the forest. "By the oath I take this day, none who stand under my protection shall fall to the blades of Ashkaroth or any other force that dares challenge us. You are untouchable. Unyielding. Invincible."
A wave of raw magical energy surged outward from her staff, forming translucent charms around each soldier.
The charms shimmered like glass yet felt as hard as the strongest steel. They twisted and coiled in the air, wrapping around the warriors, binding them in a shield that no ordinary force could pierce.
Iskaria's voice dropped, husky and dark, as she produced a small ceremonial cup from her robe.
"To fully seal this power," she said, "we must bind ourselves to the ultimate essence of life itself. Drink from this—the menstruation blood of the chosen one—so that the protection of Morazona and Avialyn is absolute. The magic will course through your veins, making your bodies impervious to harm."
One by one, the soldiers approached, their loyalty unwavering.
Each took a sip, and the magic surged into them like wildfire, locking their forms in a mystical shield.
Sparks of silver and crimson danced along their skin as the charms fused seamlessly with their bodies.
Alaric watched with a dark smirk, his own staff pulsing in response. Veydrath nodded, satisfied.
The soldiers of Morazona and Avialyn now stood not just as warriors, but as living fortresses, bound by the blood and magic of their oath—a force that even the most elite of Ashkaroth's armies would struggle to touch.
The forest itself seemed to tremble under the weight of their power.
Lady Evelyne's lips curled into a dark, knowing smirk, and she exchanged a brief glance with her sister, a silent acknowledgment of the power now coursing through their army.
Prince Dracula's eyes followed the scene, sharp and calculating, before a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
He turned away, letting the spectacle speak for itself.
"Ashkaroth belongs to us tonight!" Veydrath bellowed, his voice carrying like a warhorn through the forest.
The soldiers echoed the cry in unison, dropping to their knees, swords and staffs raised high, their charms glinting in the dim light.
Above them, the sky darkened as thousands of dragons—scales glinting like molten silver and fire—swept into formation, their wings blotting out the clouds, a living storm of destruction.
The ground trembled beneath the combined roar of men and beasts, the forest itself seeming to shiver under the intensity of the magical display.
A figure suddenly appeared before them, and all eyes turned toward her. It was Melissa—bleeding heavily, her face so battered it was almost unrecognizable.
Iskaria's lips curled into a dark, satisfied smirk.
"Save me… please," Melissa pleaded, her voice weak and trembling. "I played my role well. I did not tell him the truth. He was suspicious—yes—but I did not let him uncover everything. Please, Mistress… save my life. He has drained half of my powers… I am practically powerless."
Her strength gave out, and she collapsed to her knees, clutching desperately at Iskaria's leg, her grip shaking.
Prince Dracula watched the scene in silence, his expression unreadable, his gaze cold and observant as the desperate plea unfolded before him.
"Too late. Your mission is complete, and you are no longer of any use to me, Melissa Drakmor," Iskaria said coldly.
Melissa's eyes widened in horror as Iskaria's smirk deepened into something far darker. Evelyne gave a subtle nod to one of the guards.
The soldier stepped forward, unsheathing his sword with a sharp, metallic sound.
Melissa shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face.
"No… no… you can't kill me like this! I did well—I told him nothing! Please… spare me, please, Mistress!" she cried desperately.
But it was already too late.
The blade flashed.
In a single, merciless motion, the soldier brought the sword down. Melissa's eyes froze in terror as her head separated from her body, falling lifelessly to the ground. Blood surged from her neck as her body collapsed.
Iskaria kicked the corpse aside without a second glance.
The soldier calmly sheathed his sword and returned to his position, as if nothing had happened.
The severed head rolled across the ground, leaving a dark trail in its wake, until it came to a stop at Dracula's feet.
Dracula's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding slightly as he stared down at it, his expression darkening for a brief moment.
Veydrath's gaze lingered on him, studying his reaction with quiet curiosity before he slowly looked away, his face returning to its usual cold composure.
Alaric, however, remained silent—still as stone—his eyes unreadable, as though the gruesome display before them was nothing more than a passing shadow.
Far beneath the waves of the ocean, silver eyes opened—cold, piercing, and infinitely aware.
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TBC