In the Shadow of the Crown

The scent of burning wax and rosewood lingered in the air, clinging to the heavy velvet drapes that framed the dimly lit chamber. Candles flickered in their iron sconces, their wavering glow casting restless shadows upon the stone walls. Beyond the arched window, thunder rumbled in the distance, heralding the storm that would soon drench the capital of Luvein in cold autumn rain.

Countess Eliza Valienne stood in front of a gilded mirror, her delicate fingers gripping the silk of her gown. Deep sapphire blue, embroidered with gold—a color chosen not by her, but by the court, to match the man who had placed an unbreakable claim upon her.

Duke Raen Castian.

The mere thought of his name sent a shiver down her spine. Not from fear. No, fear would have been easier to bear. It was something else—something far more dangerous.

Tonight, the king would make his decree. Tonight, she would learn whether her fate was sealed or if there was still room left for escape.

She exhaled slowly, trying to steel herself. But no amount of preparation could banish the tight knot of dread coiling in her stomach.

A knock at the chamber door.

She turned sharply, heart hammering against her ribs.

"Enter," she called, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing a figure draped in shadow. The flickering candlelight illuminated the sharp angles of a familiar face—Raen.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in black, he looked every bit the knight he was reputed to be. The silver embroidery on his doublet caught the dim glow, a stark contrast to the darkness that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

Eliza inhaled sharply as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him without a sound.

"You did not come to see me today," he said, his voice smooth, controlled. But there was something beneath it—a quiet warning.

Eliza met his gaze. His eyes, deep and unreadable, locked onto hers in the mirror’s reflection.

"I had nothing to say."

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "You wound me, my lady."

She turned to face him, folding her hands before her to mask the way her fingers trembled. "If it is wounds you fear, then you should know I carry many of my own."

Raen stepped closer, his presence suffocating, intoxicating. He did not touch her, yet she felt the weight of him, the sheer force of his existence pressing against hers.

"You are afraid," he murmured. Not a question. A statement.

Eliza lifted her chin. "And if I am?"

A muscle in his jaw tensed. "Then tell me, Eliza… what do you fear more? The king’s decree, or me?"

She should have answered immediately. She should have said him. Because it was the truth.

But she hesitated.

And that hesitation was all he needed.@@novelbin@@

Raen reached for her wrist, his touch gloved but firm, his grip gentle yet unyielding. "Whatever fate awaits you tonight, it will not change what already belongs to me."

She pulled back, but his fingers tightened just enough to still her. Not to hurt. Never to hurt. But to remind her.

"You are wrong," she whispered. "Nothing belongs to you, least of all me."

Raen exhaled slowly, his gaze darkening. "Then why do you tremble?"

She hated him. She hated the way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her—as though she were not a person, but a prize. A thing to be kept, guarded, owned.

The storm outside raged louder. Thunder cracked across the sky as if the gods themselves bore witness to this cruel entanglement.

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

Eliza’s breath caught.

"My lady," a servant’s voice trembled, "His Majesty has summoned you."

Her time had run out.

Raen’s grip loosened, but his eyes never left hers. "You will walk into that hall, and you will stand before the king," he said, his voice soft, deadly. "And no matter what words leave his lips, know this—Eliza, you are mine."

She stepped back, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

Then she turned and walked past him, leaving his presence, leaving the chamber—but not his hold.

***

The Royal Court

The grand hall of Luvein’s palace was a cavernous space, its high ceilings supported by columns of black marble veined with gold. A massive chandelier of enchanted crystal loomed overhead, casting a cold, spectral glow upon the gathered nobles.

Eliza moved through the sea of silk and steel, ignoring the whispered voices that trailed in her wake.

“She looks pale.”
“Do you think she knew beforehand?”
“I hear the duke has already laid his claim…”

She did not stop, did not react.

At the far end of the hall, seated upon a throne of dark oak and adorned in crimson robes, was King Edrian VI—ruler of Luvein, judge of fate, wielder of absolute power.

Beside him, the Queen watched impassively, her expression unreadable. And to his right stood a man Eliza had never before seen.

Tall. Lean. His golden hair fell in loose waves to his shoulders, and his sharp green eyes surveyed the room with quiet amusement.

He was not Raen.

And in that moment, Eliza knew.

This was the man the king had chosen.

Not the wolf who had stalked her for years. Not the man who had carved his name into her fate with quiet promises and sharper threats.

A stranger.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she reached the center of the chamber and sank into a graceful curtsy.

"Countess Eliza Valienne," the king’s voice echoed through the hall. "You have been called before the court to receive my decree. As is tradition, a lady of noble blood must be wed to a man of equal standing to strengthen the ties of our kingdom."

A long pause.

Then.

"You will be wed to Lord Cedric D’Aramitz of House D’Aramitz."

A collective murmur rippled through the room.

Eliza kept her face composed, even as ice crawled up her spine.

A name she did not know. A future she had not chosen.

And across the hall, standing near the shadows, Raen did not move.

But she could feel it—the weight of his fury, the quiet violence simmering beneath the surface.

A slow, deliberate inhale. A tension that coiled like a viper ready to strike.

She had seen Raen in battle. She had watched him cut down men like reeds in a storm.

And tonight, she realized something else.

The king had not declared a union.

He had declared war.