In the Shadow of the Crown

The throne room pulsed with raw magic.

A storm of power crackled between Raen and Edric, the golden glow of Raen’s rage clashing against the cold, insidious darkness coiling around the king’s throne. The world had narrowed to this moment - to two men poised for destruction, with Eliza caught between them like the final thread before the guillotine fell.

Edric’s smirk was gone. His fingers gripped the armrest of his throne, his expression unreadable beneath the flickering torchlight. Yet his silence spoke volumes. He knew.

This was not the Raen of the battlefield, the disciplined general who calculated every move like a master of war.

[This was the Raen who did not fight for kingdoms, for honor, for title.]

[This was a man who had come for what was his.]

Eliza’s pulse thundered as she held onto him. She could feel it - his body, coiled tight as a bowstring, his breath shallow and sharp, the heat of his magic curling through the air like fire waiting for a spark.

And she was the only thing keeping it from igniting.

“Raen,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible over the hum of power vibrating through the air.

His grip on her tightened. [Not gentle. Not reassuring. Possessive. Desperate.]

[If I let go, he will not stop.]

She knew this truth in her bones.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then Edric exhaled a quiet, amused breath. “Fascinating.”

Raen tensed. Eliza barely had time to react before he moved.

A single shift, a flicker of motion - his blade sliced through the air, heading straight for Edric’s throat.

A resounding clash echoed through the chamber as steel met steel.

Eliza stumbled back, heart lurching as Tristan appeared between them, his own blade barely holding Raen’s strike at bay.

“Enough.”

The word was quiet, yet heavy with meaning.

Raen’s golden eyes flared with fury. His sword pressed against Tristan’s with unrelenting force, but Tristan did not yield.

Eliza saw it then - the tremor in Tristan’s arm, the sheer strain of holding back a man who fought with nothing left to lose.

“You think to stop me?” Raen’s voice was low, dangerous.

Tristan’s jaw clenched. “If you kill him now, you give him exactly what he wants.”

Raen did not move. But Eliza saw the way his grip tightened, the way his breathing deepened, ragged and sharp.

[He’s losing control.]

And Edric was watching. Calculating.

Raen had come for vengeance, but Edric. He had never feared the blade. He thrived on it. He fed on chaos, on destruction.

And Raen, blinded by fury, was walking straight into the trap.

Eliza acted before she could think.

She stepped forward, pressing her palm against Raen’s chest. “Look at me.”

He didn’t. His eyes burned past her, locked onto Edric like a beast ready to rip out its prey’s throat.

“Raen.” She forced steel into her voice, pushing against the fire in his gaze. “Look. At. Me.”

His breath hitched.

Slowly, the gold in his irises flickered, focus shifting until, finally. He saw her.

Eliza exhaled, pressing her other hand over his fingers where they gripped his sword. “Not like this,” she murmured. “Not now.”

His jaw clenched, the tension in his body refusing to ease. But his fingers loosened just enough for her to guide his sword downward.

Tristan stepped back, barely masking his relief.

Edric, however, only smiled.

Eliza turned to him, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “You think you’ve won.”

Edric’s amusement did not fade. “My dear countess, I have already won.”

A cold weight settled in her stomach.

Raen bristled, but she stepped in front of him, forcing herself to remain steady. “You wanted this,” she said. “You wanted him to lose control. To strike without thinking.”

Edric chuckled. “And yet, here we are. He did not.”

The unspoken words curled around them like a serpent.

Not yet.

Eliza’s blood ran cold.

[This isn’t over.]

She knew Edric well enough to understand—this moment was merely another thread in his web, another move on his board.

Her fingers curled at her sides. No more.

She turned to Raen, who was still watching Edric as though one wrong breath would be enough to drive his sword through the king’s heart.

“Eliza,” he murmured, his voice low, raw.

She took his hand. Tightened her grip.@@novelbin@@

“It’s time to leave.”

A flicker of hesitation. He was still seething, still thrumming with the need to finish this.

But after a moment, he exhaled sharply. “Fine.”

He did not sheath his sword.

Did not turn his back to Edric.

But he let Eliza lead him away.

The tension in the room did not fade as they stepped through the shattered doors, past the wreckage Raen had left in his wake.

But just before they crossed the threshold, Edric’s voice cut through the silence.

“A piece of advice, Duke Raen.”

Raen halted.

Eliza’s breath stilled.

The king’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Even the strongest of chains can break.”

The words slithered over her skin like a whisper of something inevitable.

Raen did not turn. Did not answer.

But Eliza saw the way his fingers twitched at his side.

They walked into the darkened corridor, the weight of those words lingering long after the throne room had disappeared behind them.

And for the first time since she had met Raen, since she had known the depth of his devotion, the terrifying certainty of his love. She felt something she had never dared to before.

Doubt.