In the Shadow of the Crown

The grand hall of the royal palace was suffocating. A hundred chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, their countless candles flickering above polished marble floors. The towering columns stretched toward the domed ceiling, adorned with murals of past kings and battles long won. Gilded balconies overlooked the chamber, where noble lords and ladies whispered behind silk-gloved hands, their jeweled rings flashing as they gestured in hushed conversation.

Countess Eliza Valienne stood at the base of the throne’s dais, her breath shallow, her heart a hammer against her ribs.

The gown she wore—a masterpiece of deep sapphire silk—clung to her frame like a second skin. Its silver embroidery traced delicate patterns of stars and vines, glinting under the candlelight as she moved. The bodice was laced tightly, sculpting her into an image of effortless grace, though beneath it, her ribs ached from the constraint. A thin silver circlet rested upon her auburn waves, each strand pinned in place with an almost painful precision.

But despite the beauty of her attire, she felt trapped—an ornament, wrapped in finery for the pleasure of the court.

And the weight of so many eyes crushed down on her like an iron vice.                                                                                                             

Atop the grand throne, King Edric of Luvein sat, draped in the heavy crimson robes of his station. The golden embroidery of his sleeves shimmered each time he moved, and his massive crown, a relic passed through generations rested heavily upon his graying head. His face, carved with the harsh lines of age and rule, remained unreadable.

But his gaze was fixed on her.

She swallowed.

To the king’s right, Duke Raen Castian stood like a specter of death itself.

He was clad in black velvet, the high collar of his tunic adorned with silver embroidery in the shape of entwined wolves and curling flames an unmistakable insignia of his house. A dark cloak of midnight blue rested over his shoulders, clasped with a silver wolf’s head, its ruby eyes catching the light as he shifted.

Even amidst the finery of the court, he looked like a predator among lambs.

His long, gloved fingers flexed at his sides. The leather strained over his knuckles, as if struggling to contain the tension coiled beneath. His broad shoulders, usually so composed, were rigid with barely concealed anger.

Eliza did not dare to look at him directly.

But she felt him.

The way his presence wrapped around her like a shadow. The way his breath seemed to linger just behind her ear, even though he stood feet away. The way his unspoken claim burned upon her skin.

The herald’s voice rang through the hall.

“His Majesty, King Edric of Luvein, will now decree the betrothal of Countess Eliza Valienne.”

A hush fell over the court.

Eliza’s fingers trembled at her sides, but she curled them into fists.

She had known this moment was coming. She had known since the day she was summoned to court, dressed and prepared like a prize to be handed off. But knowing did not make it easier.

The king rose, his voice carrying with the weight of absolute authority.

“Countess Eliza Valienne shall be wed to...”

A breath of silence.

“Elric D’Arcy, Lord of Varemon.”

The words stabbed into her like a blade.

[Not Raen.]

Her vision blurred at the edges, the roaring in her ears drowning out the murmur of the court.

She had expected it, but she had not believed it would happen.

Beside her, Raen inhaled sharply.

The shift in the air was immediate. The temperature of the room dropped, the murmurs growing tense, uncertain. A storm was gathering, coiling itself around him like a living thing.

Eliza turned her head, just enough to glimpse him from the corner of her eye.

He was motionless.

But the rage simmering beneath his stillness was undeniable.

His jaw was clenched so tightly she feared he might shatter his teeth. The leather of his gloves creaked as his hands curled into fists, his knuckles turning white beneath the strain.

A heartbeat passed.

Two.

The court had erupted into whispers, but Eliza could hear only him. The sound of his breathing, heavy and controlled, as though he were taming a beast within himself.

She knew that beast.

She had seen what it could do.

The king’s voice cut through the noise, sharp as a blade.

“Eliza Valienne, do you accept this decree?”

She had no choice.

To refuse was treason.

Her lips parted, the words forming—when she felt it.

The shift.

A storm at her back.

Raen’s voice rang through the hall like a war drum.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I must object.”

The court froze.

Gasps rippled through the nobles. A few women clutched their pearls, their faces pale with disbelief. Some of the men exchanged wary glances.

Eliza’s breath hitched.

[Fool! What are you doing?!]

The king’s gaze darkened. “You forget your place, Duke Castian.”

Raen took one step forward.

The simple act was enough to send unease rippling through the court.

“My king,” he said, his voice low, even. Dangerous. “I have bled for this kingdom. I have sworn my loyalty to you. I have followed every command given to me without hesitation.”

A pause. A deadly pause.

“But I will not stand by and watch what is mine be given to another.”

The silence was deafening.

Eliza’s breath stopped.@@novelbin@@

[No. No, no, no.]

[He’s going to ruin himself.]

The king’s face twisted into something between fury and warning. “You dare to defy me?”

Raen did not blink. “I dare to speak the truth.”

And for the first time that evening, he turned his gaze fully onto her.

It pinned her in place, searing through her like a heated blade.

This is not over, his eyes whispered. It will never be over.

A shiver raced down her spine.

The king exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Duke Castian, I suggest you consider your next words very carefully.”

Raen’s response was silence.

A heavy, dangerous silence.

And then—

“Enough.”

The king’s command was absolute. “The matter is settled. This discussion is over.”

Raen did not bow.

He did not speak.

But Eliza saw the truth in his eyes.

This was not over.

Not by any means.