In the Shadow of the Crown

The weight of the book in Eliza’s hands felt heavier than its leather binding should allow. The moment Elric had placed it in her grasp, something deep within her shuddered. It was not merely a book. It was a relic, something alive with forgotten whispers, with the remnants of power that should have died long ago.

Raen stood close beside her, his silver gaze fixed on the tome as if it might attack at any moment. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, a silent promise that if this was a trick, he would not hesitate to carve through flesh and bone to correct it.

Eliza exhaled slowly, her fingers grazing the cover. The magic within the book was cold, foreign. It slithered beneath her skin like frostbite, numbing and burning all at once.

She lifted her gaze to Elric. “Where did you find this?”                          

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Some things are better left unknown.”

Raen’s patience was thinning. “Enough riddles. What is in that book?”

Elric took a step forward, his emerald eyes gleaming in the fractured light of the stained glass. “The origins of the king’s power,” he said softly. “And the price he paid for it.”

Eliza swallowed, a chill creeping down her spine. She forced herself to open the book.

The pages were old, fragile, yet the ink was fresh - written in blood rather than ink. The script was unfamiliar, but the intent behind the words seeped into her mind like venom. The further she read, the more the air in the chapel grew heavy, thick with something unseen.

Raen shifted beside her. “Eliza,” he said warningly.

But she couldn’t stop. The words spoke of an ancient pact, one forged in shadows, in the blood of the innocent. The king had not merely taken power. He had bartered for it, kneeling before something far darker than any mortal god.

[This is what he has been hiding.]

Her hands trembled as she turned another page. The writing here was different, the strokes hurried, desperate. A warning.

"The debt must be paid."

The air around them seemed to tighten, as if the very walls of the chapel were holding their breath.

Elric’s voice was calm, but beneath it was something sharper. “The magic he wields is not his own. It was given, on the condition that when the time came, he would pay his due.”

Eliza’s throat felt dry. “And when is that time?”

Elric’s eyes darkened. “Soon.”

A silence fell between them.

Raen was the first to break it. “Then he is desperate,” he said, a dangerous edge in his voice. “Which means he is more dangerous than ever.”

Eliza closed the book, the weight of it pressing against her chest.

[And so are we.]

***

The Palace of Thorns

The corridors of the king’s palace were quieter than usual. It was late, but that alone did not explain the eerie stillness, the way the torches flickered as if disturbed by something unseen.

Eliza walked carefully, the hood of her cloak drawn low over her face. Every step was calculated, every breath measured. She was not meant to be here. Not tonight.

But she had no choice.

If the book’s words were true, then time was slipping through their fingers. They needed to move before the king did.

The library doors loomed ahead, guarded by two sentries. She recognized one of them. A man who had served her father before his death. She had played in these halls as a child, had run past these very doors with laughter still untainted by the weight of the crown.

[How things have changed.]

She took a steadying breath, stepped from the shadows, and approached.

The guards straightened, their hands moving to their hilts. “My lady?”

Eliza pulled her cloak tighter. “The king has summoned me.”

The guards hesitated.

“The king is not to be disturbed,” the older of the two said.

She forced herself to smile. “Then perhaps you would prefer to explain to him why I did not come when called?”

A flicker of doubt passed between them.

The younger guard shifted uncomfortably. “She’s the countess,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t...”

Eliza moved past them before they could decide otherwise, slipping through the heavy doors and into the darkened library.

The scent of parchment and ink wrapped around her like a familiar embrace. She had spent years in these halls, had studied under candlelight at this very desk. But tonight, the library did not feel like a place of learning. It felt like a tomb.

[Find the records.]

She moved swiftly, trailing her fingers along the spines of books, searching for the one thing she needed the proof that the king’s power was borrowed. That his rule was not divine, but cursed.

A floorboard creaked behind her.

She froze.

[Not alone.]

A whisper of steel, the sharp inhale of a blade being drawn.

Eliza turned just as a hand shot out, closing around her wrist.

A man in black stood before her, his face hidden behind a mask, his grip unyielding.

“Eliza,” he murmured.

Recognition slammed into her chest like a dagger.

[No.]

[Not him.]

[Not him.]

Her blood ran cold. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

A slow, cruel smile. “The same thing as you.”

His grip tightened. “You should not have come.”

Darkness curled at the edges of her vision.

And then…pain.

A sharp sting against her throat. The world blurred, her legs giving way beneath her.@@novelbin@@

The last thing she heard was the sound of her own name, spoken like a curse.

And then nothing.