(Zetulah POV)
Blood clung to the morning mist like it belonged there.
It streaked the edges of tents, seeped into frostbitten earth, pooled under three Emberclaw generals. Their throats—slit clean. No struggle. No noise. Just precision.
A message.
This wasn't a gift. It was a declaration of war.
Solric's voice cut sharper than any blade. He stood rigid beside me, eyes locked on the bodies. His disapproval pressed down like a boulder.
I didn't look his way. Didn't flinch. "We needed an advantage."
"And now Kaelith Emberclaw will burn this land to ash."
He wasn't wrong. I felt it in my bones—that quiet, gnawing truth. Kaelith wouldn't let this slide. Not ever.
I turned, cloak snapping in the wind, blood-scent clinging like rot. "Prepare the army."
Solric hesitated. "And House Moriba?"
I opened my palm.
A golden crest glared back—serpent coiled around a wolf's throat. Their alliance. Their game.
"They think I'm their pawn." My voice bit colder than the mountain air. "Let them."
I crushed the sigil in my fist.
"They'll learn what happens when wolves stop pretending."
---
(Kaelith's POV)
The crypts beneath the throne smelled like damp and decay.
Each step echoed—stone, bone, silence. Skulls lined the walls. Ancestors. My blood. Sacrificed for a throne built on ash and arrogance.
Your father fed the throne, Kaelith.
Lady Syrene's voice slithered behind me. Torchlight flickered across her sharp cheeks.
I stared at the bones. "Why keep it from me?"
"Would you have wanted to know?"
The question clawed at my ribs. No answer came.
I wanted to scream. To smash every skull. Watch the throne crumble.
But I didn't.
Instead, I straightened. "I won't be him. Can't."
Syrene's smile barely flickered. "Then don't wait for Viridian to strike first."
The bones weren't legacy. They were a curse.
"Summon my generals. We march at dawn."
---
(Zetulah POV)
The war tent buzzed like a hornet's nest.
Voices clashed—panic, pride, pointless. I tuned them out. My eyes traced Kaelith's advance on the map. Faster. Sharper. No wasted movement.
He's not hesitating.
Solric's whisper prickled my neck.
"Good." My jaw tightened. "Neither will I."
I turned to the commanders. "Send word to Azzuri. If we fall, they're next."
Silence. Heavy. Skeptical.
Azzuri wouldn't come. We all knew it.
Didn't matter.
"And Moriba?" Solric pressed.
I stabbed a finger at their crest on the map. "They showed their hand. Time I show them mine."
---
(Kaelith's POV)
The torch spun.
It hit the barricade with a crack, flames devouring wood like starved beasts.
A scream tore the air—raw, primal.
I charged.
Blade swinging. Fire roaring. Wolves of Emberclaw surging behind me. Smoke and steel wrapped around us, thick as armor.
Viridian met us head-on. Brave. Stupid. Desperate.
Steel shrieked. Bones snapped. Earth drank blood.
I was wildfire.
One slash—flesh split. One roar—flames swallowed ranks.
This was my birthright. My father's design.
Then—I saw her.
Chaos parted. She stood, winds clawing at her cloak like feral things.
Zetulah.
Our eyes locked—green fury against burning resolve.
I grinned. Couldn't help it.
"Come on, Princess!" I barked over the din, voice ragged. "Let's end this!"
She stepped forward. Blades raised. No fear.
When steel met steel—thunder.
---
(Zetulah and kaelith POV)
We tore into each other like fates owed debts.
I fight for a crown that chokes my people.
—I fight to shatter the chains of my blood.
I fight to bury my father's shadow.
—I fight to steal breath from his legacy.
Chaos reigned.
And beyond the storm—
House Moriba watched.
Waited.
Smiled.
Because thrones aren't won.
They're stolen…
on the backs of the dead.
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