Chapter 14 Blood Trial
The ritual chamber beneath the palace had not been used in decades. Its doors—two slabs of moonstone carved with ancient runes—had remained sealed, untouched by light or footsteps since the last Blood Trial was conducted.
Today, they opened for a mortal.
Only because the Queen commanded it.
Lyrathia stood at the threshold, her cloak trailing behind her like a pool of darkness. The ritual fires crackled with red flames that did not burn, only glowed with an eerie pulse, like the heartbeat of an ancient beast slumbering beneath the floor.
Kael stood opposite her, wrists still bound though no guards held him. The chains were ceremonial now—the last symbol of a prisoner about to become something else.
Her “personal charge.”
The phrase had nearly started a riot among her court. Mortals didn’t receive that title—advisors did, heirs did, favored warriors did. But mortals? Never.
Kael still didn’t understand what she’d done. Not entirely.
But he knew enough to recognize danger.
“This trial… you’re sure it’s necessary?” he asked, voice low, echoing against the cavernous chamber walls.
“Without it, the court will never accept my claim,” she said. “And they will continue to try to kill you.”
Kael huffed a humorless breath. “Then why not just release me? Let me go.”
Lyrathia’s jaw tightened—a rare tell.
“I would if that were safe.”
“For who?” he pressed. “You? Me? Your kingdom?”
Her gaze dropped to his wrists. The sight of chains on him sparked the same unsettling sensation she was still learning to name. Anger. Not the distant echo her curse had permitted. Real anger. Hot and alive.
“For everyone,” she answered. “You possess something… unknown. Your blood resists vampire magic. Your arrival coincides with assassins willing to die to end you. If I let you go, it will not save you.”
He watched her quietly, as though trying to read the truth beneath the layers she always wore.
“And this ‘Blood Trial’?” he asked. “What does it involve?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
There were truths she wanted to hide, but Kael had proven already that he valued honesty—even if it hurt. And somehow, she found she didn’t want to lie to him.
“It is a test of your essence,” she said. “Your spirit. The trial evaluates whether you can withstand the magic of my court. If you cannot… it will kill you.”
Kael let out a slow, controlled breath. “Seems a little extreme.”
“This is me protecting you,” she said.
He shook his head in disbelief. “You have an interesting definition of protection.”
She didn’t argue.
High Priestess Nyxira approached, her silver robes whispering across the stone floor. She bowed deeply before her queen. “The chamber is prepared. The mortal must step into the circle.”
Kael hesitated.
Lyrathia didn’t.
She moved toward him, unlocking the ceremonial shackles with a single touch. The chains fell away. The clang echoed like a promise.
He rubbed the red marks on his wrists. “You’re really doing this.”
“It is the only way.”
There was something unreadable in his eyes. Not fear. Not resentment. Something sharper. Something that made her curse crack again, dangerously.
“Then let’s get on with it,” he said.
She gestured toward the center of the chamber. “Stand within the circle. Do not step out. No matter what happens.”
He stepped inside.
The runes carved into the stone illuminated, one by one, until the entire circle blazed with red light. Nyxira raised her hands, beginning the chant. The ritual flames flared higher.
Kael stiffened.
“What do I need to do?” he called over the rising hum of magic.
“Endure,” Lyrathia said.
The trial began.
The air trembled.
Red energy rose from the runes, swirling around Kael’s legs like coiling serpents. The magic was meant to read him—his bloodline, his strength, his truth. If his heart was weak, if his intentions were false, the circle would devour him.
Kael clenched his jaw, his muscles tensing as the first wave of energy struck him.
It hit hard.
Hard enough that he staggered.
“Steady,” Lyrathia murmured, too quiet for most to hear.
But he heard.
The magic wrapped around him like writhing smoke, pressing against his skin, pushing into his lungs, trying to burrow into his veins.
He gasped, choking on nothing and everything.
“Lyrathia—” he managed.
Her name on his lips made the curse inside her shudder violently.
“Do not speak,” she commanded. “Focus.”
His knees hit the stone.
The magic intensified, turning crimson to black. Nyxira’s chant quickened.
“His essence is resisting the reading,” the priestess warned.
Lyrathia’s pulse quickened. “Meaning?”
“Meaning the trial is attempting to overpower him.”
Kael arched back, muscles straining, a raw cry tearing from his throat.
Lyrathia moved forward instinctively—but Nyxira lifted a hand.
“Your Majesty—if you intervene, the trial will deem him unworthy.”
“And if I do nothing?” she asked, voice dangerously thin.
“He will die.”
A sound escaped Lyrathia—a sharp inhale that wasn’t fear but something far more volatile.
The curse wasn’t silent anymore. It screamed.
Kael collapsed onto his hands, sweat dripping onto the glowing runes. His breathing came ragged and uneven. His eyes burned with pain—but also stubborn fire.
He wasn’t giving up.
Not yet.
Lyrathia’s fingers twitched at her side.
If she stepped in, she would condemn him.
If she didn’t, the trial would kill him.
Her court was watching her from behind the shadows of the pillars—advisors, guards, spies pretending to be nothing more than curious nobles.
They expected her to remain still. Detached.
Unfeeling.
She had no such luxury anymore.
Kael’s head dropped, his body trembling violently. When he lifted his gaze, it locked onto hers—not pleading, not begging, but grounding.
As if he needed her to be the last thing he saw.
And that was what broke her.
Lyrathia stepped toward the circle.
Nyxira’s voice rose, panicked. “Your Majesty—stop!”
She ignored her.
The circle crackled, reacting to her presence. The flames dimmed. The runes flickered.
“You are stronger than this,” she said to Kael. Her voice was a blade. “Stand.”
He tried.
His arms shook.
Blood dripped from his nose onto the runes. They sizzled as if tasting something unfamiliar.
But Kael planted his feet. Forced himself upright inch by agonizing inch. His body trembled like a bowstring drawn too tight.
The magic surged again, swallowing him in a torrent of crimson.
“Kael!” Lyrathia’s control shattered. “Enough!”
Her voice snapped through the chamber like lightning.
The magic trembled.
And Kael roared.
He shoved back—not with magic, but with sheer will, sheer defiance, sheer refusal to die for someone else’s test. The energy recoiled as if burned. A blast of shock rolled through the chamber.
Nyxira gasped. “Impossible. He’s—he’s pushing the trial back.”
The circle cracked.
The runes dimmed.
The flames died.
When the magic finally dissipated, Kael collapsed—and Lyrathia caught him before he hit the ground.
Her arms wrapped around him instinctively. His head fell against her shoulder. His chest heaved against her.
He was alive.
Barely.
But alive.
The curse inside her tore open at the contact—feelings slamming into her like a tidal wave she couldn’t stop.
Relief. Fear. Rage. Need.
Her advisors stared in horror.
Nyxira whispered, “The trial has chosen. He… he is compatible.”
Lyrathia didn’t take her eyes off Kael.
“What does that mean?” he rasped, barely conscious.
Her fingers brushed his hair back from his face.
“It means,” she said quietly, “that you belong under my protection now.”
Kael managed the faintest smirk. “I thought you didn’t believe in fate.”
“I don’t.”
“But this feels like it.”
She hated that he was right.
She hated how her heart reacted to him.
But she didn’t let him fall.
She carried him out of the circle, ignoring every shocked gaze.
Kael had survived the Blood Trial.
And in doing so, he had become something far more dangerous than a prisoner.
He had become hers.