Chapter 30

Smoke beneath the throne.

The storm rolled in after midnight. Rain hammered against the tall glass windows of the Cross estate like impatient fists, while thunder boomed across the hills, sounding like warning shots from somewhere up high.

I stood at the war table, my reflection shimmering on its polished surface. My dark eyes darted from map to file, picking apart movement and motive.

Everything was connected, every death, every lie, every seduction.

And it all pointed to the same enemy.

The Red Court.

Damian leaned against the table next to me, arms crossed. His tailored suit was still damp from making it back across two borders in less than twelve hours.

“They made their move,” he said quietly, placing a black envelope on the table.

I didn’t flinch.

Inside was a single photo of me, taken earlier that day. I was at a flower market, smiling faintly as I touched the petals of a white lily.

On the back, someone had scribbled a note:

“The crown you wear was never yours to take.”

I stared at it, feeling cold. Then I lit a match and watched the flames curl the paper into ash, the ink disappearing like a whispered threat.

“They’re watching,” Damian said.

Good, I replied. Let them watch.

Two hours later, I found myself in the training courtyard, cutting through the air with a blade that Sebastian used to keep in his office. The edge, forged from obsidian, felt as light as betrayal and as sharp as memory.

Vera stood in the archway, arms folded.

“You never trained like this before,” she remarked.

I parried an invisible opponent.

I never had to kill gods before.

She stepped closer, her lips twitching into a smirk. “The court is already scared of you.”

They should be.

“But you’re not going to strike yet, are you?”

I shook my head. Not until I know who really sits on the throne.

Over the next week, I set my plan in motion.

Nico showcased six digital phantoms across Europe,aliases meant to trigger reactions from known Red Court operatives.

Fake chatter. False financial transfers. Whispers of resurrection.

“If we’re lucky,” Nico said, “they’ll come sniffing around.”

If we’re lucky? I shot back.

“They’ll come hunting.” I smiled. Then I’ll be ready.

Meanwhile, Damian was meeting with a former associate, Marcus Viero. Once a top enforcer for the Red Court, Marcus was now hiding under a new name in Istanbul.

The price of betrayal was steep. But the price of survival? Even steeper.

“What does she want?” Marcus asked, pouring two fingers of whiskey.

“Access,” Damian replied. “Not just to Edenfall, but to the real power, those whose names don’t make it into any books.”

Marcus scoffed. “They don’t speak. They don’t meet. If you want to draw them out, you’ll need more than just threats.”

“We have Claire.”

The older man leaned back.

“That woman…she’s not like Durate. And she sure as hell isn’t like Elena.”

“No,” Damian agreed. “She’s worse.”

On the third night, I stood alone in the old wine cellar.

A map of Edenfall now filled the wall. Stitched together from fragments Maria had left in her journal and Lennox’s decrypted blueprint.

Beneath its pristine surface was a labyrinth. Prison cells. Ritual rooms. A throne chamber buried beneath the earth.

Everything ends there. I whispered. The lights flickered.

I didn’t turn when Damian entered.

“They’ve invited you,” he said quietly.

My heart slowed. What?

“A message sent through an encrypted channel Lennox accessed. A formal invitation to Edenfall.”

For what? He handed me the tablet.

On the screen a message bearing the red court seal.

“The court wishes to evaluate your claim of sovereignty. You may appear in Edenfall under escort. One guard only. Come unarmed. Refusal will be seen as a declaration of war.”

I read it twice, then looked up.

Good. I said. Let them see what I am.

The next night, I stood before a mirror in my chambers.

Not in armor, not in black. But in deep cream silk.

My mother’s gown.

It clung like smoke. Bled like fire. Damian stood behind me watching.

“They’ll try to break you,” he said.

They’ll fail.

“You sure you want me to come? They know who I am.”

That’s why I want you there. I want them to see who I trust.

He moved closer, my reflection tilted toward him.

“You’ve changed,” he said quietly.

I met my own gaze in the mirror. I had to.

His hand hovered over my shoulder but didn’t touch.

“Promise me one thing,” he said. What?

“If they try to crown you….don’t kneel.”

I won’t kneel, I’ll rule.

As the plane descended into the Alps, snow-capped peaks pierced through the clouds like jagged knives.

Edenfall rose from the mountain like a cathedral carved by devils. It’s towers old, weather-beaten, and sharp as blade points.

Inside, the air was cold and sterile.

The guards wore white masks. No faces, no voices. Just silence.

I walked through the corridor like a queen already familiar with her palace. Damian stayed by my side, his presence was a defiant act in itself.

We were led to the inner chamber.

There they were, sitting in a semicircle of thrones made from ancient stone,the true heads of the Red Court.

Six of them in total. All masked and all watching me intently. But right in the center, the watcher, unmasked and utterly still.

As I walked closer, he stood up.

“Claire Durate. Queen of dust and fire.”

I didn’t bow. I didn’t smile either.

I’m not here to beg for power, I said.

“Then why are you here?” one of the masked figures asked.

To take it.

A wave of tension filled the air. The watcher gestured to the center of the room.

On a pedestal, a single golden dagger lay.

“Every queen bleeds,” he said. “Do you?”

I stepped forward and picked up the blade. Without hesitation, I dragged it across my palm.

Blood welled up,bright, red, and alive.

I held my hand out for them to see, then let it drip onto the marble floor.

I bleed, I said, my voice booming. But I do not break.

After a moment of silence, one of the masked figures stood up.

He pulled off his mask.

He was young, handsome, with eyes like flint.

“Then welcome, Claire Durate. The court accepts your rise.”

Another voice chimed in. “But know this: if you betray us…”

My bloody hand tightened around the dagger.

I’m not here to play by your rules. I’m here to rewrite them.

The watcher smiled faintly and said nothing.