Chapter 84 Cyprian
While Ronan sat in the sterile, silent infirmary, his knuckles white as he gripped a hand that refused to warm up, Elara was wandering.
She stood in a vast, endless white void. There was no wind, no sound, and no horizon. She almost facepalmed, a hysterical bubble of laughter rising in her throat. Another trance? Really? Between the forest and the glass floors, she was starting to feel like her subconscious was a broken record she couldn't scratch her way out of.
"Lyra?" she called, her voice falling flat in the vacuum. "Lyra, are you there?"
Silence. Not even the faint, comforting brush of her wolf’s spirit. The connection felt severed, like a cauterized wound.
"Lyra!" she screamed again, panic beginning to prickle at her skin. Still nothing.
She took a shaky breath. If her wolf wouldn't answer, maybe the darkness would. "Shadow King? Are you there? Is Ronan okay? Answer me!"
She waited, bracing for that velvet, terrifying purr. But before she could even draw another breath, the atmosphere curdled.
The white space didn't just fade; it shattered like dropped porcelain. One moment she was in a void, and the next, she was standing in a massive, opulent crimson hall. The floor was paved with dark, polished stone, adorned with sprawling red and white roses that looked too perfect to be real.
A violent shiver ran down her spine. "Is... is anyone here?"
The only response was the hollow echo of her own voice. She took a step forward, her foot sliding on something slick. She almost slipped, her arms flailing before she caught her balance.
She glanced down slowly, and the breath left her lungs in a jagged wheeze. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a shriek. She wasn't standing on water. A pool of fresh, dark blood was spreading beneath her feet, soaking into the petals of the white roses until they turned a bruised, heavy purple.
"Please," she whispered, her eyes darting around the shadows of the high, vaulted ceiling. "Is anyone here...?"
The sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps began to ring out from the far end of the hall. Clack. Clack. Clack.
Elara didn't wait to see who it was. She bolted, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She lurched behind a massive obsidian pillar and crouched there, her knees hitting her chest. She was shaking so hard she had to bite her lip to keep her teeth from chattering.
Soon, voices rang out, echoing through the hall.
"The Sovereign is pissed," a gravelly voice muttered. "He hasn't tasted a drop of royal nectar in centuries, and now this?"
"It’s all thanks to those damned Nosferus," another voice snarled, closer this time. "Low-born scavengers.
They dared to lay a blade on the last princess of the Obsidian Spire. They’ve signed their own death warrants in ash."
At the mention of the Nosferus, Elara’s blood ran cold. Images of the forest flashed in her mind. The elongated black arm, the shimmering blade, the sound of Ronan’s ribs snapping. She squeezed her eyes shut, a sob nearly breaking through her fingers.
"The princess was tainted anyway," the first guard said, his tone dripping with a sudden, ugly sneer. "Half-breed. Diluted. A mongrel of the three bloods. Does it even matter if the Nosferu got to her? She’s a stain on the lineage."
"Careful," the second guard warned, though his voice lacked conviction. "The Sovereign has ears everywhere."
"Let him hear! I’m tired of guarding a ghost's legacy while—"
In that heartbeat, a dangerous, suffocating aura swarmed the room. It felt like the air had turned into thick, freezing lead. Elara almost choked on the weight of it.
Flap. Flap. Flap.
The sound of a thousand wings filled the hall, followed by a voice that boomed across the obsidian walls, vibrating in Elara's very marrow.
"It seems I have been too lenient on low-lives like you," the voice said. It was smooth, dark, and utterly lethal. "Your boldness to speak against my blood is... amusing. Briefly."
The guard who had called her tainted let out a strained, wet gurgle.
Elara’s curiosity warred with her terror. She peaked from behind the pillar.
In the center of the hall stood a man. He didn't look human. His ears were slightly perky, and his eyes glowed a vibrant, otherworldly red. His hand was buried deep, protruding out of the chest of the guard in heavy metal armor.
The guard stuttered, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "My liege... I... I didn't mean..."
The red-eyed man snorted. His free hand reached up, gripping the man’s head with casual, terrifying strength. "In your next life, choose your words more wisely."
With a sickening crack, he ripped the man's head clean off. The body disintegrated into fine black dust.
The second guard, seeing his companion erased, didn't even scream; he simply vanished into the shadows, his footsteps fading into a frantic run.
Elara whimpered, pressing her back against the pillar. Her heart skipped several beats when the man spoke again.
"Now... to you that has been eavesdropping. When do you plan to show yourself?"
Elara gasped, stumbling backward and falling hard on her butt. "Oof!"
She scrambled to raise her head. The man was gone.
The space was empty. Fear gripped her as she staggered backward on her hands and knees until her back hit something solid. A strong, warm frame.
"Oh my goddess..." she whispered, her eyes wide.
Of course. Always the goddess, a voice rang directly inside her skull. It wasn't a whisper; it was a resonance, like a cello string being plucked against her brain matter.
Elara shrieked, clutching her temples and doubling over. "Get out! Get out of my head!"
"Why are you shouting? I’m right here."
The voice was no longer in her mind. It was vibrating against the back of her neck.
Elara froze. The air behind her had turned unnaturally cold. She could feel the weight of a presence. Heavy, ancient, and smelling of ozone and crushed lilies. She didn't turn around. She couldn't. Her muscles had locked in a primitive fear response.
"Why is the princess sprawled on the floor like a common servant?" the voice mused. It was smooth, dark, and carried a faint, aristocratic lilt.