Chapter 47 The Queen’s First Rage
The castle was silent—too silent—when Lyrathia descended from her chambers. Not even the night guards dared breathe loudly as she strode down the obsidian corridors, her gown whispering like a blade across stone. Her steps were measured, controlled, but every footfall vibrated through the floor as if the castle itself feared her mood.
And it should.
Nothing alive—or dead—should face an immortal queen whose heart had just been torn open.
Kael was gone.
Stolen out from under her protection.
Taken by enemies who had planned every moment with surgical precision.
Lyrathia’s hands flexed at her sides, sparks of crimson magic snapping around her fingertips. Every breath she took tasted of Kael—his fear in the bond, his panic, his pain—and her fangs ached with a hunger she hadn’t felt in centuries. Not hunger for blood.
Hunger for vengeance.
The throne room doors burst open the second she pushed on them, slamming against the walls with a thunderous crack. The nobles inside flinched, several dropping to their knees. The scent of fear rolled through the chamber in thick, delicious waves. Under other circumstances, she might have reveled in it.
Tonight, she barely noticed.
“Your Majesty?” Lord Vael stammered, stepping forward. “We felt a surge in the wards. Has something—”
“Silence.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut like a blade. Magic thrummed behind it, vibrating the air. Lord Vael’s jaw snapped shut as if willed by a god.
Lyrathia’s gaze swept the room, landing on each noble in turn. Every heartbeat trembled beneath her senses. Every breath seemed too loud. The bond inside her chest pulsed wildly—Kael’s panic spiking again, distant but sharp enough to slice through her composure.
Her eyes flashed gold, then red.
“Kael has been taken,” she said, every word dipped in venom. “By traitors who dared infiltrate my home.”
A ripple of alarm swept through the chamber. Even the most arrogant nobles blanched.
The ground beneath her shook.
“There will be no sleep in this kingdom tonight,” Lyrathia continued. “Not until the one who took him is found.”
She stepped forward—and the entire throne room trembled. Shadows thickened behind her, swirling like a cloak. Her magic responded to her fury without restraint. For the first time in centuries, she allowed it.
Gasps rose as torches guttered and went out in perfect unison. The room plunged into a cold, unnatural darkness punctuated only by the glow of her eyes.
Lady Serayne, always too bold, dared to speak. “Your Majesty… perhaps if we speak with the western envoy—”
Lyrathia snapped her fingers.
A wave of force slammed into Serayne, hurling her back. She crashed into a marble pillar with a sickening crack. The court gasped.
The queen didn’t even look at her.
“Find every envoy. Every spy. Every whisperer. Bring me anyone who has breathed Kael’s name in the last week. Anyone who so much as looked in his direction without my permission.” Her voice deepened, darkened. “And if they resist…”
Magic flared behind her like wings of fire.
“…burn them.”
The nobles scattered, stumbling over one another in their haste to obey. None dared meet her gaze. None dared suggest caution. Tonight, the queen was not a distant, emotionless ruler.
Tonight, she was a storm.
The moment the throne room emptied, Lyrathia did not rest. She raced to the divination chamber at inhuman speed, the halls blurring around her. Her hair whipped behind her like a dark banner, her breath sharp with fury.
Inside the chamber, ancient stones glowed with pale blue light. Scrying mirrors lined the walls, and a massive circular basin filled with enchanted water stood at the center.
She moved straight to it, slicing her palm open with a nail.
Bright crimson dripped into the water.
The basin hissed. Swirled. Then boiled.
“Show me him,” she commanded, voice shaking with urgency. “Show me Kael.”
The water flashed red—then cracked like shattered glass.
Lyrathia staggered back.
No vision. No location. Nothing but static exploding through her senses.
Something—or someone—had shielded him from her magic.
A growl ripped from her throat, low and feral, vibrating the chamber walls.
“Cowards,” she hissed. “Hiding behind magic you do not understand.”
Electric fury pulsed through her veins. Her heartbeat thundered. Her fangs lengthened, aching with the sharp, primal need to tear apart the world until she reached him.
And then the bond surged.
Kael’s fear slammed into her like a tidal wave. Not faint. Not distant.
Immediate.
Raw.
Alive.
“Kael,” she whispered.
Her chest constricted painfully as she felt him struggling. His breath was ragged, uneven. His heart raced with panic. She could feel the cold around him—the scent of iron and stone and shackles. Pain lanced through his wrist, through his ribs, through the strange mark on his shoulder.
And through her.
Her knees nearly buckled.
“Hold on,” she breathed, gripping the basin’s edge until her knuckles whitened. “I’m coming for you.”
The bond pulsed in response—weakly, desperately—as if he were reaching for her. Trusting her.
Needing her.
A whisper of his voice brushed her mind.
Lyrathia… please…
Her eyes burned.
Her power snapped.
The entire divination chamber exploded in a shockwave of energy, sending shards of crystal, stone, and magic flying outward. The wards groaned, the castle shaking violently under her unleashed fury.
Lyrathia stormed out into the main courtyard, where the moonlight glistened across her armor-black gown. Guards scrambled to attention.
“Raise the night banners,” she ordered. “Summon every legion commander. Prepare the Deathwings for flight.”
“Your Majesty,” a guard stammered, “that order is only given at the beginning of—”
“Yes,” she snarled, “of a war.”
The guard nearly fainted.
Lyrathia lifted her chin, eyes glowing crimson as she surveyed her kingdom.
“Tonight,” she declared, voice ringing across the night sky, “we hunt.”
Wind whipped around her, swirling her gown in violent eddies. Lightning crackled above her. The scent of storm rolled in, heavy and foreboding.
Somewhere far beyond the castle, Kael was suffering.
And every second she felt his pain through the bond was agony.
The queen raised her hand.
A shockwave burst from her core, sweeping across the kingdom. Torches ignited in unison, magic flared, and miles away, her enemies felt the sudden spike of power—ancient, awakened, unstoppable.
Several dropped to their knees in terror.
One whispered, “The queen… she’s awakened.”
Another trembled.
“She’ll tear the land apart.”
A third voice choked, “We should never have taken him.”
Under the fury of the night, Lyrathia turned toward the horizon, her voice a vow sealed in blood and wrath.
“Kael,” she whispered, “I will shatter every throne and burn every kingdom if I must—but I will find you.”
Thunder rumbled in reply.
The Queen of Silence was silent no longer.
And her rage was the beginning of the end.