Chapter 148 Seraphine
“WAIT!”
The Between rippled violently beneath my feet as I spun toward the voice, black fire flaring instinctively around my shoulders. Every throne groaned. The music fractured into discord.
Amara stood near the edge of the semicircle, her hands clenched at her sides, water trembling in the air around her like suspended glass. Her eyes were wide, not frightened, but urgent.
Beside her stood a woman I did not recognize.
Death clung to the stranger like mist at dawn.
It pooled faintly at her ankles. It dragged along her shadow, thicker than the others. She was Deathborn — not newly awakened, not uncertain. Old grief marked her posture. Her eyes were red from crying.
The hall erupted into whispers.
“What is this?” Valin muttered sharply.
Lucian stepped toward Amara, jaw tight. “What are you doing?”
Amara didn’t look at him.
She looked at me.
“High Priestess,” she said, her voice carrying unnaturally clear despite the chaos. “You need to know something before the crown seals.”
The crown.
My gaze snapped back to Rhevik.
The dead roses rested against his brow, black fire sinking slowly into him, not yet fully fused.
The Between growled low beneath us.
“Speak,” I commanded.
Amara swallowed.
“Rhevik is a descendant of Thane.”
The words struck like a physical blow.
Gasps exploded across the hall.
The Old Guard moved instinctively, their boots scraping stone as they shifted positions, eyes blazing. The Between pulsed darker, the air thickening with pressure. Even the shadows seemed to lengthen.
My dragon rose inside me, teeth bared.
I did not move my gaze from Rhevik.
“Explain,” I said, though my voice had dropped several degrees colder.
The Deathborn woman beside Amara stepped forward shakily. “It’s true,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Thane was his great-grandfather.”
The growl that tore through the hall this time was not just mine.
It came from the Between itself.
It came from the Old Guard.
It came from Death territory’s table, where several Deathborn stiffened in shock.
My dragon’s voice rumbled in my skull. Blood remembers.
I ignored the surge of fury for now.
I looked at Rhevik.
He did not flinch.
He did not reach for the crown.
He did not tear it off.
He simply closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled heavily.
“Is this true?” I asked.
The silence stretched.
“Yes,” he said finally, his voice steady but weighted. “It is true.”
The words fell without defense.
Murmurs spread like wildfire.
I felt Dante shift behind me, fire licking at his fingertips. Lucian’s water coiled protectively around Amara’s wrists. Kael’s shadows thickened at his feet.
The hall teetered on panic.
“You did not disclose this,” I said carefully.
Rhevik met my eyes now.
“No,” he admitted.
“Why.”
The single word cracked like ice.
“Because I am not him,” Rhevik said, something sharp entering his tone for the first time. “And I refuse to let his name define mine.”
The Between hummed darkly.
My dragon’s voice was cold. Blood does not disappear.
“I know,” Rhevik continued, louder now so all could hear. “And I know what you’re thinking. That corruption runs in the line. That ambition does. That cruelty does.”
He took a breath.
“Thane had sons. Those sons had children. Our family has produced kings for generations before him. Some honorable. Some not.”
He glanced toward the Deathborn tables briefly.
“I would be a disgrace to my lineage if I did not at least attempt to claim the throne when it stood open. But I did not attempt it for him.”
“Then why?” I demanded.
His jaw tightened.
“Because I watched what he did.”
The hall quieted again.
“A few years ago,” he said, voice lowering, “I began to see the damage. The disappearances. The way fear replaced respect. The way Death territory stopped grieving and started hiding.”
His gaze flicked to the older woman who had stood beside Amara.
“It affected my family too. My mother. My cousins. People close to me were used as examples. As leverage.”
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I did not know the extent of it at first. I thought he was hard. Strict. Necessary.”
A bitter huff of breath escaped him.
“I was wrong.”
The Old Guard watched him carefully now, no longer growling, but measuring.
“I am not Thane,” Rhevik said firmly. “And I refuse to follow in his footsteps.”
My dragon’s voice cut through me. But he shares the blood.
I answered her silently. Blood is not destiny.
The Between remained uneasy, its surface shimmering faintly like disturbed water.
Rhevik continued, voice quieter now but unwavering. “If you disqualify me for my lineage, I will accept it. But I will not lie about it.”
That mattered.
He could have denied it.
He could have twisted it.
He didn’t.
Amara stepped forward slightly. “He didn’t tell anyone,”
“It wasn’t hidden,” he admitted. “Just… not volunteered.”
The Old Guard murmured among themselves.
My dragon paced within me, unsettled.
The crown on Rhevik’s head pulsed faintly, not yet fully sealed.
The Between breathed, uneasy, uncertain.
I stepped closer to him again, studying his face.
“You understood what Thane had done,” I said quietly. “And you still stepped forward.”
“Yes.”
“You still asked to rule Death territory.”
“Yes.”
“You did not think that would look… suspicious?”
His lips twitched faintly, not amusement, but acceptance. “It did.”
“And yet you stood anyway.”
“Yes.”
My dragon hissed softly. Brave… or foolish.
I did not answer her.
The hall felt like it hung on a knife’s edge.
The Old Guard were not growling anymore.
They were watching me.
The Between was not roaring.
It was waiting.
And the crown… had not sealed yet.
Which meant the decision was not final.
Not yet.