Uninvited

Amidst the deafening silence that fell into place, the Priest, standing before the Altar, gripped his golden staff as a cold sweat broke across his brow. He attempted to calm the fear that crawled up his spine once he realised who was standing at the threshold.

The colour red represented blood, and black symbolised the raven. "The seven lords of Ravencrest," the Priest's voice quivered as he uttered the ominous words.

Edwyn heard the whisper escape the Priest's lips, and his body tensed. His fingers immediately found the hilt of his sword, hidden beneath the fabric of his ceremonial robe even before his eyes landed on the source of that dominant voice. He was ready to strike if necessary.

Then Edwyn's blue eyes glanced over his shoulder, gesturing towards Priest.

"Speak, Priest. What halts your tongue? Proceed with the formalities," Edwyn's voice was a low growl, laden with authority and impatience.

The Priest took a deep breath, regaining his composure before he began to speak. Even though he maintained his control, he pressured himself to articulate each word.

"You have stepped into the house of the god and the sacred ceremony of the Chosen Bloodline." He spoke each word carefully while he tried to mask the tremor in his voice. "State your identity and the reason for your objection."

"God?" A deep chuckle erupted from one of the hooded men, mocking the Priest's words as he found them amusing.

The moment his words fell, the seven figures stepped inside and crossed the threshold of the church.

As they did, the sky outside darkened abruptly. Thick clouds rolled in from nowhere, consuming the golden sunlight with an ominous shadow. Thunder cracked like a whip, rattling the ground beneath the crowd, except the Crown Prince and the King.

"It's a bad omen..." someone whispered in dread, and every expression appeared ghostly pale.

"Don't they resemble the Seven Sins, Mother?" Evelyne Halbrecht's voice trembled as she leaned closer to her mother.

"Shhh! Be quiet!" her mother, Duchess Angelina Halbrecht, admonished, her eyes darting to the seven red-hooded figures who had interrupted the wedding.

Instead of fear, a smile crept onto her face. She hoped they would create chaos, even if it meant war. A little bloodshed didn't matter if it meant her daughter could become crown princess. Maybe, in the confusion, she could even frame Meribella's death on those red-hooded figures.

But Evelyne's curiosity was relentless. Lowering her voice further, she pressed, "Do you know who they are, mother?"

Her mother inhaled sharply as she focused on the figures. "If I am not wrong… judging by their attire and their cloaks… They must be from Ravencrest."

Evelyne's breath hitched. Her blood ran cold. "The Ravencrest?" She stressed each syllable.

Angelina met her daughter's widened eyes with a grave expression.

"Yes!" And a stunned hush fell between them.

The others who heard the mother-daughter conversation froze. They had never seen the people from Ravencrest before and were struck with a mixture of shock and fear. Their existence had been whispered about in hushed tales and fear-woven stories shared behind closed doors.

And yet here they stood. Not one but seven of them.

'What are they doing here? Did the King invite them? No, that couldn't be.'

Panic coursed through everyone's minds as thoughts raced uncontrollably.

Were they standing on the precipice of war?

The Crimson Crown dynasty had not been challenged for a hundred years. Not since the great conquests that solidified their dominion. And who would have thought a war would begin not on the battlefield but at the Crown Prince's wedding?!

Not a single guest had brought a weapon—save for King Godric and Crown Prince Edwyn.

And those seven men standing before them? They looked like they had never known the meaning of mercy.

Nobles shifted restlessly in their seats, hands clutching the edges of their garments while their eyes frantically sought comfort from the Crimson Crown, the chosen ones.

The seven mysterious figures crossed the distance in long strides. Each step taken by them felt like the danger was closing on the crowd at a calculative pace.

At last, they stopped near the Altar. One of them reached up, pushing back his deep red hood to reveal one of the mysterious faces among the seven, making the sky tremble. Thunder crashed again as if marking this reveal.

The man who stood before them was unlike any other.

He stood six feet three inches tall, his shoulders broad, his posture perfect. His features were chiselled, striking with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline.

He did not wear his power in arrogance. He wore it like a mantle, like something that did not need to be spoken louder.

His long silver hair, bound in a ponytail, cascaded like molten moonlight. His tan skin was a stark contrast to the nobles, where the cold had paled most noble bloodlines.

His eyes, golden with flecks, glowed softly, shadowed by dark rings like fading embers in smoke. They had an unsettling calm. The kind that preceded destruction before a battlefield drowned in blood.

The Priest swallowed, his voice barely steady, before he spoke again. "State your name before the Chosen Bloodline."

The man's lips parted, and his voice came out low, deep, and commanding as if holding the power of the divine and the sadness of the forsaken.

"A name only becomes a burden when said in the presence of those who wish to control it."

The room grew even colder once those words hung in the air. A ripple of unease spread inside the church.

King Godric, who sat next to the Queen, his fingers twitched over the hilt of his sword.

"And yet," the hooded man continued, his golden-flecked eyes slowly lifting, locking onto the Crown Prince, "I will speak it so you may remember its weight."

His presence was something beyond mortal comprehension.

His heavy aura of judgment felt like an executioner's blade hanging just above the neck.

He took another step forward while his cloak billowing slightly as if an unseen force was moving around him. Then he spoke,

"Raze Azkariel."

The moment the name Raze Azkariel left his lips, the entire cathedral seemed to exhale in shock. The King and Crown Prince's eyes hardened.

The Ravencrest had seven lords. Among seven, one was called King of Lords, Raze Azkariel.

They were seen as a curse—a dark omen. Wherever they appeared, war followed. Or worse, they were the ones who sought out war.

"Raze Azkariel...?" Meribella's voice was barely above a whisper, her brows furrowing in confusion. A name that should have been nothing but legend had been uttered right before her.

Raze's gaze flickered toward her, catching the faint whisper of her calling his name despite its softness.

When her eyes met him, Raze Azkariel smiled for the first time. It was a faint smile that held a bit of amusement, and then the moment was gone.

King Godric, who had remained seated until now, finally rose from his throne, drawing everyone's attention.

He was just as tall as Raze Azkariel and had a commanding and authoritative presence.

Raze's golden-flecked eyes drifted from Meribella to the King. And when their gazes clashed, a silent battle began, each trying to assert dominance over the other before Godric spoke.

"You step into my land without permission," Godric's voice was like a blade, sharp and merciless. "You object to a marriage sanctioned by me, the King Godric the Crimson Crown." His lips curled in disdain. "Tell me, do you seek war, King of Lords?"

Raze tilted his head just a fraction, a small gesture that paradoxically conveyed a hint of amusement.

"War?" his deep, dark voice echoed.

He let the word linger in the air to wrap the nobles like a creeping storm before a chuckle—low, rich, and dripping with deadly and righteous escaped his lips.

"No…....the gods are already thirsty enough for blood as it is."

He did not need to say it out loud. Yet, it forced everyone to listen.

The remaining six hooded figures behind Raze stood like executioners waiting for the command.

"Then explain the meaning of this intrusion," Godric's voice rang louder, cutting through the fear like a sharpened axe. "You dare to walk into my halls uninvited and dare to object to this union!"

Godric's cold gaze burned into the man who had dared to defy him. But Raze Azkariel did not flinch. He stood before the King—unshaken and unmoved.

A smirk ghosted over Raze's lips. It lasted no longer than a heartbeat, but it was enough to send an involuntary chill down the spines of those watching.

"I have not come to spill blood, King Godric. I have come here to prevent it."

Then—Raze turned his golden gaze to meet Meribella's greenish-blue eyes, making her stomach drop as those eyes locked onto hers.

A foreign feeling crawled through her skin and her fingers curled instinctively around the hem of her dress, embracing the inevitable.

"I have come to take the rightful bride of Ravencrest."

Lightning seemed to strike the entire cathedral at once.

Meribella's blood ran cold. She looked around in shock. 'Surely, he couldn't mean her?'

Her heart raced as she tried to convince herself it must be someone else. Perhaps one of the ladies of the court—someone whose lineage could warrant such a claim. Yes, it must be.

However, the noble crowd was whispering something else. The hostile stares from the nobles were all directed at her.

Her chest tightened painfully as her fists tightened even more against her wedding gown. They were mistaken, she thought fiercely.

Edwyn, seeing the panic in Meribella's eyes, moved instantly. His sword hand tightened, and he placed himself between her and Raze.

"You dare," he snarled. His blue eyes flashed with cold fury. "You sinner! How dare you think of taking my bride? She is already spoken for." His voice trembled with barely contained rage. "Or is it a custom of Ravencrest to steal what does not belong to them?"

His words did not bother Raze at all. Instead, he only gave a slow, dark laugh, chilling Meribella to the core.

She wanted to speak—wanted to say he is mistaken—but Edwyn was bristling with rage, and she feared provoking him.

Meribella courageously tilted her head to catch a glimpse of Raze. It was just a flicker of movement and in that instant, Raze's gaze locked onto hers and something more terrifying than war flickered in those gold-flecked eyes. 

He raised a hand. One of the red-cloaked figures stepped forward and handed him a rolled parchment. Raze unfurled it and held it high.

"I do not steal, Crown Prince," he said in a cool, almost bored tone. "I was officially invited to this wedding."

The words hit everyone's ears like a war drum.

The King's sharp eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, snatching the parchment from Raze's grasp.

His gaze flicked across the letter before his entire body went rigid.

A deep wrinkle formed between his brows, and his face darkened as his gaze slowly lifted to Meribella.

"What is the meaning of this, Meribella Faye?"

The chill in his voice was like a sentence of death.