The Chains Beneath the Throne

The flames had accepted him.

And so had the brothers.

Kael stood now at the head of the Infernal Council of Velkaris—an ancient war chamber carved into the bones of the mountain itself. A half-circle of thrones, each forged from obsidian and brimstone, glared back at him with centuries of suspicion.

He had passed the Crucible. He bore the mark of the First Flame. And yet… the Council still looked at him with caution.

The eldest councilor, a withered demon with molten eyes named Agramor, leaned forward.

"You claim vengeance, half-blood. But vengeance alone is not leadership."

Kael didn't flinch. "Then I claim unity."

That stirred the room.

He let the silence stretch, let his fire ripple faintly behind his irises.

"Werewolves fear us. Humans hunt us. We live scattered, buried in myth. But I've seen the Eclipse Court's ambition. They're not satisfied ruling wolves. They want to erase the old blood entirely."

Another councilor snorted. "And we should follow a boy who was raised among them?"

Kael stepped down from the raised dais, gaze locking onto the objector. "Yes. Because I know them. I know their weaknesses. Their pride. Their rot."

He reached into his cloak and pulled out something wrapped in cloth.

He tossed it to the floor.

The cloth unfurled—revealing a Crescent Ring from the Eclipse Guard. Blackened. Bloodied. Burned.

Kael's voice dropped.

"This was taken from the corpse of one of the men who tried to kill my wife."

Gasps echoed through the chamber.

"She lives," Kael said. "And she is coming here. We will meet in the heart of flame, and from there, we will burn a path back to our stolen kingdom."

Agramor leaned back slowly.

"And if your fire flickers?"

Kael raised his chin. "Then I'll become the flame myself."

Far from the fire, Seraphine walked into a trap.

She and Veyra had slipped into the old human territories bordering the Eclipse Court—posing as traveling merchants. Their clothes were coarse, their speech measured. Veyra painted faint bruises under Seraphine's jaw, the image of a waifish noble girl fallen into disgrace.

"Hide your light," she warned. "The wolves here don't bite unless they smell defiance."

Seraphine had nodded, playing her part.

But nothing prepared her for Calvereth.

Her childhood city. The capital of her family's neighboring kingdom. Tall iron gates, marble towers, the same stained-glass windows where her father once stood, smiling down at the people like a benevolent statue.

Now, the air reeked of iron and incense. Guards in silver-gray armor lined the streets. Every citizen who passed the center square bowed not to a royal banner… but to the sigil of the Eclipse Court.

Seraphine stared at it.

Three crescents, interlocking. Sharp as blades.

"The Court is everywhere now," she whispered.

Veyra pulled her into a shadowed alley. "They've embedded themselves into every throne. Sometimes through war. Sometimes through marriage."

Seraphine froze.

"Marriage?"

Veyra turned toward her. "Your family's allegiance isn't as pure as you believed."

A hush fell.

Then Veyra pulled a scroll from her satchel.

"Before she died, Elenara had me steal this from the High Scribe's chamber."

She unrolled it slowly.

It was a marriage contract—one that predated Seraphine and Kael's own arrangement. And it bore a name Seraphine knew too well.

Lady Halena Greythorne.

Her older sister.

Signed to marry into the Eclipse bloodline—one of the King's cousins—two years before Kael's coronation.

"Your family sold you out," Veyra said gently. "They only gave you to Kael when Halena's contract was fulfilled. You were a bargaining piece. Nothing more."

Seraphine stumbled back, her breath hitching. "No… they said I was the only one unworthy. The spare. The failure—"

"They lied," Veyra said. "Because if you married a demon prince, and lived… it would make them traitors to the Court."

Tears stung her eyes, but they didn't fall.

Something cold and ancient had begun to settle in her chest—clarity.

"They tried to have me killed."

"Yes."

"And now they think I'm dead."

"Yes."

Seraphine rolled up the scroll.

"Then let them keep thinking that."

In Velkaris, Kael stood before his brothers once more.

They had each given him a trial—a rite of strength, cunning, endurance, and flame. Now they stood shoulder to shoulder in the high tower of the Demonspire.

"You passed," said Maelrik, grinning. "Barely. But you passed."

The silent brother—Varos, the one whose power seemed to ripple with darkness—finally broke his silence.

"The Court has stolen our blood, erased our names from the histories. But you… you are our vengeance."

Kael nodded.

"I need armies. I need spies. I need every ember you can muster."

"And what will you give in return?" Maelrik asked, half-teasing. "A throne?"

Kael met his gaze.

"Revenge."

That night, as Kael walked the bridge of cinders that connected the Demonspire to the outer rings of Velkaris, he felt something shift in the air.

A spark.

A pulse.

A presence.

He turned.

And standing at the far end of the bridge… was Seraphine.

Wrapped in a travel cloak, soot-smudged, gaunt from the journey—but alive. Fierce. Eyes brighter than stars.

He moved to her instantly. No words. No hesitation.

She ran to meet him.

And when they collided, he held her tighter than he ever had before. His fire wrapped around her like a second skin, but she didn't flinch.

"I thought you were dead," she breathed.

"So did I," he said.

They held each other as the demons watched silently from the shadows.

The prince and the human girl—flawed, broken, burned—but together.

And for the first time in centuries, the stones of Velkaris remembered hope.