The Empress's chambers still clung to the echoes of the night before—silken sheets in disarray, the scent of wine and sweat laced into the air, and the unspoken truth that something irreversible had occurred.
Selene stirred, violet eyes fluttering open to find Kael already at the edge of the bed, shirtless, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the balcony. Dawn painted his silhouette in molten gold and shadow. A ruler in form, if not yet in name.
"You never sleep," she murmured, her voice husky.
Kael didn't turn. "Sleep is for those who dream. I act."
Selene smiled faintly, the weight of her decision settling like silk around her shoulders. She had gambled everything—her station, her legacy, her body—and placed her bet on the one man who never played fair.
"Castiel won't wait long," she said.
Kael finally looked back, eyes sharp as blades. "He already thinks I'm too bold. Let him. The deeper his certainty, the easier the fall."
Selene wrapped the silk robe around her as she rose. The Empress was reborn—not as Castiel's ornament, but as a queen of her own choosing.
"And Seraphina?" she asked, moving closer.
Kael's gaze didn't waver. "Still believes she can use me. Let her."
Selene's lips curled. "And when she no longer serves?"
Kael's answer was quiet. "Then she'll become part of the foundation."
A knock at the door fractured the charged silence.
A handmaiden entered, bowing low. "Your Majesty, the Emperor summons you to the throne room."
Selene exchanged a knowing glance with Kael. The game had begun.
The throne room loomed like a cathedral to power—columns of black marble rising into vaulted ceilings, golden banners draped in regal silence, and the obsidian throne at its heart like a promise of death.
Emperor Castiel sat upon it, every inch the sovereign, yet something had shifted. His smile was tight. Calculated.
Beside him knelt Lucian.
Once the Empire's radiant hero, now armored in jagged steel, his silver hair unkempt, his aura dark. A shadow of the man he was—reborn through something unnatural.
Kael's gaze met Lucian's.
Demon's Blood.
Of course.
Selene stepped forward with flawless grace. "You summoned me, my Emperor?"
Castiel's eyes lingered on her too long. "The Empire has become... noisy. Too many whispers in dark corners." His gaze flicked to Kael. "Too many seeking to outshine the sun."
Kael stood still, hands clasped, the picture of loyal nobility—while beneath it, his mind sliced through a hundred outcomes.
"I've chosen to secure the future," Castiel continued. He gestured toward Lucian. "Our beloved hero returns. Reforged."
Lucian didn't speak. But the hatred in his eyes—directed squarely at Kael—spoke volumes.
Kael's smile was slight, respectful. "A wise choice, Your Majesty. A blade reforged is often sharper."
Castiel chuckled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Indeed. Loyalty… is everything."
He snapped his fingers.
The great doors opened.
Duke Reinhardt was dragged in—bloodied, defiant, his noble robes torn and stained. His eyes locked on Kael and Selene, but he said nothing to them. His focus was on Castiel.
"You're a fool," Reinhardt growled. "This Empire's heart rots under your rule."
Castiel descended the steps, his boots echoing on marble. "Then let us excise the disease."
He turned to Lucian. "You know what to do."
Lucian's gauntlet tightened on the hilt of a blackened blade. It pulsed faintly—alive, almost breathing. He hesitated for the briefest second.
Kael caught it.
Good. He still doubts. That makes him vulnerable.
Then, the blade fell.
Blood painted the floor.
Duke Reinhardt crumpled, a broken pillar in a crumbling structure.
Castiel turned, his voice carrying like a decree etched into stone. "Let all traitors witness this moment. The Empire is indivisible. I will not suffer betrayal."
His gaze met Kael's.
"Wouldn't you agree, Duke Arden?"
Kael bowed just enough. "Absolutely, Your Majesty. But betrayal... it often wears a crown before it's revealed."
Castiel's eyes narrowed, parsing the meaning. But Kael was already steps ahead—his expression unreadable, his voice calm, his presence dominant.
Selene stood in silence, her face a mask. But beneath it, she was burning.
They had just witnessed Castiel's last move.
And it was a desperate one.
The true ruler of this Empire did not sit on the obsidian throne.
He stood in its shadow, already drawing plans for its replacement.
To be continued…