The councilmen were lined shoulder-to-shoulder, every face pale, their clothings disheveled. Their once-pristine garments were shredded from their skirmish with the rogue vampires. Some still carried the scent of burned flesh clinging to their sleeves. Their gazes rarely rose to meet Gabriel’s as he was marched past them. Instead, they stared fixedly at the floor tiles as if reverence to stone could save them from wrath.
Lucivar, by contrast, sat at ease on the smaller throne to the right, the throne of an advisor. Being a former king had its perks—namely, he had not been forced into the melee. He did not have to soil his robes. He had watched from a safe vantage point, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, while councilmen scrambled to survive the monsters their ’hope for the future’ had crreated.
His eyes followed Gabriel now, drinking in every detail of the about to be disgraced man. Gabriel carried himself with the kind of arrogance only traitors possessed—chin slightly raised, lips curved faintly in disdain.
Lucivar almost laughed aloud at the sight. Satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. How dearly he wished he were still king—oh, the creativity he would have unleashed upon Gabriel. Torture was an art he had always excelled in, after all. He imagined slow methods: the rack, the peel of silver wires against skin, the sound of screams echoing for days in these halls. He would have relished watching Gabriel break inch by inch.
But his son... Damien was not one for slow artistry. No, Lucivar knew his boy well. Damien would be swift. Gabriel’s end was already sealed, as certain as dawn. That knowledge filled Lucivar with a bittersweet ache—pride at his son’s victory, regret that he would not be the one to orchestrate the downfall himself.
(Kindly recommend this book to family and friends)
"Ah, how cruel fate is," he murmured under his breath, fingers drumming idly against the carved armrest of his seat. "To leave the fun to the next generation."
And so, he leaned back comfortably. For indeed, the throne room tonight would stage a performance unlike any other: the reckoning of a traitor, the judgment of cowards, and the rise of a king whose wrath could not be caged.
"Lord Lucivar...I see you on your little throne there. How the mighty have fallen," Gabriel drawled. His lips curled as if every word he spat was dipped in venom. The older king smirked, almost welcoming the jab, because it showed just how desperate Gabriel was to seize the upper hand even when the iron was already tightening around his neck. Lucivar thought: Fools talk the most when their end is near.
Gabriel didn’t stop there. His arrogance was a river that refused to be dammed. He turned his back to Lucivar as though the former king wasn’t worth more than a passing remark and eyed the ragged councilmen. "Well, you look like hell," Gabriel sneered. "What were you doing? Fighting off Damien? Sore loser, uhn?"
Richard, standing uncomfortably behind Gabriel, closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose. What an idiot. His mind screamed the words even as his mouth stayed obediently shut. Every syllable Gabriel uttered dug his grave deeper, and Richard, a man who had been loyal to the throne above all, could only marvel at how one person could wield arrogance as a blade and slit his own throat with it. He stepped into his usual spot. Gabriel strutted to the center, and squared his shoulders as though preparing for a coronation rather than judgment. The delusion in his eyes was almost pitiable.
"This must kill you, uhn, Lucivar?" Gabriel spat again, his grin sharp and taunting. "To sit there, watching as power slips from your fingers."
Lucivar didn’t bother rising. He leaned back further, making himself comfortable. "Yeah, it does."
The grand doors of the throne room creaked open. The sound rolled like thunder through the chamber, forcing Gabriel to pivot on his heel. His mocking grin faltered, dropping a fraction before he caught himself. But the damage was done—the shock on his face was raw, seared into the eyes of every witness. Damien stepped through the golden light spilling from behind, his towering frame radiating dominance, Luna at his side like a queen carved from fire and steel. Her presence was proclamation: she was whole, alive, and beside her king.
Gabriel had assumed Damien was still confined to his sick bed, weakened beyond repair, clinging to life by a thread. The entire council chamber had been his stage; the councilmen were supposed to pronounce Damien unfit, and he, Gabriel, would step forward as savior and heir. That had been the plan. That had been the promise.
Still, Gabriel was nothing if not a master of masks. His lips twitched, fighting to keep composure, to hide the sudden chill crawling down his spine. He forced his posture into confidence, rolled his shoulders back, and raised his chin as if nothing had shaken him. The illusion of control still clung to him. It’s still going to happen, he told himself. The council has already agreed. Damien is too weak, too unfit to rule. He may be standing now, but he won’t stand for long. His eyes darted to Richard, then to the other councilmen, searching for the confirmation of loyalty that was quickly slipping away.
Behind Damien and Luna came Doctor Thessa, her arms full with the most delicate burden in the world—their heir. Gasps rippled through them, sharp intakes of breath that echoed against marble columns. Every face was a mask of disbelief and fear. For weeks they had whispered, even dared to condemn this child before his first cry. They had stamped him with death while still in Luna’s womb, assuming him to be a danger. No one dared speak—not with Damien’s shadow filling the room, not with Luna standing so resolutely at his side.
Damien brushed past Gabriel without so much as a glance. He mounted the steps to the dais, every line of his body screaming authority and unshakable claim. With effortless confidence, he sat upon the great throne. Luna, luminous as a queen should be, moved to her rightful place beside him. Doctor Thessa, quiet and solemn, stepped across the chamber. She stopped before Lord Lucivar and handed the child to him.
(Can i get an inspiration capsule people or even a massage chair? Something to make Gabriel’s demise epic.)