Chapter 1 — The Crown of Shadows

Elias

The Obsidian Throne Room loomed like a mausoleum of power, its towering columns etched with ancient runes that seemed to whisper secrets to the shadows. The air hung heavy with incense, its cloying aroma mingling with the faint metallic tang of the royal crown’s blood-red ruby. Elias’s footsteps echoed on the polished black marble floor, each step a drumbeat of inevitability. The Obsidian Signet Ring on his finger felt unnaturally cold, its silver veins pressing into his skin as though reminding him of the weight he now bore—not just as a king, but as the last tether to a fractured family line.

At the dais, the Obsidian Throne stood like a jagged wound in the fabric of the room, its dark stone streaked with silver that shimmered faintly in the flickering firelight. Elias’s gaze traveled over the gathered nobles, their expressions carefully masked, though their eyes betrayed flickers of ambition, wariness, and doubt. Lord Cedric Marlowe stood to his right, his wiry frame composed and his calculating blue eyes sharp beneath his graying brows. Elias felt their weight on him, as though Cedric were already measuring the cracks in his resolve.

Elias ascended the dais with deliberate precision, each step deliberate, each breath shallow. His father’s blood had soaked this room. His brother’s name had been branded with treachery here. Now it was his turn to shoulder the mantle of power in a kingdom steeped in betrayal. The surface of the throne bit coldly through the fabric of his royal attire as he lowered himself onto it, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

A priest, draped in ceremonial robes of deep blue and gold, approached with reverent care, bearing the Crown of Shadows on a velvet pillow. The jagged onyx spikes jutted skyward like fingers grasping for something beyond reach, and at its center, the blood-red ruby gleamed like an unblinking eye. The priest’s voice carried through the vast hall, invoking celestial blessings and the divine right of kingship, but Elias barely heard him. His gray eyes, shadowed with weariness, remained fixed on the crown as it was raised and lowered onto his head.

The weight of it settled like chains forged in the fires of ambition and regret. Elias’s breath hitched—not visibly, not audibly, but enough for the jagged edges of his self-control to shift.

“Long live King Elias Thutruix,” the priest intoned with solemnity, though a waver betrayed the fragility of the sentiment. The nobles echoed the words with scattered murmurs, their voices thin and hollow as though testing the weight of their fealty.

Elias rose slowly, the Crown of Shadows casting jagged light across the room. “Let it be known,” he said, his voice steady yet edged with steel, “that I take this throne not for glory, nor power, but for the people of Thutruix. I will honor this kingdom and its legacy, even as the weight of it threatens to break me.”

The words hung in the air, unanswered. Elias searched the faces of the nobles, finding neither support nor open dissent—only the calculated neutrality of courtiers who had learned to mask their intentions. Cedric’s lips twitched into a faint, enigmatic curve, a gesture that could have been approval or amusement, but Elias could not dwell on it.

“But first,” he continued, allowing his voice to harden, “we must reckon with betrayal.”

It was a single stone cast into the still waters of the room, and the ripples were immediate. Nobles leaned forward slightly, their veiled expressions faltering as speculation and unease rippled among them. Cedric stepped forward as if on cue, his movements precise and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey.

“Your Majesty,” Cedric began, his tone steeped in formality yet sharp with purpose. “There is one among us who has already betrayed the crown—and the kingdom. Prince Andries Thutruix.”

A gasp rippled through the chamber, though Elias could not tell whether it was genuine or feigned. His jaw tightened as his piercing gaze locked onto Cedric. “Speak plainly, Lord Cedric.”

Cedric inclined his head, a glint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “Your brother, sire, was privy to the plot that ended your father’s life. Whether through action or inaction, he allowed it to proceed. Such treachery cannot go unanswered.”

The words struck Elias like a blow, though he schooled his expression into stoic calm. Andries? His brother, whose laughter had once been the brightest light in their shadowed childhood? The accusation scraped at the edges of memory, unearthing fragments of resentment and buried doubts. Could it be true? And if it was, what choice did he have but to act?

“You claim to have evidence?” Elias asked, his voice low and deliberate, masking the storm that threatened to break within him.

Cedric tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Enough to warrant action, Your Majesty. To ignore such treason would be to invite chaos.”

Elias’s gaze swept across the room, the faces of the nobles blurring in his periphery. Cedric’s words were a blade, sharp and unrelenting, but the hand that wielded it was too precise, too calculated. Did Cedric truly seek justice—or merely an excuse to rid the court of a perceived threat? The weight of the throne pressed heavier now, forcing him toward a decision he could not delay.

“Bring him to me,” Elias said, his words cold and measured.

The throne room doors groaned open moments later, and Andries strode in, flanked by guards. His dark hair, longer and unruly, was a shadowed echo of Elias’s own, and his green eyes burned with defiance and something else—something raw and unspoken. He shook off the guards’ hands with a sharp shrug, walking forward with the unyielding confidence of a man unbroken by chains.

“Brother,” Andries greeted, his voice a venomous blend of humor and scorn. “How fitting that the first act of your reign is to put me on trial.”

Elias descended the steps of the dais, his piercing gray eyes meeting Andries’s fiery green ones with an intensity that left the room breathless. “You stand accused of treason,” Elias said, his voice deliberate and steady. “Cedric claims you knew of our father’s assassination and did nothing to stop it. Are you denying this?”

Andries’s laughter rang out, sharp and bitter, echoing off the stone walls. “Deny it? Why bother? You’ve already made up your mind. You always trusted Cedric more than me. Why should today be any different?”

“That is not an answer,” Elias countered, his tone quiet but cutting.

For a fleeting moment, Andries’s defiance faltered, his gaze flickering with something vulnerable—pain, or perhaps regret—but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. “He was a tyrant, Elias,” Andries said, his voice softer now, though no less sharp. “You know that as well as I do. I didn’t lift a hand against him, but I won’t weep for his death, either.”

Elias felt the words like a wound, sharp and deep, forcing him to confront truths he had long avoided. Their father’s rule had been iron-fisted, brutal, and unyielding, leaving scars that neither time nor duty could heal. But treason? The kingdom could not survive such chaos unchecked.

“I cannot ignore this,” Elias said at last, his voice heavy with regret. “Whether through guilt or negligence, you have betrayed the crown.”

Andries’s fists clenched, his voice rising with raw emotion. “And what will you do about it, brother? Will you have me executed, like a common criminal? Will you spill the blood of your only family to appease your council?”

Elias hesitated, the words cutting deeper than any blade. The room seemed to shrink around him, the shadows pressing closer. Finally, he turned to Andries, his tone firm yet tinged with sorrow. “No. I will not take your life.”

Cedric’s lips tightened, his disappointment a fleeting shadow across his face. Elias took a steadying breath. “You are hereby exiled to the Fallowsmarch Borderlands. You will take nothing with you but the clothes on your back. Should you ever return to Thutruix, it will be as a traitor, and you will face the full weight of the crown’s justice.”

For a moment, Andries’s fiery defiance dimmed, his expression softening into something almost pleading. Then his jaw tightened, and his green eyes flared with rage. “You may exile me, Elias, but you cannot erase me. I will return—not as your brother, but as your reckoning.”

Elias said nothing as the guards led Andries away, his footsteps echoing like a dirge. The throne room seemed to breathe once more, but Elias felt only its suffocating silence. The flickering light of the braziers cast long shadows across the room, mirroring the doubt that now clouded his thoughts.

That night, Elias found himself in Axel’s quarters, the dim glow of a single candle illuminating the space. Axel stood by the window, his broad shoulders tense as he stared into the darkness beyond. “You did what you had to,” Axel said, his voice steady yet quiet.

Elias sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “Did I? Or have I just destroyed the last fragment of family I had left?”

Axel crossed the room in a few strides, kneeling before him. His calloused hand rested over Elias’s, grounding him in the present. “You’re not alone, Elias. You’ll never be alone.”

For the first time that day, Elias let himself meet Axel’s steady blue eyes. In the quiet closeness, the weight of the crown, the betrayal, the loss—they all faded, if only for a moment. He leaned forward, their foreheads touching, seeking solace in the storm.

But even as Axel’s presence steadied him, Elias knew the storm had only just begun.