The scent of blood still lingered on Lucian's lips. Not from a battle. Not from death. But from Kyrell—sweet, warm, laced with the power of a bond finally sealed. The mark he'd left on Kyrell's neck still pulsed faintly beneath the skin, a symbol no magic could erase now. They had crossed the threshold, not just into pleasure, but into fate itself.
Lucian stood barefoot in the throne room of the ruined temple of the First Blood, marble cracked beneath him like old bone, the sigils on the walls weeping ancient dust. Kyrell moved behind him, half-dressed, hair tousled from sleep or sex—or both.
Outside, the wind howled.
Inside, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
"Something's coming," Lucian said, eyes fixed ahead.
Kyrell stepped closer, brushing fingers along the tattoo of the seal that had emerged on Lucian's back hours ago during climax—a blooming spiral of runes awakened by royal blood and prophecy.
"It's not coming," Kyrell murmured. "It's already here."
A sound broke the silence. Slow footsteps. Scraping like someone dragging a sword along stone.
Renak appeared at the broken archway, cloak tattered, face smeared with soot and fury.
"They've moved," he said, his voice trembling. "The Council has called for the final gathering. Every vampire of noble blood has been summoned… except you, Lucian."
Lucian turned to face him. "Why would they summon the dead?"
Renak hesitated, then held out the letter he'd hidden from the others, sealed in the black wax of the old monarchy. "Because they've rewritten the line. You're no longer heir. According to this, you never were."
Kyrell's expression hardened. "But they can't change what's already been marked in blood."
"No," Renak said, "but they can kill what threatens their order. They'll burn every name that remembers the old blood… starting with you two."
Lucian glanced at Kyrell, then back at Renak. "Then let them come."
A deep rumble split the floor beneath them.
From below the temple, something stirred.
Not council magic. Not Silas.
Something older.
"The seal," Kyrell whispered. "It's waking the king."
Renak's face went pale. "What king?"
"The one before the Council. Before the treaties. Before any of you decided who was worthy to rule." Lucian's voice had shifted—deeper, colder. "He sleeps below the bloodline. And I just opened his eyes."
The temple began to glow with runes older than time, the same ones that burned across Lucian's spine.
Kyrell reached for Lucian's hand, lacing their fingers together. "If he wakes—"
"He won't be alone," Lucian said.
And then the fire burst from beneath the stone, swallowing the altar in flame.
The last king had stirred.
And Lucian… was no longer just heir.
He was claimant.
He was chosen.
And beside him, the one fated to destroy or protect it all—Kyrell, the boy who shouldn't have lived, now bound to a man who should have never been king.
Let the kingdoms burn.
---.