The Blood Throne

The crimson skies of Noctara hung heavy over the jagged peaks of the Bloodlands, where whispers of rebellion stirred like embers waiting to ignite. Deep within the obsidian halls of Duskwatch Keep, King Solan Draven sat upon his throne of black iron, his piercing amber eyes fixed on the Bloodstone resting in his clawed hand. The relic pulsed faintly, casting a sinister red light across the throne room, as if alive and hungry for more. The air was thick with unease. Reports of unrest in the distant human kingdoms had reached his court, and even with his own bloodline, Solan could sense the tremors of treachery. As the unrelenting twilight pressed down on his ancient kingdom, the king tightened his grip on the stone, his voice echoing through the chamber like a storm breaking.

"The shadows do not betray me, but those who walk within them may."

As the doors to the great hall swung open, Kaedric entered first, his booted steps echoing against the cold stone floor like the drumbeat of an approaching storm. Towering and broad-shouldered, his presence filled the chamber with a quiet menace. His blackened armour bore scars of countless battles, each scratch a story of conquest and bloodshed. The Draven crest, an intricate sigil of a raven entwined with thorns, was etched across his chest, gleaming faintly under the crimson torchlight. His dark hair, tied loosely at the nape of his neck, framed a face weathered by centuries, his chiseled features hardened by war. Kaedric's piercing gaze flicked to his father, and though his inclined his head in respect, the gesture was stiff, almost reluctant, as if the weight of expectation tethered him.

Behind him followed Evanthe, her movement as fluid and silent as spilled ink. She seemed to glide rather than walk, the hem of her pale silver gown trailing like a mist across the floor. The gown itself was a masterpiece of elegance, embroidered with thread that shimmered faintly like captured starlight, a stark contrast to the cold severity of her siblings. Her crimson eyes, sharp and calculating, swept the chamber with a predator's precision, as if searching for hidden dangers, or opportunity. Her raven black hair was bound into an intricate braid adorned with obsidian pins, and her lips, painted the colour of blood, curled faintly as she curtsied before Sloan. Though the gesture was deep, there was something rehearsed about it, her silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. Together, the siblings presented a striking dichotomy. Kaedric, a figure of raw power and intimidation, and Evanthe, a portrait of subtlety and intrigue. But where Kaedric's strength was blunt and unyielding, Evanthe's presence was a whisper in the dark, a danger felt but unseen.

"Where is Selene?” Solan’s voice was soft but sharp, like the first whisper of a blade leaving its sheath. His grip tightened on the Bloodstone, its faint red light pulsing in response. The chamber grew still, save for the low crackle of the crimson torches lining the walls.“She is indisposed,” Kaedric said after a pause, his tone carefully neutral. He glanced toward his father, though a faint curl of his lip betrayed his annoyance. “Perhaps the affairs of the court bore her.” Evanthe let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, barely audible but cutting nonetheless. “How unlike you, Kaedric, to notice what bores others. I thought you only cared for battle and the clinking of steel.”

Kaedric’s eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “And how unlike you, Evanthe, to speak openly. I thought you preferred plotting in the shadows.” Evanthe’s crimson eyes gleamed as her smirk widened. “It’s not plotting when the truth is so obvious, dear brother.” Kaedric’s hand drifted to the hilt of his blade, his posture stiffening.

Solan remained silent, his expression unreadable as his gaze moved between his children. The Bloodstone pulsed faintly in his hand, its light casting ominous shadows across the room. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, measured, and impossibly cold. “If Selene tires of court, she forgets the weight of her blood. And if either of you forget your place, I will remind you.” The words hung in the air like frost, silencing both Kaedric and Evanthe. Solan leaned back on his throne, his amber eyes burning with quiet calculation as he regarded them. The tension lingered, heavy and unspoken, as if the very shadows in the room were listening.

The atmosphere in the great hall felt charged with unspoken tension as King Solan surveyed his children, each one a reflection of the kingdom's fractured legacy. After a long silence, he turned his gaze to Evanthe, his voice resonating with authority. “Evanthe,” he commanded, the weight of his words echoing through the chamber, “your sister has chosen to neglect her duties once again. Seek her out and bring her back to me.”

Evanthe straightened, meeting her father's piercing gaze, though uncertainty flickered beneath her composed facade. “But where should I look for her, Father? She often vanishes into the darkest corners of Duskwatch Keep.” Solan's expression was inscrutable as he leaned forward slightly, his amber eyes smoldering. “It is of little consequence where she hides. You are well aware of her habits. Find her, and remind her that the blood of House Draven demands respect.” With a curt nod, he shifted his attention to Kaedric, who stood ready for any command. “Kaedric, the kingdoms are rife with unrest. Whispers of rebellion dare to burden our name, and those in the human realms grow increasingly bold. We must remind them of the true power of our house.”

Kaedric responded quickly, his determination rising to meet the challenge. “What is your will, Father? Shall we quell their murmurs with our strength?” Precisely,” Solan replied, a cruel smile hinting at the corners of his lips. “I’ve already sent Rhenard and Lilith to Highvale to negotiate with Lord Alstan Dreymor. His cooperation will be procured, whether he desires it or not.” He paused, the air around him thickening with authority. “But do not mistake words for weakness. I expect you to prepare a demonstration of our might that will quell any doubt of our dominion.” Evanthe hesitated, then cleared her throat. “And what of Selene? Should I inform her of these matters?”

Solan’s gaze hardened, the flames of his resolve flickering dangerously. “No. Let her bask in her indulgences. You will bring her back, and once she understands her place, we will discuss matters of greater import.” With a dismissive gesture, he turned his focus entirely to Kaedric. “We have much work ahead of us. The hour approaches where our rule must be reaffirmed, and I will not tolerate any distraction."

Deep in the eastern wing of Duskwatch Keep, far from the tense murmurs of the great hall, Selene lounged upon a bed draped in crimson silk. Shadows writhed along the walls, cast by the flickering glow of a dozen black candles. Around her, four servants moved in careful silence, their bare bodies glistening faintly in the dim light. Each bore the mark of House Draven—a raven etched in black ink upon their throats, a reminder of their servitude.

One knelt at her feet, trembling as they poured dark wine into a goblet, their eyes fixed on the task with desperate precision. Another massaged her shoulders, their hands hesitant, as though afraid to press too hard. A third stood by the window, head bowed, their presence almost forgotten as they lingered in still obedience.

The fourth stood apart, closer to her side than the others, their head held slightly higher. Their posture was confident yet deferential, their sharp features illuminated by the crimson glow of the candles. Unlike the others, this servant bore no tremor in their hands, and their raven mark was adorned with faint silver filigree, a distinction that set them apart. They handed Selene a crimson rose, freshly plucked from the castle gardens, their voice low and reverent as they spoke. “Your beauty eclipses even the twilight skies of Noctara, my lady.” Selene’s lips curved into a faint smile as she took the rose, her fingers brushing theirs for the briefest moment.

“You always know how to please me, Lyric,” she murmured, her tone softer than usual, though the edge of power still lingered in her voice. “Perhaps the others could learn from your example.” As if on cue, the servant pouring the wine faltered, their trembling hands spilling a single crimson droplet onto the silken sheets. Selene’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, predatory stare. Rising gracefully, she approached them, the sheer black gown clinging to her form as she gripped their chin with cruel precision.

“Useless,” she whispered, her voice a dangerous melody. “Do you know what happens to things that are useless? They get thrown away.” The servant stammered a desperate apology, but Selene released them with a flick of her wrist, her disinterest sharper than her words. She turned to Lyric, who remained still, their expression unreadable. “Clean this up,” she said, addressing the other three. Then, with a faint smile, she added, “Lyric, stay.”

The chosen servant lowered their head, a flicker of satisfaction crossing their features, while the others scurried to obey. Selene returned to her bed, cradling the rose in her hand as if it were the only thing in the room worthy of her care. “Perhaps tonight, Lyric, I’ll reward you for your usefulness,” she mused, her voice low and haunting. “The others should be so fortunate.”

As the servants started to clean the mess, Selene grabs Lyric and walk him to her bed, pushing him onto his back before stripping her dress and slowly mounting him. Not paying any attention to the others in the room. Selene melted into the rhythm of pleasure, riding Lyric with a confidence that sent waves of satisfaction through her. His hands gripped her hips, urging her to move faster, deeper. Each sweep of her body brought her closer to the edge, a sweet euphoria that made her forget the world outside.

As she leaned down, feeling the heat between them, Lyric tilted his head, trying to capture her lips with his own. She chuckled softly, halting her movements just long enough to meet his gaze. “Remember your place in my presence,” she teased, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes. “You’re here to serve, not to take.”

Lyric's breath hitched, a mixture of desire and compliance flashing in his eyes, but he nodded, reining in his urge. Selene smirked, relishing the power she held over him, before she resumed her movements, driving them both higher into a blissful ecstasy. Just as the tension in the room reached its crescendo, a soft knock interrupted them.

“Indulging yourself again, sister?” Evanthe’s voice cut through the intimacy, and Selene’s smile widened, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, Evanthe,” she called, her voice dripping with playful mockery as she continued to rock against Lyric, “why don’t you grab a servant of your own and have some fun? You might find it quite enjoyable.”

Selene watched as her sister's expression flickered between discomfort and irritation, a small thrill sparking within her. Lyric beneath her shifted, caught between his own desire and the tension in the room, but Selene kept her pace, determined to make this moment as uncomfortable for Evanthe as it was thrilling for herself.

Evanthe ignored the jab, gliding further into the room. “You missed the meeting. Father wasn’t pleased. Though, I’m sure you already knew that.”

“And yet he didn’t come himself,” Selene replied, dismounting Lyric. “How fortunate for me.”

Evanthe tilted her head, studying her sister with a small, knowing smile. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Selene. Missing meetings. Mocking Father. Do you think your beauty alone will keep you safe when his patience runs dry?”

Selene’s smile faded, her gaze hardening. “Do you think your endless scheming will keep you alive when the rest of us tire of your games?

Evanthe straightened, her voice dripping with condescension. “I see you still prefer to live in your delusions. You believe your charm will shield you from consequence? Father’s patience is not infinite, sister.”

Selene leaned back, crossing her arms defiantly. “And what about your cunning? Do you think your endless schemes won’t lead you to the same fate? The throne is not a toy; it requires strength—something you're too afraid to demonstrate.”

Evanthe's eyes narrowed, irritation flashing across her features. “Strength? You confuse recklessness with strength. Do you think your pretty face will transform our family into gods among mortals? You dream of excess, Selene, but you risk everything with your fantasies.”

“Fantasies?” Selene’s laughter rang out, mocking and sharp. “You think I dream? I envision a realm that bows before us, elevated by our very presence! We are not mere mortals; we are the children of darkness, destined to reign supreme!”

“Reign supreme?” Evanthe echoed, her voice cold. “You believe our lineage grants us divine right? How naive, Selene. It is only a matter of time before Father sees your arrogance for what it truly is. Your every indulgence distances you from his blessing.”

“Distance?” Selene stepped forward, her eyes fierce. “I am drawing us closer to that glory! We are gods among these wretched creatures! I refuse to cower before Father’s whims while you squander our birthright with your scheming.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Evanthe replied, her tone sharp, almost incredulous. “You think your mere whims can elevate us? Your attempts will only invite his wrath. Power is not simply given; it must be earned through strategy and allegiance, not empty ideation.”

“Strategy?” Selene scoffed, her voice rising in fervor. “What you call strategy, I call servitude. Are you truly content to play puppet to Father’s games? I will lead us into the night where no other dares to tread!”

Evanthe stepped closer, her expression taut with frustration. “And what of the cost, dear sister? You should learn that a reckless plunge into the abyss can mean our undoing. Loyalty can turn, and father may not tolerate defiance, especially not in a misguided quest for power.”

Just as Selene opened her mouth to retort, the air around them thickened—an ominous shift that both sisters sensed instinctively. A chill swept through the room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows that seemed to tremble in his presence.

They turned simultaneously, hearts racing as they beheld King Solan stepping into the chamber, an imposing figure cloaked in darkness. His expression was fierce, eyes sharp as daggers, and the weight of his presence suffocated the air, rendering everything momentarily still.

Selene felt her bravado wane as he surveyed the scene, the flickering candlelight casting an eerie glow across his face. She caught a glimmer of amusement on Evanthe’s lips, but it quickly vanished under the intensity of their father’s gaze.