Chapter 9: Crown of Chains
1653 Words
Theresa hesitated. She had nothing to lose. Her mother had already warned her that she didn't have a choice. Everyone here was on her mother's side and they could easily get rid of her as quickly as an unwanted pest. She sighed quietly, tiredness itching into her face.
“I do.” Her voice quiet.
The crown of thorn was lifted from her head and another was placed on it. The crown was lowered onto her head, too heavy to be ornamental. It felt like chains. She didn't move.
The court knelt.
But Theresa did not smile.
This wasn’t triumph.
This was survival. Just like she had to survive in that organization, she also had to survive here. Maybe when they were tired of her, they would cast her off just like the organization had done with her.
That night, in her private chamber. It was quite a decent room. She was rather grateful for it. It was a towering room carved into a cliffside. Theresa stared at her reflection in the mirror. The crown sat beside her on a stone table, and her own eyes looked foreign. Sharper. Colder.
There was a knock.
She turned, tense.
But it wasn’t a guard.
It was Talon. Her blood ran cold. Why is he here?
He stepped into the room with the calm of a wolf who knew the door was never locked.
“You clean up nice, Red,” he said.
She said nothing.
He walked closer, eyeing the crown. “Didn’t think you had it in you. A princess. Or should I say… heir to the blood throne of Eltherra?”
“Spit it out, Talon,” she said. “You’re not here to congratulate me.”
Talon’s smile was all ice. “I came to deliver a message. Leonard’s alive. And he’s hunting for you.”
Theresa’s heart skipped but she didn’t show it.
“Good,” she said coldly. “Let him find me.”
“He’s not coming with flowers. He’s burning cities down. He’s made a deal with the Black Syndicate. That’s how serious he is.”
Theresa walked to the window, gripping the edge. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want to see what you’ll do. Will you sit on a throne made of corpses… or run back into the arms of a man who lied to you about everything?”
She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t trust him. Not anymore.” She knew she was lying. Leonard had protected her with his life. Not once and definitely not twice! She just didn't want to give this buffon any chance to sniff weakness of any sort from her. They were all like predators lying in state and waiting for her to mess up so that they could send her head flying with one clean swing of their blade.
“But you still feel something, don’t you?” Talon’s voice was mocking. “That’s the problem with hearts, you can’t silence them even when they get you killed.” He sighed with mock sadness.
Theresa decided that she had had enough of his bulls*t. She narrowed her eyes and walked toward him slowly. “Do you want to die, Talon?”
He lifted his hands and chuckled. “Not tonight, Barbie. Definitely not tonight,” he grinned and left the room like smoke, and the door locked behind him.
Across the sea, in a shattered city on fire, Leonard Salvador stood amid rubble. His suit was bloodstained. His gloves torn. A gun dangled from one hand.
He was no longer the smooth billionaire.
He was something else now.
A war machine.
He watched the last of the group member he had forcefully abducted die in front of him and muttered, “She’s in Eltherra.”
His second-in-command, Darius, nodded grimly. “We’ll need an army to breach it.”
Leonard stared into the distance.
“No,” he said. “We’ll burn our way in.”
Back in Eltherra, Theresa stood in the Hall of Records which was an ancient vault of scrolls and maps.
She was tracing the names of every traitor, every ghost from her past. Her fingers stopped on one.
Bria.
Then Vale.
She wrote their names down on a list titled: Reckoning.
She wasn’t going back.
She wasn’t asking for forgiveness.
The world had taken everything from her.
Now it was her turn.
As she turned from the stone table, lightning cracked across the distant sky.
Eltherra was preparing for war.
And its new princess… was ready to bleed.
The ground beneath Eltherra trembled.
In the highest tower of the Citadel, carved from obsidian and black glass, Theresa stood before a council of masked warlords. Her crimson robes clung to her like second skin, and her crown sat heavy in her hands. She hadn't worn it since the coronation.
Before her, a fire blazed in a basin of molten silver. It reflected in their eyeless masks. Judging. Waiting.
“She hasn’t earned it,” one of them growled. A thickset man with a sword taller than Theresa.
“She bled for it,” another countered, “survived more than any of us.”
“But survival is not strength,” spat the third, a woman with a voice like grinding stone. “We don’t kneel to a girl who cried over a lover.”
Theresa's fists clenched.
Poison Ivy sat in silence on her high seat, her expression unreadable as she drank the wine in her cup. She had summoned this trial.
She had promised Theresa the crown but in Eltherra, nothing was given. Everything was taken. She peered at her girl from underneath her lashes and sneered indiscreetly. Wanna take my throne? Dream on!
That's right. She had brought her back to die and not to rule! She was a thorn in her eyes. She was like a cat with nine lives. She refused to die and that Leonard! He kept hovering around this pesky little...A voice suddenly drew her out of her thoughts.
"Mother," Theresa greeted.
“You have until sundown,” Ivy said at last, her voice soft as ash. “You may take a weapon. Nothing else. If you return alive, your place is sealed.”
The people demanded proof that Theresa was capable. Words were not enough. Ivy was proud of them. That's true loyalty. Loyalty to the crown. Loyalty to her.
A Trial by Fire. This pesky girl wouldn't survive this time for sure.
“And if I don’t?” Theresa asked, her voice like flint.
Ivy's eyes narrowed at her, “Then your name will be erased from the stones. Forever.”
They led her to the edge of the catacombs, which was a black maw that swallowed light and gave back screams. It was once a gladiator’s arena, now turned into something far more sinister: The Hollow.
Creatures bred in war.
Weapons cursed by time.
And the dead who never slept.
A guard handed her a blade. It was curved, obsidian-edged, and whisper-thin. “Good luck, Princess, hope you come back alive,” he sneered.
She didn't answer. She stepped into the dark.
And the door slammed shut behind her.
Elsewhere...
A storm battered the shores of Eltherra.
Leonard Salvador stood at the helm of a stolen battleship, soaked in rain, hair plastered to his skull, his eyes burning with resolve. Behind him, the remnants of the Black Syndicate mercenaries, former assassins, and ex-special forces waited silently.
Eltherra’s defenses were mythic: cliffs laced with explosives, tunnels wired with traps, sentries trained to shoot before asking.
But Leonard wasn’t coming through the gates.
He was going under.
Darius, beside him, unfolded the map they'd stolen in blood.
“The western fissure,” he said. “Collapsed decades ago. But there’s a c***k. Deep enough for a squad.”
“We’re not a squad,” Leonard said grimly. “We’re the reckoning. They had better be ready for us.”
They dove into the waters at midnight.
Back in The Hollow...
Theresa ran.
The first creature lunged at her from the dark, all teeth and shadow. She slashed. Felt flesh part. Blood hissed on the stone.
Another came. Then two more.
Hours passed. Her arms burned. Her legs ached. Her throat was raw from silence. But she didn’t scream.
She didn’t beg.
She survived.
Until she reached the center.
And found him.
A chained man. Shirtless. Scarred from neck to waist. Eyes shut. But not sleeping.
She stepped closer. A breath from him.
His eyes snapped open. They were golden, feral. Inhuman.
He wasn’t a prisoner.
He was the final test.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He smiled. “I’m the last king.” She took pity on him and dropped her sword. She wasn't about to fight a defenseless man. She quickly got rid of his chains, but before she could move an inch, he picked up her sword with incredulous speed.
She barely blocked his strike.
She stumbled. Rolled. Slashed. He caught her wrist, twisted. Bones cracked. She headbutted him and bit his shoulder.
The fight was savage. Primitive. The walls shook with each impact.
“You wear a crown you haven’t earned,” he hissed. “Let me help take it off you.”
“You’ll have to kill me first.”
He grinned. “That’s the point, my dear.”
They clashed again, steel on steel, blood on blood.
But Theresa… remembered everything.
Vale’s betrayal.
Bria’s lies.
Her mother’s coldness.
Leonard’s eyes as he held her bleeding.
Leonard. She whispered in her heart. This is for you. She screamed and drove the blade into the king’s chest.
He gasped, staggered and laughed. “Good,” he choked. “Good.”
He fell.
And the chamber began to collapse.
She limped toward the gate, half-dead. Covered in blood. Her crown clutched to her side.
- Writer
