FANGS OF THE THRONE

A Clash of Ambitions

The room glowed with the golden hue of dusk, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. The light flickered and danced like ghosts of past betrayals, whispering secrets of forgotten alliances. Queen Celeste stood by the grand window, her silhouette sharp against the setting sun, and across the room, Lady Vyreth remained seated, her presence as still as the air around them.

The silence between them was not peaceful but rather thick with the weight of years. Years of blood, of rivalry, of power struggles that neither woman had the strength to escape. The atmosphere felt like a storm held back by the thinnest of veils.

Vyreth's eyes glinted with sharp disdain. Her voice broke the silence like a dagger cutting through silk.

"You hold the wrong king, ,Celeste" she said, her words slow and deliberate. "I hold the right one—my son. Yours may wear the crown, but at what cost?" Her words were sharp, like the first taste of betrayal.

Celeste turned to face her, a grim smile playing on her lips. It was a smile that spoke of sacrifice and sleepless nights, of decisions made with bloodstained hands.

"Some lives must be taken for a kingdom to rise," she replied, her voice cold and unyielding. "You know this as well as I."

Vyreth’s gaze narrowed. The old wounds were fresh in her eyes. "My brother—he was not meant to die. His blood still stains these halls. All for your ambition. You killed him, just like you destroyed anyone who dared to breathe against your path."

Celeste's smile didn't fade. She had long since made peace with the cost of her ascent. "And what would you have me do?" she countered, her voice steady and controlled. "Sit idle while others rise? While they hunger for glory I refused to chase?"

She leaned forward, her tone darkening with each word. "Every crown is paid in blood, Vyreth. And every king—every mother—has their price."

Vyreth’s voice trembled with something more dangerous than fear—rage. "You speak of price? The prophecy—do you think I’ve forgotten it? It was written that your daughter would be queen. But mine—mine was named, too. Not his queen. Mine."

Celeste brow arched, a faint flicker of curiosity passing through her cold demeanor. "Your daughter? Seraphine?" The name fell from her lips like a curse or perhaps a forgotten prophecy. "Yes, she was mentioned. But she is no longer of use."

Vyreth’s face twisted with anger and pain, her eyes burning with the fire of a woman scorned. "You need her," she spat. "Your son is the child of night—born of dragons and ghosts—but mine is the child of sun and moon. Together, they don’t just rule a kingdom. They balance the heavens. You need her to fulfill what your ambition alone cannot."

Celeste crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze calculating, thoughtful. "You’re not wrong," she conceded, her voice as cold as winter's breath. "My son and your daughter... they are meant for more than either of them can comprehend. But the question remains—will they rise to their roles willingly... or will they have to be broken into them?"

Vyreth’s voice dropped to a low growl, a warning in her tone. "It is not destiny alone—it is necessity. The throne cannot stand without both halves of the bloodline. It will demand one or the other. Or both."

For a long moment, neither spoke. The tension between them was palpable, thick with the understanding of what was at stake. But in the end, Vyreth stood and walked towards the door, her eyes flashing with a fire that had been kindled long ago.

"You will learn, Celeste she said quietly, her voice a mixture of threat and sorrow. "The throne you seek to claim will not be so easily kept."

And then she was gone, leaving the queen Celeste standing alone, the weight of her choices hanging heavily in the air.

Alaric’s Room: The Weight of Power

Alaric’s chambers were cloaked in shadows, the flickering candlelight casting long, trembling silhouettes on the walls. The evening's revelry had faded into silence, and the echoes of laughter and music had long since disappeared into the winding corridors of the palace. Alone, Alaric sat in the middle of his room, his mind racing like a storm, the weight of his crown pressing down on him more than ever before.

He rose from his seat and began to pace. The marble floor beneath him felt like fire, each step heavy with the burden of his lineage, his future.

Seraphine.

Her name echoed in his mind like a curse. She was the girl chosen for him. The girl his mother had hand-selected to solidify power, to balance the prophecy, to ensure that the throne would never be questioned.

For years, he had seen her as little more than a pawn, a piece to be moved across the board in the grand game of his mother’s making. But tonight—tonight, she had shown him something different.

Her quiet strength, her fire, her ability to stand her ground. It unsettled him in ways he hadn't anticipated.

"How am I to marry her?" he muttered aloud, his voice hoarse. "I don’t even know her."

The door to his chambers creaked open, and without hesitation, Queen Celeste entered. She was a shadow in the dim light, her presence commanding the room. She did not knock, did not announce her arrival. She simply appeared, as she always did when she needed something.

“You will marry her,” she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Alaric didn’t turn to look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the floor, his fingers tightening into fists at his sides. "Why?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Why must I? She doesn’t want this. Neither do I."

Celeste crossed the room, the soft tap of her boots echoing in the silence. Her voice was sharp, like the edge of a blade. "Because your throne does not wait on your feelings. This is not a matter of desire. This is survival."

He finally turned to face her, his eyes burning with a mix of frustration and fury. "She’s not some pawn in your game, Mother."

Celeste gaze hardened, her eyes cold and calculating. "She is the only move left," she said, her voice like ice. "And you are too soft to see it. The kingdom must stand. If it means sacrificing a lamb, so be it."

Alaric ’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his face twitching with the effort to hold back his anger. He wanted to shout, to scream at her, but he knew that it would do no good. She was relentless. And she had already made her decision.

Her words, however, struck him like a blow, and he could not deny their truth.

"You must ensure she can bear you an heir," Celeste continued, her voice now colder than ever. "Before the wedding."

The words hit Alaric like a punch to the gut. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he thought he might choke on the bitter taste of his own helplessness.

“What?” he whispered, his voice raw with disbelief.

Celeste eyes glittered with something cold, something dangerous. "Her fertility will determine your future," she said, her words like ice shards in his veins. "If she cannot give you a child, this union is worthless. The crown is not secured until it is fed. Test her, Alaric. If she bleeds for you, the throne will bleed for her too."

Alaric recoiled, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He had known his mother was ruthless, but this—this was beyond anything he had ever imagined.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms, the pain a distant echo to the anguish he felt inside. He was no longer a man. He was a tool—a vessel for power, a means to an end.

“She’s not a lamb for sacrifice,” he said quietly, his voice trembling with something more than fear—rage, confusion, guilt.

“She will understand,” said, her voice cold, final. “If not, make her.”

Alaric’s heart raced. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. But the weight of his mother's words pressed down on him, the reality of his position sinking in.

“I won’t do it,” he said, his voice firmer now, though still laced with uncertainty.

Celeste gaze locked onto him, and for a moment, he saw the flicker of something—something dangerous. "You will," she said, her voice low and threatening. "Or you will lose everything. I’ve waited too long to let this slip. Make her yours. Or I will make sure the throne finds another."

Alaric’s chest tightened as she turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made his heart race.

He stood there for a long time, his mind spinning, his thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty.

Seraphine.

She was the key. The only key. But could he make her submit to this fate? Could he make her understand that her role in this was more than just a marriage?

He sat down heavily on the bed, his head in his hands, the weight of his crown—his duty—pressing down on him. His kingdom. His future. His mother’s voice still echoed in his mind.

If Seraphine could not bear his heir, she would be discarded. His kingdom, his future—everything—would crumble.

And there was no way out.

Sleep did not come.