The air beneath the obsidian palace trembled with power — old, cold, and hungry.
It was said the vampire court’s throne room was built on the bones of fallen gods, where the earth still remembered their screams. Tonight, the walls seemed to hum with that memory.
Queen Amara sat draped across her black marble throne, the faint crimson glow of the braziers painting her pale skin in shades of blood and gold. Her beauty was arresting — all dark curls, sharp cheekbones, and lips the color of wine. Yet it was her eyes that truly unsettled; they gleamed like rubies lit from within, knowing too much and giving nothing away.
Below her, a dark pool of water reflected the vaulted ceiling and the runes carved into every stone. The liquid stirred, disturbed not by wind or motion but by presence.
Mo
