Blood on the Crown
893 Words
It happened during a celebration.
Because of course it did.
Demons love drama, and Kael’s court was no exception. There was a feast in my honor—my “formal welcome” as bride of the flame. Candles lined every surface. Musicians played cursed instruments. Nobles fake-smiled through clenched teeth while servants poured firewine like it was holy.
I wore black and gold. Hair down. Shoulders bare. My skin glowed with faint magic, a side effect of the power still humming beneath the surface since I nearly barbecued a noble at breakfast.
Kael hadn’t spoken much since.
But he watched me constantly. Like I was a puzzle he both adored and feared solving.
I was on my third sip of something too sweet when it hit me—the shift.
Not in the air.
In the room.
Everything went still.
A chill rolled down my spine.
I turned toward the dancers—and that’s when I saw him.
A man in dark gray. Not a noble. Not a servant. A stranger who didn’t belong.
He was watching me.
No—hunting me.
He moved fast. Too fast. A blade appeared in his hand—black, jagged, screaming with curses.
Time slowed.
Kael shouted something, but it was drowned in chaos.
The assassin leapt from the platform, blade aimed for my chest.
I didn’t think.
I moved.
Power erupted from me like an ancient scream. A shockwave burst from my palms—pure flame, no color, just light and pain and will.
The assassin was thrown backward midair—slammed against a pillar with enough force to crack it.
He dropped, motionless.
I was on fire.
Literally.
My arms burned with sigils. My hair shimmered like coals. My eyes were glowing white-gold.
The room froze.
Then—
Screams.
Chaos.
Kael grabbed me, wrapped his arms around my body, and whispered something in a dead tongue.
The flames died instantly.
I collapsed into him, shaking, breath ragged.
He looked down at me like he didn’t know who—or what—he was holding.
“What are you?” he whispered.
“Broken,” I gasped. “But learning to like it.”
⸻
They dragged the assassin away.
He didn’t make it to the dungeons.
Apparently, his brain melted somewhere between “I’mma stab the bride” and “she’s now a demonic nuke.”
Kael took me back to his quarters—not mine—without asking.
He locked the doors. Shut the curtains. Poured me a drink with shaking hands.
“You’re becoming something dangerous,” he said.
“Thanks,” I muttered. “Always wanted to be a threat.”
“You don’t understand—”
“No,” I snapped. “You don’t understand. I never asked for this. I didn’t ask to be reborn. I didn’t ask for prophecy. And I damn sure didn’t ask to be part of your court circus.”
He closed his eyes.
I stood. “What am I, Kael? You said I was her—but this is more than memory. This is power. It’s not natural.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”
He looked at me—raw, unguarded for the first time.
“You are not fully mortal anymore. Not after what happened in your past life. You carried some of this back with you. It’s waking up now because… because the prophecy demands it.”
“And what does the prophecy say?” I asked.
“That you’ll either become the Queen of Ash—my equal, my salvation—or the Flame That Ends All.”
I laughed. “Comforting.”
He stepped forward.
“Let me help you control it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t trust you.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then—
A knock.
Slow. Intentional.
Kael tensed. “No one knows we’re—”
The door swung open without being touched.
A man stood in the frame.
Not a demon.
Not quite human, either.
His eyes were silver. His skin shimmered faintly, like moonlight on water. A long, silver-bladed staff rested in his hand.
He bowed low.
“Forgive the intrusion,” he said, voice smooth. “But if she continues on this path… you will be the one to kill her.”
Kael moved so fast I barely saw him—across the room, blade drawn, shadows hissing around him.
“Who are you?” he growled.
The stranger didn’t flinch.
“I am the Watcher of Broken Threads. The one who sees what is forgotten.”
He looked at me.
And I felt it.
Recognition.
Like a forgotten dream sliding into place.
“You’ve seen me before,” I whispered.
He nodded. “In the flames. In the mirror. In the space between waking and death.”
Kael was seething. “You will not touch her.”
The Watcher smiled sadly.
“I won’t have to. The prophecy has already begun. The court knows what she is. And when the time comes, they’ll force your hand. Just like before.”
He turned to me.
“You must choose, Azelrah. Power… or freedom.”
Then he vanished.
Just—gone.
Like smoke.
I looked at Kael.
He looked at me.
And for the first time…
He looked afraid.
Not of war.
Not of death.
But of me.
- Writer
