Chapter 3 - The Siege of Blackthorn Keep
The courtyard of Blackthorn Keep had transformed into a living nightmare of ice, fire, and steel. Shards of magical ice rained down like javelins from the sky, courtesy of the southern blood-mages flanking Eveline’s vanguard. Shouts of dying warriors, the clash of swords, and the blood-curdling howls of transformed werewolves filled the frigid air.
At the forefront of the invading army stood Lady Eveline, her face twisted into a mask of cruel triumph, draped in magnificent pelts that put the wealth of kings to shame. Beside her stood Celeste, wearing a replica of the crown meant for the Queen of the North, her lips curled in a sneer of utter entitlement.
“Darius Veyne!” Eveline’s voice magically amplified, cutting through the chaos of battle. “Step down and surrender your throne! Your wolf is rotting inside you! You cannot fight an army blessed by the old blood!”
From the shadow of the great archway, heavy iron boots stepped out onto the blood-stained snow. Darius walked forward with a slow, deliberate stride, every muscle in his towering frame coiled like a spring. Behind him walked Seraphina, her head held high, the silver mark on her shoulder now pulsing brightly enough to pierce through her torn clothing.
Eveline’s eyes locked onto Seraphina, widening in sudden, greedy realization.
“Ah, the little stray finally made it,” Eveline sneered, stepping past her front lines. “Did you really think I sent you there to die, girl? I sent you to unlock the vault! The royal blood of the Moonborn only awakens in the presence of a dying Alpha King! You gave your energy to his beast, and now... we will harvest it from your corpse!”
Celeste stepped forward, raising a dagger carved from black obsidian—the same dagger used to poison Darius three years ago. “Mother is right, sister. You were never anything more than a vessel. Now, hand over the power that was always meant for me!”
Darius let out a laugh—a dark, humorless sound that chilled the blood of every enemy soldier within earshot.
“You think she is a vessel?” Darius’s voice rolled across the battlefield like thunder. “She is my mate.”
With a roar that shook the surrounding mountains, Darius shifted partially, his fingers turning into razor-sharp claws, his eyes burning with blinding silver light. He lunged forward, closing the hundred-yard gap in the blink of an eye, slamming into the front ranks of Eveline’s guards like a falling meteor. Steel shattered under his bare hands. Blood sprayed into the freezing air, turning into crimson mist before hitting the snow.
Eveline’s face paled. She had been told the King was on his deathbed, barely able to stand. But the man tearing through her elite guards moved with a terrifying, supernatural speed that defied all logic.
“Kill him! Use the blood-binders!” Eveline shrieked, backing away in panic.
Three hooded blood-mages stepped out from the shadows, chanting ancient, dark incantations. They thrust their hands forward, sending a wave of crimson energy—chains of coagulated blood—shooting directly toward Darius’s chest, aiming straight for the weakened core of his wolf.
Darius grunted as the blood-chains wrapped around his torso, sinking deep into his skin, dragging him to one knee. His wolf roared in agony as the necrotic poison flared up in response to the spell.
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“Darius!” Seraphina screamed, watching the King fall.
Without thinking, driven by a primal instinct she didn't know she possessed, Seraphina broke into a sprint, running straight into the middle of the active battlefield.
