Lucivar’s fingers shook as he reached for his grandson, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His eyes softened. He held the child with the kind of awe reserved for miracles. He was dazed.
"I suppose brief congratulations are in order, then," Gabriel drawled, breaking the silence. He shifted on his feet, too proud to admit the child’s presence rattled him, too foolish to mask it well. His eyes darted to Lord Mason, silently demanding so clue about what in the gods’ nas was happening. Mason seed far too interested in the floor.
Damien cleared his throat. He turned slightly, his gaze softening when it landed on Luna. The contrast was striking—fire for his enemies, tenderness for his mate. "Would you please tell Eryk and Morvakar to bring them in?"
"Of course, Your Highness," Luna answered smoothly. She rose and made her way to the side door. Even that simple movent drew the eyes of the council. When she returned, she did not hesitate to slide her hand into Damien’s. The gesture was intimate, a quiet declaration of solidarity. Damien looked at her, the tension in his jaw easing as he raised her hand to his lips. The kiss was brief but heavy with aning.
She held his gaze as though nothing else existed. Her eyes told him what her lips did not: I am proud of you. I believe in you. You are not alone.
(Its so quiet in here. I thought everyone was happy now.)
And Gabriel, for all his bluster, looked on, unease carving deeper lines into his smug expression.
Eryk erged through the side door as he dragged in the chained figure of a rogue vampire. The creature’s skin was gray, stretched too tightly across its bones. Morvakar followed close behind. Gabriel adjusted his stance with growing unease, his bravado faltering the mont he realized the display was evidence.
"What’s this?" Gabriel asked. His gaze darted from Damien on the throne to the counciln lining the walls, looking for support and finding only silence. The rogue vampire hissed and thrashed at his chains.
"Lord Richard, please... give an account of Lord Gabriel’s cris." Damien said.
"Cris?!" Gabriel snapped, his composure breaking. The echo of his protest rang hollow.
Richard stepped forward. He cleared his throat. "Lord Gabriel Dragos, you have been charged with mass human murder, the illegal turning of vampires into feral rogues, orchestrating the attack against the werewolf territory leading to the death of Alpha King Magnus Sinclair—father-in-law to His Majesty King Damien and father to Queen Luna Dragos—and also with the attempted assassination of Queen Luna Dragos on not one, but two separate occasions."
Gabriel laughed then, a bitter, jagged sound that broke apart in the chamber. "Is this so kind of ploy? Is this the only way you can think to rid yourselves of ? To fabricate these ridiculous lies?" His eyes darted wildly, trying to gauge who still believed in him.
But Richard was not finished. "We found the hidden door in your office."
Gabriel’s smirk faltered. His eyes flicked instantly to Morvakar, who stood behind him. That single glance betrayed everything—the fear of exposure, the dawning realization that the ga had ended.
"I’m guessing with your help," Gabriel sneered.
Morvakar ignored the taunt. Almost ceremoniously, he dug into his pocket. From his hand erged a delicate silver chain—the necklace that once belonged to Isolde.
"I just have one question, Gabriel," he said. "I really have no business being here today. But I want to know—who made this?" His eyes bored into Gabriel’s.
Gabriel curled his lips into an evil grin. He said nothing, relishing the discomfort he spread in silence.
Then, he pivoted away from Morvakar, locking eyes with Damien. "Congratulations, King Damien. You won. You have finally done what your father could not do." He spread his arms as though magnanimous, a perforr on a stage he no longer controlled. "But it still doesn’t change the truth. You and your father are driving this city to the ground. You’ve given turned vampires too much access, too much power. You’ve dismantled centuries of order for the sake of your ideals!"
The council stirred uneasily at his words. Lord Mason’s Adam’s apple bobbed again, betraying his fear. Damien sat unmoving—except for his fingers, which clawed so tightly into the armrest of his throne.
"You created a tainted bloodline," Gabriel hissed, stepping forward as though daring Damien to strike. His eyes darted briefly to Luna. "You put a werewolf princess on the throne!!!"
He pivoted back toward Morvakar, and the grin turned poisonous.
"And you want to know who helped ?!" he shouted. His finger stabbed the air, aid directly at Morvakar. "Your son!"
Damien stopped listening the mont Gabriel dared to take a dig at his wife. His control shattered. In an instant, he blurred through the space, his body moving with predatory grace, faster than human eyes could track. His hand lashed out, fingers curling into Gabriel’s hair, and with one savage yank, he wrenched the vampire’s head back so violently the tendons in his neck strained. The crack of bone and sinew echoed. Gabriel’s sneer twisted into stunned horror before his world went dark.
The head tore away from the body with brutal finality, Damien’s rage-fueled strength making it look effortless. The body dropped to its knees and then collapsed, while Damien stood tall, still holding Gabriel’s severed head in his fist. His chest heaved, every muscle coiled with wrath. His fangs glead, his eyes glowing with a feral, rciless light that no one in the chamber dared et for long. The throne room itself seed to hold its breath, the silence so profound it pressed against the skin.
Morvakar, standing to the side, wore a look of pure shock—not from the gore but from the poison Gabriel had left behind in his last words. Your son. The phrase echoed in Morvakar’s mind. His throat tightened, his hands trembled despite his effort to steady them. Was it true? Could Gabriel have been telling the truth, or was it the last twisted lie of a condemned man ant to tear him apart?
(I really appreciate all the golden tickets. Its coming in truckloads. I feel like a millionaire.)
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