Chapter 65
The scent of smoke and death clung to the throne room.
The grand hall, once a place of opulence and power, was now a battlefield of its own making. Pillars were blackened with soot, banners torn from their golden fixtures. Blood stained the polished floors, bodies dragged away as the last remnants of the coup were eliminated.
But Tharx did not retreat.
He sat on the obsidian throne, unmoved, untouched, his golden eyes burning with the aftermath of war.
Before him, the traitors knelt, bound, bruised, bleeding.
They had tried.
They had failed.
Aeliana stood beside him, her crimson gown still streaked with ash from the coronation bombing. She was silent, unreadable, but her presence was as sharp as a blade.
The court-**what was left of it-**watched in horrified silence.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
Because they all knew what was coming.
Lady Veraxia knelt at the center of it all.
Her face was bruised, blood dried at her temple. And yet, she held herself with poise, with defiance.
Aeliana had to respect that, at least.
The guards shoved her forward, forcing her to kneel lower, but Veraxia refused to bow completely.
Tharx watched her with the cold, measured patience of a man who had already won.
The tension in the throne room was suffocating.
Lady Veraxia knelt before the obsidian throne, bound, bloodied, but unbroken. The flickering torchlight cast sharp shadows over her face, accentuating the bruises blooming along her cheekbone.
Tharx regarded her in silence, his golden eyes unreadable, his posture languid, almost bored.
Aeliana stood beside him, arms crossed, watching.
Finally, Veraxia exhaled sharply. "Well?" Her voice was hoarse, but there was no tremble in it. "Aren't you going to gloat?"
Tharx leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Gloat?" A slow, cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You are on your knees, Veraxia. I have no need to gloat."
Her jaw clenched, but she did not look away.
"You think this is over?" she said. "That the court will just bow to your little human queen?"
Tharx's fingers tapped against the armrest of his throne, slow, methodical. "I don't need them to bow." His voice was soft, deadly. "I only need them to kneel."
Veraxia laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it. "You are blinded, Emperor."
Tharx lifted a brow. "Am I?"
She tilted her head, bloodied lips curving into something cruel. "The moment you put that crown on her head, you signed your own death sentence." Her gaze flickered to Aeliana. "They will never accept her. And they will never stop trying to take her from you."
Tharx went completely still.
Aeliana saw it-the shift, the subtle but terrifying change in his expression.
Slowly, Tharx rose from his throne.
He descended the steps with the grace of a predator, stopping just before Veraxia.
Then, in a voice cold enough to freeze fire, he murmured, "Then I will burn them first."
Veraxia's smile faltered.
Tharx held her gaze for a long, stretched moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he gave the order.
Aeliana did not flinch when the blade fell.
And the court learned, once and for all-
There would be no forgiveness.
Because a moment later, the blade fell.
And Lady Veraxia's body collapsed to the blood-soaked floor.
The sound of it echoed through the throne room.
The court remained frozen, suffocated by silence.
Three rebels knelt before Tharx, their hands bound in iron shackles, their faces battered but defiant. The stench of blood lingered in the air, clinging to the cracked marble where Lady Veraxia's body had once lain.
Aeliana stood beside the throne, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She had no pity for them. They had chosen their side. They had lost.
Tharx watched them, unmoved, unreadable.
"Do you know why you are still breathing?" he asked, voice low, sharp as a blade.
The first rebel, Lord Karth, lifted his chin, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Because you want to make a spectacle of us before you put a sword through our throats."
Tharx smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "If I wanted a spectacle, I would have your heads on spikes at the city gates already."
Karth's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
The second rebel, Lady Syphra, sneered. "Then why play games? Kill us or let us go."
Aeliana arched a brow. "You seem to think you have options."
Syphra's glare flicked to her. "I would rather die than live under a human queen."
Tharx finally moved.
He descended the steps from his throne slowly, purposefully, like a beast deciding which prey to devour first.
He stopped before the third rebel-Lord Jorvan.
Unlike the others, Jorvan had remained silent.
His face was blank, his hands shaking just slightly, the barest tell of fear beneath his composure.
Tharx tilted his head. "You look as if you have something to say."
Jorvan swallowed. "Exile."
Karth snapped his head toward him. "Jorvan, you coward-"
"Silence."
Tharx's voice cut through the chamber like ice.
Karth gritted his teeth, but he obeyed.
Tharx studied Jorvan for a long moment, then turned to Aeliana.
"What do you think?"
Aeliana didn't hesitate.
"Jorvan and Syphra are cowards, not threats. Let them rot in exile, where they can watch the empire thrive without them." She looked at Karth. "But him?"
Tharx followed her gaze, smirking.
Karth stared at her, full of fire, full of hate.
"You think you've won?" he spat. "You think ruling beside this tyrant makes you anything but his puppet?"
Aeliana stepped forward, her voice like steel. "No. It makes me his equal."
Karth laughed, shaking his head. "Then you're more of a fool than I thought."
Tharx sighed. "I was going to make this quick."
He unsheathed his sword in one fluid motion.
Karth had just enough time to snarl his final curse before the blade sliced through his throat.
The body slumped forward, blood pooling across the marble floor.
Tharx turned to the guards, wiping his blade clean. "Take the others to the edge of the empire. If they return, kill them."
Jorvan and Syphra were dragged away, their fates sealed.
Tharx stepped back toward Aeliana, voice calm, certain.
"This throne will be built on blood," he murmured, "but it will stand."
Aeliana exhaled slowly, meeting his gaze.
"Then let it stand."
The message had been sent.
There would be no more rebellion.
No more doubt.
The throne belonged to Tharx.
And the empire belonged to Aeliana.
That night, the palace halls were too quiet.
Aeliana stood near the window of their shared chambers, the cool night air brushing against her skin.
She had watched executions before. Had witnessed death.
But today had been different.
Because now, she was the one in power.
Now, she was the one they feared.
The door opened behind her.
She knew before she turned that it was Tharx.
His footsteps were slow, deliberate, unhurried as he approached.
For a moment, he simply stood there, watching her.
Then, in a voice low and certain, he asked, "Are you ready for this?"
Aeliana's pulse thrummed.
She turned to him, meeting his gaze, unwavering.
"I have to be."
A flicker of something dark, something undeniably possessive, crossed his expression.
Then, without warning-
Tharx grabbed her, pulled her against him, and kissed her deeply.
Aeliana gasped into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, pressing her back against the edge of the bed.
There was no hesitation.
No room for doubt.
His hands were rough, urgent, his grip firm as he pulled at the fastenings of her gown, as she clawed at his tunic in return.
It was a claiming.
A reminder.
That despite the war, despite the blood-
This was theirs.
And tonight, there would be no surrender.