The palace corridors shook with Kaedan’s fury.
Ariaxa struggled to keep up, clutching her cloak tightened around her bandaged ribs. His steps were fast, violent, nearly feral. Guards leapt out of the way as he stormed past, aura crackling like midnight lightning.
“Kaedan,” she breathed, trying to slow him. “Kaedan—”
“Do not speak,” he snapped without turning. “Not right now.”
His voice wasn’t cold.
It was shaking.
That frightened her more.
They reached the enormous stone doors of the Blood Court. They blasted open under Kaedan’s power, slamming against the walls.
The Triarchs stood in a semicircle.
Queen Rhaelle.
Lord Vaelen.
Warden Brakus.
And half the ruling nobles.
Their expressions were carved from fury and anticipation.
Rhaelle’s lips curled the moment she saw Ariaxa hobbling in behind Kaedan.
“Oh,” she purred. “So the rumors were true. You bring your little sun-pet everywhere now. Even to matters of state?”
Ariaxa stiffened.
Kaedan’s answer came out as a growl.
“She comes because I say she comes.”
Brakus scoffed. “You ignore our summons for days, and this is your reason? A wounded slave?”
Ariaxa lowered her gaze — not in submission, but because every pair of eyes in the hall burned with hatred.
Kaedan stepped in front of her, blocking their view.
“Say the word ‘slave’ again,” he said softly, dangerously. “And I will rip out your tongue.”
Vaelen’s nostrils flared. “You dare threaten Triarch authority?”
“I dare anything,” Kaedan replied.
Rhaelle glided forward, silk rippling behind her like pale smoke. Her eyes slid toward Ariaxa, sharp and hungry.
“Your Majesty,” she said sweetly, “it is time we speak of law. Old law. Sacred law. Law that even you cannot break.”
Kaedan’s jaw flexed.
Ariaxa’s stomach twisted.
She knew what was coming before Rhaelle even opened her mouth.
Rhaelle extended a hand, long nails gleaming.
“By imperial statute,” she intoned, savoring every word, “a harem slave who becomes influential over the crown must be shared with the Triarchs. To prevent corruption.”
Gasps rippled through the court.
Ariaxa’s blood froze.
She remembered the first Convocation.
The hands.
The eyes.
The ritual meant to break her.
She felt the world tilt beneath her feet.
Kaedan’s aura exploded through the room in a violent wave.
“NO.”
The word echoed like thunder.
“No?” Rhaelle tilted her head mockingly. “Are we to believe the Emperor now picks and chooses which laws he follows?”
Kaedan stepped forward, shadows pouring off him like smoke. “That law was written when the throne was weak.”
“It was written to prevent this,” Vaelen snapped. “Exactly this! A king blinded by flesh. A kingdom destabilized by lust.”
Brakus jabbed a finger toward Ariaxa. “You have allowed this girl to sit beside you in council. Rumors spread across Vharon. You risk revolt.”
Rhaelle smiled coldly. “Give her to us. Do it publicly. Restore balance. Or risk civil war.”
Ariaxa’s breath came shallow.
She could feel Kaedan’s rage shaking through the floor.
“Kaedan,” she whispered.
He didn’t turn.
Rhaelle’s gaze sharpened. “She’s corrupting you. Any fool can see it. Even your guards whisper that she has turned your mind.”
Vaelen stepped forward. “If she has nothing to hide, let her undergo the Sharing Ritual. Let us test her purity.”
She swallowed bile.
Purity.
They meant degradation.
Violation.
A political spectacle designed to break her — and Kaedan’s control.
Kaedan’s hand shot out. Not toward Ariaxa.
Toward Vaelen’s throat.
The entire hall tensed as Kaedan’s fingers hovered inches from the man’s skin, crackling with lethal magic.
“Touch her,” Kaedan snarled, “and I will carve your name from history.”
Vaelen’s eyes widened. “You would start a war over a harem slave?”
Kaedan’s voice was a blade. “Over her? Yes.”
Ariaxa sucked in a breath — sharp, painful. Her heart hammered violently in her chest. She had expected anger. Possessiveness. Obsession.
But not… this.
Not a declaration that sounded like devotion.
Rhaelle sneered. “The Emperor has fallen. I warned the council months ago — he is losing control. First, he hoards her. Then he bleeds for her. Now he threatens his own governing body? All for a girl with Sun blood?”
Ariaxa flinched.
Kaedan turned, just slightly — enough to feel her reaction.
Enough to know it hurt her.
That only poured gasoline onto his fury.
“You want to test her?” Kaedan growled. “You want to take what’s mine? You think your laws can bind me?”
Brakus slammed his staff against the floor. “The law binds everyone — even you, Kaedan!”
The court murmured in agreement.
Rhaelle stepped forward triumphantly. “Then choose. Uphold the law… or break it.”
Kaedan’s power surged so violently that half the torches in the hall blew out at once.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Ariaxa felt him step back toward her, felt the heat of his rage like a furnace.
He turned slowly, facing the entire court.
And he spoke.
“For centuries,” Kaedan said, voice deep and resonant, “the Sharing Law has been used as a weapon to break the powerless.”
He lifted his chin, eyes glowing a murderous crimson.
“No longer.”
The hall fell silent.
Rhaelle’s smirk faltered. “Kaedan—”
He raised a hand.
She fell silent.
“I will not surrender Ariaxa,” he declared. “Not to you. Not to anyone.”
Gasps erupted.
Ariaxa’s heart stopped.
Kaedan’s next words shook the palace to its foundations.
“The Sharing Law is dead.”
The room erupted into chaos.
Nobles shouted. Triarchs protested. Warden Brakus pounded his staff, screaming objections. But all the noise was distant, smothered, numb.
Because Kaedan stepped in front of her again — a shield, a wall of fury — and murmured softly, privately, so only she could hear:
“I told you. No one takes you from me.”
Ariaxa felt her knees weaken.
His eyes never left her.
Her world tilted again — but for an entirely different reason.