Chapter 5 A Throne of Shadows

The castle was quiet, too quiet. Even the wind outside seemed afraid to whisper against its black stone walls. Aria stood at the far end of the dark hall, her hands trembling as she stared at the throne before her. It wasn’t just a chair. It was alive. She could feel it breathing, waiting, watching.

Lucian moved slowly, his boots making a soft sound against the cold floor. The long black cloak behind him dragged like smoke. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim torchlight, steady and calm like a predator. He didn’t need to say anything to make her afraid—his presence alone was enough.

“That,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “is where everything begins and ends.”

Aria’s eyes stayed locked on the throne. It was made of twisted black vines, dark stone, and a hint of something that pulsed like a heartbeat. Tiny sparks of shadow moved around it, curling like snakes. She took a step back. Every inch of her body told her to run, but there was nowhere to go.

Lucian turned to her slowly. “Do you feel it?” he asked. “The pull?”

She swallowed hard. “It’s just a chair,” she whispered, even though she knew it wasn’t.

Lucian smirked faintly. “No, little flame. It’s not just a chair. It’s the throne of kings and monsters. It chooses who it belongs to. And right now…” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing on her. “It’s looking at you.”

Aria shook her head and stepped back again. “No. I don’t want it. I want nothing to do with this.”

He moved closer, each step slow but heavy, as if his weight carried centuries of power. “The throne doesn’t ask for permission,” he said softly. “It takes.”

As he walked past her, the shadows shifted, stretching across the floor like they were alive. They brushed against her ankles like cold fingers, wrapping around her slowly. She gasped and tried to pull away, but the shadows only held her tighter, their grip firm but strangely gentle.

Lucian sat down on the throne, and instantly the hall grew darker. The vines around the throne tightened, wrapping around him like they belonged to him. His eyes turned a deeper shade of gold, burning brighter. The air grew cold and sharp, pressing against her skin like ice.

“This is power,” Lucian said, his voice echoing in the room. “The kind that makes kingdoms bow. The kind that breaks weak men and turns strong ones into gods. And one day, Aria, you will stand here. Beside me. Or on it.”

Her chest ached as she shook her head. “Never.”

He leaned forward, his smile sharp and dangerous. “I said the same thing once. The throne has a way of changing your heart.”

Suddenly the whispers came. They weren’t from Lucian. They came from the shadows, soft and cold, slipping into her ears like a breeze. They whispered her name. Over and over. “Aria… Aria… Aria…”

Her heartbeat raced. She covered her ears, but the whispers grew louder, filling her head, making her dizzy. She fell to her knees as the shadows swirled around her like smoke. The vines on the throne moved again, reaching toward her as if they could sense her fear.

Lucian rose slowly, walking toward her. His face was calm, but there was something else in his eyes. A kind of sadness. “It’s already started,” he said softly. “You’re tied to the throne whether you like it or not. That mark on your skin… it’s the throne’s claim.”

She looked at the mark on her arm. It burned faintly like fire trapped under her skin. Her fingers brushed it and a cold shiver ran through her.

Lucian knelt in front of her, his hand lifting her chin so their eyes met. “You think I chose this life?” he whispered. “I was chosen. Just like you. The only difference is…” His thumb brushed her cheek slowly. “I stopped fighting it.”

Tears burned her eyes. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be chosen. But the shadows didn’t care what she wanted. The throne had made its choice.

Behind Lucian, the throne pulsed again, black vines moving as though breathing her name. And for the first time since she entered that castle, Aria felt it deep in her bones—this wasn’t just Lucian’s world anymore.

It was slowly becoming hers.

Lucian’s hand lingered on her face, warm but heavy like a chain she couldn’t break. The shadows coiled tighter around her, wrapping up her arms like ribbons of smoke. She tried to pull away, but the more she struggled, the deeper they sank.

Lucian leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “You can run from me,” he whispered, “but you can’t run from the throne.”

The vines behind him stretched higher, reaching toward the ceiling as if celebrating her capture. The whispers returned—soft, sharp, and endless—twining her name with his.

“Aria… Lucian… Aria…”

Her heart thudded hard. A part of her wanted to scream. Another part of her—cold and quiet—was listening.