Chapter 32: Regicide
Hazel Pov
The palace didn't know it was already dead.
That was the thing about rot—it never screamed when the blade finally found it. It just collapsed.
Night clung to the spires like a held breath as we moved. No banners. No proclamations. No warning. Just shadows slipping through marble veins, power coiled tight and disciplined.
Caleb moved ahead of me. Not as a shield, and not as a commander—but as an equal.
We didn't touch through the bond. We didn't need to. Years of reading each other's breath and muscle made words redundant. Coordination was instinctive.
At the third junction, Lucien peeled off. He vanished toward the council wing without a sound.
Three minutes. That was his window.
Inside me, Flora stirred. She wasn't hungry or feral tonight. She was focused.
[Left passage. Two sentries. One heartbeat apart.]
I didn't slow down.
Caleb shifted half a step toward the wall, timing his shadow with mine. When the first guard rounded the corner, he was already falling. Caleb's blade slid beneath his ribs, catching the body before its weight could betray us.
The second guard didn't even have time to blink.
Lightning kissed my fingertips—precise and surgical. His nervous system shut down before his brain could register the threat.
No screams. No mess.
We stepped over them as if they were never there.
"You're clear," Caleb murmured. It wasn't an instruction; it was a confirmation.
The inner sanctum doors loomed ahead. Massive lions carved of gold, laced with ancient wards meant to repel beasts and demons.
They did nothing against me.
Flora pressed forward, her power threading through my veins with a terrifying, icy calm.
[These wards recognize authority,] she whispered. [Not righteousness.]
"Good," I breathed. "I have the lineage."
The doors parted.
Inside, the royal family was gathered.
Aurelian stood at the center, his crown discarded on the table like a common trinket, a goblet in his hand. Two queens flanked him. Princes and councilors lingered near the hearth, mid-laugh.
The laughter died the moment the heavy doors hit the walls.
Caleb stepped inside and closed the doors behind us.
Click.
The locks slid home. Slow. Deliberate. Final.
Aurelian recovered first, straightening his posture. "Alpha Caleb," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "This is highly irregular. And a grave mistake."
"You signed the order," Caleb replied. His voice was a flat, empty void. "This is the consequence."
The Queen rose, her face contorting. "You dare—"
I didn't let her finish.
Flora and I struck as one.
Lightning snapped through the air, collapsing her wards and shattering bone beneath silk in a single heartbeat. She fell without a sound.
Then, chaos.
Screams erupted. Power flared. A prince lunged toward Caleb, his blade glowing a blinding white. Caleb didn't flinch. He caught the man's wrist, twisted until the bone snapped, and drove an elbow into his throat.
Lethal. Precise. He didn't gloat; he just ended it.
A councilor scrambled for the side exit.
I was faster.
The floor cracked beneath my boots as I blurred across the room. My blade found his spine before he could reach the handle. He hit the floor with a wet, heavy thud.
Aurelian backed away, his eyes finally showing the terror of a dying animal. "This is treason," he snarled. "The gods will—"
"The gods already chose," I said.
Flora surged. Not outward, but inward.
The room buckled.
Every ward tied to the royal bloodline flickered and died. Flora didn't blow them up; she simply severed their connection at the root.
It wasn't an explosion. It was a failure.
Aurelian dropped to his knees as his stolen magic abandoned him. Caleb was on him in an instant, hauling him up by the collar to force him to look at me.
"This is for the Thorns," Caleb said quietly. "For my parents. For every life you traded for 'stability.'"
Aurelian gave a weak, pathetic laugh. "You think killing me fixes anything?"
"No," I replied, stepping into his space. "It ends you."
My blade slid between his ribs.
Not slow. Not cruel. Just final.
Aurelian sagged.
The remaining royal—the youngest prince, barely eighteen—collapsed into a heap, sobbing into the carpet.
Caleb looked at me, a silent question in his eyes.
I shook my head. "No. These ones live."
Flora hummed in approval. [Witnesses matter.]
We left the body where it fell.
Lucien met us in the corridor, looking bloodless and calm. "Council chamber is handled," he reported. "They'll be at each other's throats by sunrise."
Only then did the palace alarms begin to scream.
Too late.
We moved as one—three shadows slipping into the night while the seat of power bled out behind us. Outside, the sky cracked with distant thunder, as if the world itself were exhaling.
Caleb slowed only once we were clear of the perimeter. He looked at me—not with apology, but with absolute certainty.
"We were flawless," he said.
"Yes," I agreed.
Flora settled deep inside me, satisfied but watchful.
[This was not vengeance,] she said. [It was a correction.]
I looked back at the darkening palace one last time.
"No more kings," I whispered.
Caleb didn't argue.
Regicide was never just a murder. It was a declaration. And the world had just been warned.