His Bride, Her Revenge

Chapter 128: The Heir of Nothing

The days that followed were laced with silence.

A silence too dense for peace, too sharp for mourning. It hung over Valleria like a noose made of smoke and broken trust. Even as reconstruction clawed forward across temple districts and shattered skybridges, Cambria Vale moved through the halls of her palace like a ghost wearing a crown.

Not queen. Not yet.

Not while the serpent still stirred in the north.

She stood now in the private solar, dawn bleeding through glass panes colored in red and gold. The message had burned, but the words remained carved into her mind:

The Queen’s reign was never meant to end.

Maddox stepped into the room, no preamble. No guards. Just him and the weight between them.

"You didn’t sleep."

Cambria didn’t turn. "You didn’t either."

He joined her at the window, arms folded. "Lucien’s been in the crypts. I think he’s looking for something."

"He always is."

"Do you trust him?"

Cambria’s silence was answer enough.

Maddox nodded. "What about Knox?"

Her lips curved grimly. "Trusting Knox is like holding fire in your bare hands. Sometimes it keeps you warm. Sometimes it burns the world down."

"Still," Maddox said, "you let him stay at your side."

Cambria turned now, eyes meeting his. "And I let you stay in my life. What does that say about me?" noveldrama

His expression didn’t waver. "That you haven’t stopped loving me. No matter how much it hurts."

For a moment, the only sound was the wind brushing against the glass.

Then she said, "You’re wrong."

He took a breath, about to respond, but she walked past him toward the council chamber. Her voice floated behind her like a blade wrapped in velvet.

"If I still loved you, Maddox, I wouldn’t be afraid of what I might lose."

In the ruins of the Ironlands, the snow whispered with the voices of the dead.

Seraphine Vale stood in a circle of ancient stones, her white hair whipped by wind, her bare arms marked with the sigils of old gods. Around her, a dozen figures knelt hooded, armored, silent.

A war cult. Loyal only to her name.

The sky above pulsed with veins of red lightning. The world was groaning awake.

She closed her eyes and spoke the old tongue.

"Ex umbris, imperium. From the shadows, empire."

Behind her, a black obelisk rose from the ice veined with gold and pulsing with something not quite magic, not quite machine.

It was the last remnant of the God Engine.

The source of all Perfected blood. The soul of Project Pandora.

Seraphine turned to her followers. "Cambria has played her game well. She has the crown. The throne. The people."

Her eyes glinted. "But I have the blood."

In Avalora, deep beneath the royal palace, Lucien Vale stood before an altar of broken memories.

Before him lay the ancestral blade of the House of Light once wielded by Seraphine herself.

Now dulled. Dormant.

He pressed his palm to the altar stone, whispering something so ancient it made the very walls hum.

"I failed you, once. I won’t fail her again."

Behind him, a voice purred, "Still pretending to be a hero, Father?"

Lucien turned slowly.

Evelyn stood there, dressed in black leather, eyes rimmed in sleepless shadow. She wasn’t hiding anymore. Not from the guards. Not from Cambria.

"Thought you were gone," he said carefully.

"I was. But something called me back."

She stepped into the light, and Lucien saw the object in her hand a shard of obsidian, pulsing faintly.

Part of the Crown of Fire and Ruin.

He stiffened. "Where did you find that?"

She smiled. "Seraphine sent it. A gift."

Lucien’s mouth went dry. "Then it’s begun."

Cambria stood before the High Council.

The marble chamber echoed with rustling cloaks and whispered judgment. Twelve councilors, their sigils carved in gold upon the dais, waited as she stepped into the light.

"You summoned me," she said, voice steady.

Councilor Hale, elder of the Eastern Tower, leaned forward. "Your reign has begun in fire. Assassination attempts. Uprisings. Project Pandora’s collapse."

Cambria’s chin lifted. "And yet, here I stand."

Another councilor scoffed. "Perhaps only because Evelyn Vale vanished."

"Or perhaps," Cambria said sharply, "because I gave you a kingdom not built on fear."

An uneasy silence.

Then Councilor Soren stood. "We have received word. From the north. The Ironlands are awakening."

Murmurs.

Cambria’s spine stiffened. "I’m aware."

"You claim Seraphine is back. That she has followers. That the God Engine still breathes," Soren said, voice full of disbelief.

"I don’t claim it," Cambria replied. "I know it."

"Then prove it."

Cambria reached into her cloak and dropped a single object on the marble table.

A black feather. Metallic. Still warm. It vibrated with ancient power.

"The Phoenix woke," she said. "And she’s calling for war."

That night, Maddox found Cambria on the old watchtower, overlooking the war camps being assembled beyond the gates of Avalora.

"You’re planning for invasion," he said.

"I’m planning for survival."

He stepped closer. "And what about peace?"

She turned her head slowly. "You still believe in that?"

"With you?" His hand brushed hers. "Yes."

She didn’t pull away.

"You could walk away from this," he said softly. "Let the council take over. Let Seraphine burn herself out."

"I could," she said. "But then I’d be no better than the ones who let her rise."

Silence.

Then Maddox said, "When the war comes... I’ll stand with you."

She looked at him, and for once, there was no armor in her voice.

"Even if it costs you everything?"

He nodded.

Cambria turned to the wind again. "Then let it come."

Far north, in the black citadel now called the Hollow Crown, Seraphine knelt before the pulsing God Engine and whispered the words that would unchain the final seal.

"Open the gate."

Above her, the skies split.

A rift opened.

And from within it, stepped the Heir of Nothing the last Perfected.

Not subject. Not a weapon.

But a god reborn.

Its face looked like Maddox’s.

But its eyes... were hers.

Cambria’s.

Seraphine smiled.

"Let the storm begin."