_Fire. Endless fire._

  Tarek stood amid the burning ruins of Highcrest, the royal palace crumbling around him like a castle made of sand swept away by an incoming tide. The sky above blazed not with stars but with falling embers, a rain of destruction cascading from heavens that had turned the color of fresh blood.

  He tried to run, to move, to do anything—but his body remained frozen, powerless to alter what unfolded before him. The Bloodright pulsed violently within his veins, but instead of responding to his will, it seemed to mock him, burning brighter as the destruction spread.

  In the distance, the seven keystones of the Covenant—the ancient magical anchors that maintained the boundary protecting Lore from the horrors beyond—shattered one by one, each explosion sending shockwaves across the land. With each breaking stone, the boundary weakened, its amber glow flickering like a dying candle.

  And then he saw it. The eighth keystone.

  The one whose existence was mentioned only in the most forbidden texts of the royal archives. The keystone that was never meant to be found.

  It rose from beneath the crumbling throne room, a massive crystal pulsing with sickly green energy that wove through strands of gold—corrupted Bloodright magic intertwined with something older, something that had no place in this world.

  As the eighth keystone emerged fully, the voices began—thousands of them, speaking in languages no human tongue had uttered for millennia. They whispered of hunger and conquest, of returning to claim what was once theirs, of the folly of humans who believed they could cage powers beyond their comprehension.

  *The way opens,* they chanted in terrible harmony. *The Amber King has failed.*

  Desperate to escape the voices, Tarek forced his paralyzed body to turn, to look away from the monstrous keystone. That's when he saw her—a still form lying among the ashes at the base of the shattered throne.

  Eliza.

  Her body looked peaceful, almost untouched by the destruction around her, save for the intricate pattern of golden light that had been etched into her skin—as if the Bloodright itself had tried to claim her at the moment of death.

  The sight tore a scream from Tarek's throat, a sound of such raw anguish that it shook the very foundations of what remained of the palace. The Bloodright exploded within him, amber energy erupting outward in a devastating wave that seemed ready to consume everything in its path.

  But before it could spread beyond him, the energy reversed direction, surging back into his body with impossible force. He felt his skin crack like porcelain, golden light spilling from the fissures as something else took control—something that had been waiting within the Bloodright all along.

  As his consciousness began to fade, replaced by an ancient malevolence that had waited centuries for this moment, the last thing Tarek saw was Eliza's eyes snapping open—not the warm brown he loved, but pools of writhing green flame that matched the corrupted keystone perfectly.

  Her lips moved, forming his name, but the voice that emerged was not hers.

  *You did this,* it said. *You gave us the way.*

  ---

  Tarek woke with a violent gasp, surging upright in bed as amber energy crackled along his skin. The royal chambers were dark save for the golden light emanating from his trembling body, casting long shadows against the ancient stone walls.

  For several moments, he couldn't separate dream from reality, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting to find it engulfed in flames. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat sending another pulse of the Bloodright surging through his veins.

  When he finally registered the cool night air against his sweat-soaked skin, the silence broken only by his ragged breathing, he closed his eyes and forced himself to inhale slowly, deliberately.

  *Control*, he reminded himself. *The magic serves you. Not the other way around.*

  The words had become his mantra in recent weeks, repeated countless times as the Bloodright grew ever more responsive to his emotions—and ever more difficult to contain when those emotions ran high.

  Gradually, the golden light receded beneath his skin, though it didn't disappear entirely. It never did these days, a constant reminder of the power he carried and the responsibility that came with it.

  A soft knock at his door caused Tarek to tense, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger he kept beneath his pillow.

  "Your Majesty?" Captain Frost's voice came through the heavy oak. "I saw the light. Are you unwell?"

  Tarek exhaled slowly. Of course Frost would notice—the captain had taken to sleeping in the antechamber outside the royal apartments since returning from their journey south, ostensibly for security reasons. But Tarek suspected it had more to do with monitoring his increasingly unpredictable manifestations of the Bloodright.

  "Enter," he called, composing his features into what he hoped was a neutral expression.

  The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges, revealing Frost's weathered face, alert despite the late hour. The captain's sharp eyes took in Tarek's disheveled appearance, the rumpled bedsheets, and the fading golden glow that still outlined his veins.

  "Another dream," Frost said. It wasn't a question.

  Tarek nodded, knowing there was no point in denying it. These nightmares had become more frequent since their return from Sunspire three weeks ago—dreams of fire and destruction, of boundaries failing and ancient enemies returning.

  But this one had been different. More vivid. More specific.

  And it had shown him Eliza, dead among the ashes of his failure.

  "The same as before?" Frost asked, remaining by the door, giving Tarek space.

  "No." Tarek ran a hand over his face. "Worse. I saw... I saw the eighth keystone."

  Frost's already serious expression darkened further. The eighth keystone was mentioned in only the most obscure texts in the royal archives—a mythical counterpart to the seven known keystones that formed the foundation of the Covenant's protective boundary. According to those texts, it had been deliberately hidden by the first Blackthorn king, deemed too dangerous to use even in the darkest days when the boundary was first created.

  "A dream, Your Majesty," Frost said carefully. "Not necessarily a prophecy."

  "It felt real." Tarek rose from the bed, moving to the window where he could look out over the sleeping city. Highcrest spread below, peaceful under the moonlight, so different from the burning ruin of his nightmare. "The Bloodright has been showing me things, Captain. Things that may come to pass if we fail."

  "Or things it wants you to fear," Frost countered, his tone gentle but firm. "The royal physicians have warned that prolonged exposure to such intense magic can affect the mind. After what happened at Sunspire—"

  "This isn't madness," Tarek interrupted, a flash of irritation sending another ripple of golden light across his skin. "And what happened at Sunspire only confirms that the threat is real. The Order of Whispers may be scattered, but something worse has taken its place. Something that knows about the eighth keystone."

  The memory of their journey south still haunted him—the eerie messenger they'd encountered in the forest, the corrupted followers of House Solari they'd discovered upon reaching Sunspire, and most disturbing of all, the words Eliza had overheard in the sealed wing of the Solari palace before they'd rescued her: *Find the hidden keystone, and the way will open fully.*

  Frost moved further into the room, concern evident in his stance. "Have you told Lady Vantian about these dreams?"

  "No." Tarek turned from the window. "She has enough to worry about, managing the court's politics in my absence. And after what she endured at Sunspire..." He trailed off, unwilling to complete the thought.

  The truth was, he hadn't told Eliza because he couldn't bear to describe the image of her lifeless body that haunted his dreams. Nor could he admit the growing fear that his own power—the Bloodright meant to protect the realm—might somehow be linked to the catastrophe the dreams foretold.

  "Perhaps you should," Frost suggested. "Lady Vantian has proven herself perceptive in matters of magic and politics alike. Her perspective might be valuable."

  Tarek knew the captain was right. In the weeks since they'd returned from Sunspire, Eliza had effectively managed the court as his proxy, building a network of allies and informants that extended far beyond her family's traditional influence. The Great Houses had begun to accept her unofficial position at his side, if not entirely without reservation.

  She had earned the right to know what threatened them. What threatened her specifically, if his dream held any prophetic truth.

  "I'll speak with her tomorrow," he conceded. "After the Council meeting."

  Frost nodded, apparently satisfied. "Will you require anything else tonight, Your Majesty?"

  "No, thank you, Captain." Tarek offered a thin smile. "Try to get some rest. I doubt I'll sleep again tonight, but there's no reason both of us should suffer."

  After Frost departed, Tarek remained at the window, watching as the first hints of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't face returning to bed, couldn't risk slipping back into that nightmare landscape of fire and death.

  Instead, he moved to his private study adjoining the royal bedchamber. The room was small by palace standards but lined floor to ceiling with books—many of them ancient texts on magic and history that had been gathering dust in the archives until Tarek had them brought here after his coronation.

  He lit a single lamp, its warm glow a poor substitute for sunlight but enough to read by. Then he pulled a specific volume from the highest shelf—a leather-bound tome so old the title had worn away from its spine.

  The book contained the personal journals of Edric Blackthorn, the first king of Lore and the creator of the Covenant. Tarek had read it countless times since discovering his Bloodright, searching for insight into the power he carried. But one passage in particular drew him now, a cryptic entry dated the day after the Covenant's completion:

  *Seven keystones to anchor the boundary, each aligned with a cardinal direction and bound to the land's natural power. But the eighth I could not use—its nature too volatile, too hungry. Even touching it with my magic caused such resonance that I feared it might consume rather than contain. I have hidden it where none shall find it, for if the seven should ever fail, to use the eighth would be to invite a fate worse than what lies beyond the boundary.*

  Tarek ran his fingers over the faded handwriting, as if physical contact might reveal more than the enigmatic words themselves. What had Edric understood about the eighth keystone that had frightened him so? And where had he hidden it, this artifact so dangerous that even the king who created the Covenant dared not use it?

  Most importantly—was someone now searching for it? Was that the true goal of whatever remnants of the Order had corrupted House Solari?

  A sound from the antechamber interrupted his thoughts—a servant arriving with the morning's washing water, earlier than usual. The palace would soon be stirring to life, another day of politics and governance beginning whether he felt ready or not.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Tarek closed the book with a sigh, returning it to its place on the shelf. The nightmare still lingered at the edges of his consciousness, but daylight had a way of making even the most terrifying dreams seem distant and impossible.

  As he prepared for the day ahead, he pushed the vision to the back of his mind. He would tell Eliza, yes—but not everything. Not the part where she lay dead because of his failure. Not the part where something waited within the Bloodright itself, something ancient and patient that had been using him all along.

  Some fears were too great to share, even with the woman he loved.

  ---

  The Royal Council chamber hummed with quiet tension as Tarek entered through the private door behind the king's seat. Conversations ceased immediately, the assembled lords and ministers rising in formal acknowledgment of their monarch.

  "Be seated," Tarek said, taking his place at the head of the massive oak table that dominated the circular room. He noted the subtle scrutiny in their gazes—searching, as always, for signs of weakness or instability in the young king who had claimed the throne under such unusual circumstances.

  Today, he knew, they would find nothing to concern them. He had dressed with particular care in formal black and gold, the simple crown of twisted precious metals resting securely on his brow. The Bloodright remained calm beneath his skin, visible only as the faintest amber glow in his eyes—a reminder of power held in perfect control.

  The image of composed authority was deliberate, meant to counterbalance the rumors that had begun circulating after the Sunspire incident. Rumors of the king's magic growing wild, of enemies beyond the boundary seeking to corrupt the very power that protected the realm.

  "Lord Chancellor," Tarek nodded to Harrick, seated to his right. "What matters require our attention today?"

  Harrick—a thin, precise man whose ambition was matched only by his caution—unrolled a scroll of parchment. "Trade negotiations with the Eastern Territories remain stalled, Your Majesty. Their representatives insist on concessions regarding boundary passage that the crown cannot safely grant."

  "The Eastern Territories barely acknowledge the Covenant's authority in the best of times," remarked Lord Pellinor from further down the table. "Now they seek to exploit our recent... difficulties."

  The pause before "difficulties" carried volumes of unspoken meaning. As Lord High Justiciar, Pellinor had been particularly vocal about what he termed the "Sunspire Overreaction"—Tarek's decision to personally intervene against House Solari without formal council approval.

  "The boundary is not a negotiating point," Tarek said firmly. "Not now, when we have confirmation that forces beyond it actively seek entrance. Remind the Eastern representatives that their territories would be the first to fall should the boundary fail."

  A murmur of agreement rippled around the table—on this point, at least, the council was united. Whatever political differences divided them, none wished to see the horrors that had plagued the kingdom before the Covenant's creation return.

  "Next," Tarek prompted, "the situation with House Solari."

  Lady Talmere, the newly appointed Minister of Interior Affairs, cleared her throat. "Reconstruction efforts in Sunspire Province continue, Your Majesty. With House Solari's leadership... removed, we've established a provisional governance council drawn from the minor houses of the region."

  "Removed" was a diplomatic way of describing what had happened to Lord Chancellor Solari and his son Julian after their corruption had been exposed. Tarek had not wanted to execute an entire Great House, but those directly involved in breaching the boundary had left him little choice.

  "And the keystone?" he asked.

  "Stabilized but weakened," replied Magister Rook, the elderly head of the Royal College of Mages. "The damage done by House Solari's ritual cannot be fully undone. The boundary in that region will remain vulnerable for some time."

  Tarek nodded, unsurprised. He had felt the keystone's weakness himself during their time in Sunspire—had channeled his own Bloodright into it to prevent complete failure. But the effort had nearly overwhelmed him, and the connection had revealed disturbing glimpses of what waited beyond the boundary.

  Things that whispered. Things that hungered. Things that knew his name.

  "Double the mage contingent assigned to Sunspire," he ordered. "And establish a permanent King's Guard detachment at the keystone site itself."

  "Such measures will be expensive, Your Majesty," remarked Lord Treasurer Bayle, his perpetually concerned expression deepening. "The royal coffers have not fully recovered from the coronation expenditures and the subsequent restoration of the Covenant."

  "Would you prefer to economize our way into annihilation, Lord Bayle?" Tarek's tone remained level, but a flicker of amber light danced in his eyes. "The boundary must hold. Whatever the cost."

  The Lord Treasurer subsided, recognizing the battle was lost before it truly began. The council proceeded through various other matters of state—grain shortages in the northern provinces, disputes between minor houses along the western border, reports of increased bandit activity in the mountains.

  Throughout it all, Tarek maintained his composed facade, offering decisive judgments when required and deferring to ministerial expertise when appropriate. All the while, his mind kept returning to the nightmare, to the image of the eighth keystone rising from beneath the throne room.

  As the meeting drew to a close, Lord Pellinor raised one final matter. "Your Majesty, there is the question of succession to consider."

  A sudden stillness fell over the chamber.

  "I am hardly at death's door, Lord Pellinor," Tarek remarked dryly.

  "Of course not, Your Majesty." Pellinor's thin smile didn't reach his eyes. "But recent events have highlighted the precarious nature of the realm's stability. The Great Houses would be... reassured by the knowledge that a clear succession exists, should the unthinkable occur."

  What remained unspoken was the implication behind Pellinor's words: that Tarek should formalize an alliance with one of the Great Houses through marriage, producing an heir with unquestionable legitimacy.

  "The crown appreciates the council's concern," Tarek replied carefully. "Rest assured that the matter of succession is not being neglected."

  It was the same non-answer he had been giving for months, diplomatically avoiding the issue that the council danced around but never addressed directly: his relationship with Eliza Vantian.

  House Vantian was respected but not among the oldest or most powerful Great Houses. Tarek's obvious preference for Eliza as his unofficial consort had been tolerated thus far, but the council—particularly members like Pellinor—clearly hoped it was a temporary arrangement that would eventually give way to a more politically advantageous match.

  They didn't understand that for Tarek, there was no choice. After everything he and Eliza had experienced together, after everything she had risked for him and the kingdom, the idea of setting her aside for political convenience was unthinkable.

  But making her his queen officially would spark its own political firestorm—one he hadn't yet found the right moment to ignite.

  "If there is nothing further," Tarek said, rising from his seat, "this council is adjourned. Lord Chancellor, Lady Talmere, please remain. There are matters regarding Sunspire that require further discussion."

  As the chamber emptied, Tarek caught sight of a familiar figure waiting in the antechamber—Eliza herself, dressed in the deep midnight blue that had become her signature color at court. The sight of her, vital and alive, pushed back the lingering shadows of his nightmare.

  For a moment, their eyes met across the room, and Tarek felt the now-familiar tug in his chest—part love, part desire, and part something else, something connected to the Bloodright's response to her presence. It was as if the magic recognized her, reached for her, even as he did.

  The moment passed as Lord Pellinor moved between them, offering Eliza a stiff bow before departing. The older man's disapproval was barely concealed, but Eliza's serene smile never faltered.

  She had become adept at navigating court politics in the months since Tarek's ascension, developing a particular talent for disarming her critics with gracious formality while building a network of allies among those the traditional power structure overlooked—minor nobles, scholarly ministers, the wives and daughters of Great House lords who were too often dismissed from serious political consideration.

  Watching her now, confidently exchanging pleasantries with departing council members who had once sneered at her presence, Tarek felt a surge of pride—and another emotion less easily defined. A sense that in Eliza, he had found not just a lover but a true partner in rulership, someone whose strengths complemented his own.

  Someone he could not bear to lose, as his nightmare had suggested he might.

  The thought must have shown on his face, because when Eliza finally approached, her expression shifted from political poise to genuine concern.

  "You look exhausted," she said softly, pitching her voice so that only he could hear. "Another sleepless night?"

  Tarek nodded, conscious of the remaining council members still within earshot. "We need to talk," he murmured. "Privately. After I finish with Harrick and Talmere."

  Eliza studied his face for a moment, her perceptive gaze missing nothing. "The gardens, then. In an hour. I'll make sure we're not disturbed."

  She departed with perfect court etiquette—a formal curtsy that acknowledged his royal status while revealing nothing of their personal connection. It was a performance they had perfected over months of public interaction, maintaining the fiction that Lady Vantian was merely a valued advisor while the truth of their relationship remained private.

  But as Tarek turned back to the waiting ministers, he wondered how much longer such pretense could continue. The dream had shaken him more deeply than he cared to admit, confronting him with the possibility of losing Eliza forever.

  Perhaps it was time to stop delaying the inevitable—to make her his queen officially, regardless of the political consequences. To seize whatever happiness they could find together before the shadows in his dreams became reality.

  For now, though, there was the kingdom to govern. The boundary to maintain. The growing threat to counter.

  And beneath it all, the whisper of the eighth keystone, calling to the Bloodright that flowed in his veins.

  *Find me*, it seemed to say. *Use me. Only I can save what you love.*

  Tarek pushed the voice aside, focusing on the ministers before him. But deep within, where the Bloodright pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, he feared the whisper would only grow louder—until eventually, he would have no choice but to listen.