Chapter 19
Draevyn
The sky was several shades of gray the morning of the funeral, and heavy clouds pressed down on Lephyrin like a suffocating cloak. The cold air bit into Draevyn’s skin as he stood in the royal courtyard surrounded by stone walls, while banners of ruby and gold fluttered lifelessly in the wind.
The handmaidens and healers had dressed his father in the finest silks and adorned his head with the royal crown as his body was laid atop the pyre. The crowd whispered great things of the fallen king as they bustled in, but most knew every word was a lie.
And all Draevyn saw was the cold, pale corpse of a man who ruled with greed and fire until the very end.
The crowd was massive—nobles, soldiers, priestesses, and common folk all forced to gather, their heads bowed in what could barely pass for mourning. None of them wept for the man, and for that, at least, Draevyn was grateful.
His father didn’t deserve his subjects to mourn his passing. If anything, they should be celebrating.
Atlas stood tall at the front with Elowynne at his side, both dressed in black as shadows swirled at their feet. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed in a thin line, and his eyes were… cold.
He and Draevyn still hadn’t spoken since the death of the king, but Elowynne’s warning replayed in his mind nearly every second. He watched her as she just stood at his brother’s side, back straight, eyes focused on the crowd while her thumb stroked the top of his hand.
At least she seemed to comfort him.
The priestesses droned on about honor, duty, and sacrifice. About how King Barrett Rowe was the first to rule with shadow and fire, and the first king to be gifted magic in the form of his heirs by Irah himself.
It was all so godsdamn laughable. Draevyn stared at the pyre, rage twisting his gut as he listened to all the lies. There was no honor in what his father did.
His fists shook at his sides as the words washed over him. They spoke of legacy, of how his heir, Atlas, would now take it over. But no one dared speak of the blood he’d spilled. Of the famish and ruin he’d caused in his own kingdom.
The courtyard fell silent as Atlas stepped forward, his black cloak billowing in the wind as his gaze swept over the gathered crowd.
“Today, we bury a king. Today”—his voice faltered for a moment—“we bury my father. A man who brought this kingdom to what it is today. The Rowe blood built Lephyrin’s throne, and while many don’t agree with how it was done, it was his rule that finally brought us power.”
Draevyn’s teeth clenched at the words. The power his rule brought their kingdom was bought with the life of his sons.
“Now, the weight of this crown falls to me.” Atlas straightened his shoulders, looking like a proud king. “I swear before you all here and now that I will not falter. I will not break. I will rule with strength, with fire, and with the will to burn our enemies to ash.”
His eyes flicked briefly to Draevyn as he stood silently off to the side, trying to hide the disgust from his features. Atlas was already using Draevyn’s magic as a threat.
“Any who stand against our kingdom, any who dare threaten what he built, will meet the same fate,” Atlas continued. “Now, Prince Draevyn…”
Draevyn’s body tensed.
“Will you do the honors and send our fallen king home?” Atlas gestured to their father’s body atop the pyre as they locked eyes.
Fall in line, his brother’s gaze seemed to say.
Draevyn’s nostrils flared as he obeyed, giving a subtle nod as he lifted a hand toward the pyre.
“May King Barrett Rowe’s fire burn eternal,” Atlas announced.
Flames sparked at Draevyn’s fingertips, and he thrust his hand forward. A roar of fire erupted, and the pyre’s wood was consumed instantly in a roar of scarlet and gold. Heat blasted over the courtyard as the blaze twisted high into the sky, smoke rising like a dark signal to the gods.
As the flames devoured what was left of their father’s body, the crowd remained frozen, their faces pale in the glow of the fire. The smell of smoke, ash, and burning flesh choked the air.
No one moved until Atlas turned away from the inferno and fixed his gaze on the crowd.
A heavy bell tolled once from across the city, its chime echoing through the kingdom as it signaled the end of one reign and the beginning of another. The priestesses moved forward in their crimson robes, heads bowed as they walked along the outskirts of the dying blaze.
A glint caught Draevyn’s eyes from within their gathered circle as they halted at the foot of the steps, and then the High Priestess stepped forward, carrying the new royal crown.
It possessed an obsidian gleam in the small firelight, cast from blackened iron to represent Atlas’s shadows while its points were studded with blood-red gemstones.
The crowd stood in unison as the priestess began the rites. “Do you, Atlas Rowe, swear to protect the Kingdom of Lephyrin, and to rule it with strength and dignity?”
Atlas gave a dip of his chin, his eyes staring blankly ahead. “I do.”
“Do you swear loyalty to Irah, our God of Rage and War, who blessed both you and your bloodline?”
“I swear it.”
The priestess nodded. “Then kneel.”
Atlas obeyed, and the onyx crown was raised high, its rubies catching the firelight, reflecting the pyre’s dying glow, before it was slowly lowered onto his brother’s dark hair.
“Rise, Atlas Rowe, Protector of Men, and King of Lephyrin.”
Atlas stood slowly, his face hard as stone. The crowd fell to their knees—nobles, soldiers, priestesses, Elowynne, and lastly Draevyn.
Lephyrin’s new king looked down at him, a hundred unspoken words between the two brothers. Then Atlas turned to the people and raised his hand as shadows surged up his wrist in a display of power.
“Long live the king!” someone shouted, and then everyone in the crowd echoed the words.
A sinking feeling fell in Draevyn’s gut as he watched the roaring masses celebrate his brother. He knew one thing for certain, and it was that he needed to break Esmyra’s crew free before anything else happened.
And he needed to find a way to do it now.