The seventh seat
Chapter One
The Seventh Seat
At midnight, the king disappeared from the world.
No assassin entered the palace.
No alarm was raised.
No guard saw anyone approach the royal chamber.
King Lucien Veyr simply walked into his private library at 11:57 p.m., closed the door behind him, and vanished.
Three minutes later, every clock in the Crimson Palace stopped.
At exactly midnight, the wolves began to howl.
They howled beyond the northern walls. They howled from the forests surrounding Veyr. They howled from places where no wolf had been seen for generations.
Then the palace lights went out.
For seven seconds, the capital of the Dominion was completely dark.
When the lights returned, King Lucien Veyr was lying on the floor of his library.
Dead.
The strange part was not that the king had been murdered.
The strange part was that nobody could find a wound.
The first person to enter the library was Commander Darius Vale, captain of the Royal Guard.
Darius had served Lucien for seventeen years.
He had watched the king survive wars, assassinations, rebellions and three attempts to overthrow the throne.
He had never seen Lucien afraid.
Until that night.
The king’s body lay beside the enormous desk.
One hand was closed around something.
Darius knelt beside him.
“Your Majesty.”
There was no answer.
Darius carefully opened the king’s hand.
A small piece of black stone fell onto the carpet.
It was no larger than a coin.
A strange symbol had been carved into the surface.
A crown.
Broken in two.
Darius stared at it.
He had seen that symbol before.
Once.
Eleven years ago.
And the memory made his stomach tighten.
“Commander.”
Darius looked toward the doorway.
Mara Veyne, the royal intelligence minister, stood there.
Behind Mara were four members of the Crimson Council.
Nobody spoke.
Mara walked toward the body.
“How long?”
“Less than ten minutes,” Darius answered.
Mara looked at the king.
“Then the killer is still inside the palace.”
Darius stood.
“Seal every entrance.”
“Already done.”
“Search every servant.”
“Already happening.”
Darius looked toward the council.
“Then how did the killer get in?”
Nobody answered.
Mara looked at the black stone in Darius’s hand.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you find that?”
Darius held it up.
“In the king’s hand.”
Mara did not touch it.
She didn’t need to.
She knew what it meant.
“That’s impossible.”
Darius lowered his voice.
“Eleven years ago, I watched the execution.”
Mara looked at him.
“So did I.”
A voice came from the far end of the room.
“You both watched the wrong person die.”
Everyone turned.
The speaker was Lord Cassian Rook, the oldest member of the Crimson Council.
Cassian stood beside the window.
He had been silent since entering the library.
Darius frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Cassian looked at the dead king.
“Lucien spent eleven years making sure nobody remembered the seventh.”
Mara’s face hardened.
“Don’t.”
Cassian ignored her.
“The seventh seat was never destroyed.”
Darius stared at him.
“The council has six seats.”
“It has six occupied seats.”
Cassian turned toward the enormous table in the adjoining chamber.
Six chairs surrounded it.
One stood apart from the others.
It had always been there.
Nobody sat in it.
Nobody mentioned it.
Nobody asked why the chair had been carved with the same broken crown found in the king’s hand.
Cassian walked toward the seventh chair.
“The throne has always had an enemy.”
Mara followed him.
“That story is forbidden.”
“Most truths are.”
Cassian stopped beside the chair.
Darius looked at the empty seat.
“What happened eleven years ago?”
Cassian’s answer was quiet.
“The Dominion killed a prince.”
Silence filled the room.
Darius remembered the night.
The fire.
The soldiers.
The screams beyond the palace walls.
A boy standing before the executioner’s platform.
Sixteen years old.
Barely old enough to understand why thousands of people wanted him dead.
Darius had been there.
He had carried out the king’s orders.
Or at least he had believed he had.
Mara spoke carefully.
“That boy died.”
Cassian looked at her.
“Did you see the body?”
Mara said nothing.
Cassian smiled.
“Neither did the king.”
A loud bell rang somewhere inside the palace.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Darius looked toward the corridor.
“What is that?”
Cassian’s expression changed.
“The warning bell.”
“Why would the warning bell ring?”
Nobody answered.
Then the palace shook.
A distant explosion tore through the eastern wing.
Glass shattered.
People screamed.
The lights disappeared again.
Darius drew his sword.
“Stay here.”
Mara reached for the weapon beneath her coat.
“That isn’t an attack from outside.”
Darius looked at her.
“How do you know?”
Mara pointed toward the palace doors.
“They’re locked.”
A second explosion followed.
Closer this time.
The Crimson Palace erupted into chaos.
Guards ran through the corridors.
Doors slammed.
Orders were shouted.
Somewhere below the palace, something began to growl.
Darius froze.
He knew that sound.
Every Royal Guard did.
It was the sound they had been trained to fear.
A wolf.
Not an ordinary wolf.
A Dominion wolf.
One of the creatures sworn to protect the royal bloodline.
The growling became louder.
Then the corridor went silent.
Darius raised his sword.
Footsteps approached.
Slowly.
Someone walked through the darkness.
Darius prepared to attack.
The figure stopped beneath the emergency lights.
A young woman stood there.
Her black coat was soaked with rain.
Blood stained the sleeve of her left arm.
A silver dagger hung from her hand.
Mara stared at the woman.
“No.”
The woman looked at the dead king behind them.
Then she looked at the seventh chair.
Finally, she looked directly at Mara.
“You should have burned the chair.”
Mara could barely speak.
Darius tightened his grip on the sword.
“Who are you?”
The woman smiled.
“You really don’t remember me?”
Darius stared at her face.
Something about her was familiar.
Not her appearance.
Her eyes.
He had seen those eyes before.
Eleven years ago.
On the night the prince supposedly died.
Darius took one step backward.
“Elara.”
The woman smiled.
“Now you remember.”
Mara reached for her weapon.
“Elara Veyr died eleven years ago.”
Elara looked at the body of King Lucien.
“So did my father.”
Nobody moved.
Elara walked toward the seventh chair.
Darius raised his sword.
“Don’t.”
Elara stopped.
“Why?”
“That chair belongs to the king.”
Elara looked at him.
“No.”
She placed one hand on the back of the chair.
“It belongs to whoever survives him.”
The palace bells began ringing again.
This time, they did not stop.
Far beyond the palace walls, the city gates opened.
Thousands of wolves emerged from the forests.
Across Veyr, gang leaders received the same message.
THE KING IS DEAD.
Then a second message arrived.
THE PRINCESS HAS RETURNED.
And beneath it was a final sentence.
THE SEVENTH SEAT IS OCCUPIED.
By sunrise, every powerful family in the Dominion would know that Lucien Veyr was dead.
By noon, they would know that Elara Veyr was alive.
But only one person knew the truth.
The king had not been killed because someone wanted his throne.
He had been killed because someone wanted the throne to remain empty.
And somewhere beneath the oldest district of Veyr, behind a door that had been sealed for more than a century, someone opened his eyes.
He looked at the symbol carved into the wall.
The broken crown.
Then he whispered:
“Let them fight.”
A pause.
“The real war has not begun.”ù
