CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Hollow Throne
The throne room had never felt this vast.
Though King Lucien sat firm and regal at the center, the space beside him seemed to stretch like a wound that refused to close. One seat empty. Another barely occupied—Esterphania lounged in hers like it was a battlefield she refused to lose, legs crossed, arms folded, gaze steady as fire.
It had been three months since Alexander's abrupt departure.
Three months of silence, then a letter. Delivered not by raven or formal courier, but by shadow wisp—his signature method when he wanted no one else snooping.
She remembered the moment it arrived. A twist of smoke. A flicker of energy. And there it was, curled and sealed with wax shaped like his idiotic crest: a grinning fox.
She opened it alone in her chambers, expecting something foolish or sappy.
It wasn't.
> "I'm alive. No thanks to the vampire nest in the East. I managed to burn it to the ground, but not before one of them bit my arm. Relax. I'm immune. Probably. I assume you're sulking in my absence, bored without someone to challenge your pride. I hope you're not too busy sharpening spears for my return. I'll write again when I don't feel like dying. —A."
Esterphania had rolled her eyes so hard she gave herself a headache.
That had been the first of many such letters.
No warmth. No softness. Just updates. Taunts. The occasional insult. But they came like clockwork—once a moon.
She never replied.
Didn't need to.
---
"Princess Esterphania," Chancellor Irven began, lips thin as his patience, "I must insist you attend the council meetings. Prince Alexander is gone, and your presence is now a matter of political stability."
"I'm eleven," she said, without looking up from the ancient scroll she was studying.
"You're eleven, and you command more power than half the kingdom. That's precisely why they want you there."
She sighed, rolled the scroll up, and stood. "Fine. But if another one of those crusty old men calls me 'little girl,' I will hex their chair legs into snakes."
The Chancellor gave her a look. "Please don't."
"No promises."
---
Council chambers were everything she hated: words, pomp, and politics. A place where men who hadn't lifted a sword in their lives debated strategies and alliances like they were swatting flies.
She entered without ceremony, wearing royal crimson and obsidian, a crownlet glinting in her thick dark curls. They stood when she entered. Not out of affection—out of fear.
She liked that.
"Princess," Duke Marrow greeted, his mouth twitching as if restraining a sneer. "We were just discussing the rise in vampire sightings near the southern marsh."
"And blaming it on one another, no doubt," she muttered, sliding into the high-backed chair.
General Kael cleared his throat. "We suspect the creatures are retaliating. Prince Alexander's raids may have disturbed ancient nests."
"Well, he did say he wanted to eradicate them," she said casually, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves. "You all laughed."
The Duke tensed. "His absence leaves us vulnerable. You must understand, Princess. We need a plan. One that doesn't rely on Prince Alexander's return."
Esterphania narrowed her eyes. "Then come up with one."
The chamber went still.
She stood slowly, palms resting flat on the marble table. "I'm not here to make you feel safe. I'm not my brother. I'm not your puppet. And I'm not scared."
And with that, she walked out.
---
That night, in the garden, she sat beneath the bloodmoon tree—her favorite place.
The leaves glowed silver in the dark. The fountain behind her whispered secrets. And in her lap was Alexander's latest letter.
> "Killed another bloodline. These ones hissed your name as they died—congratulations, you're becoming famous. Still no leads on the Origin Queen. I know you're probably terrorizing the council by now. Try not to burn anyone alive. I'd like to still have a kingdom when I return."
She didn't smile. Not really.
But she folded the letter and slipped it under a loose brick in the garden wall where she kept them all. Why? She wasn't sure. She told herself it was for evidence. To keep track of his recklessness.
Still, she read every word.
---
Weeks passed. Then months.
Melody was quiet these days. Still dutiful, still graceful—but her laughter no longer echoed through the halls like it used to. She and Esterphania barely spoke. Not out of dislike—just silence that neither knew how to cross.
Until one afternoon.
"Have you heard from him?" Melody asked softly, plucking a pale rose from the royal garden.
Esterphania didn't look up. "He sends letters."
Melody hesitated. "And?"
"And nothing. They're boring. Full of vampire gore and overblown sarcasm."
"I would've thought he'd write me."
Esterphania didn't know what to say to that.
"He never said goodbye," Melody whispered.
Esterphania's throat clenched. "He did."
Melody turned to her sharply. "What?"
Esterphania froze. Damn it.
"He did," she repeated, quietly now. "To me."
"You knew?"
"I didn't tell anyone. It wasn't my place."
Melody studied her. "You two… you hate each other, don't you?"
"Absolutely."
"Then why did he only say goodbye to you?"
Esterphania didn't have an answer. She stood, brushing off her gown.
"I don't know. Maybe because he knew I wouldn't cry." she paused, "He loves you Melody, that I know"
Melody sniffed out a laugh with tears in her eyes, "thanks, I needed to hear that"
---
Later that night, she trained again.
Shadow clone after shadow clone. No longer for spite—but for precision. She created an army of herself in the dark, moved like smoke through the air, and struck her targets with deadly grace.
Lucien watched from the balcony above, arms folded.
"She's becoming something terrifying," he said.
The instructor beside him smiled. "She already is."
Lucien's eyes gleamed with pride—and something heavier.
"I wonder if, by the time he returns, she'll be the one running the kingdom."
"Would that be so bad?"
Lucien didn't answer.
Below, Esterphania finished her last strike and stood in the moonlight, chest heaving, eyes burning red.
She wasn't missing anyone.
She wasn't lonely.
She was becoming more than even Alexander had dared to imagine.
And she would not be forgotten.