Chapter 9 The Price of the Throne

The city looked different from the rooftop of the decaying cathedral. Aria stood at the edge, the wind pulling at her coat, the skyline soaked in dusk and neon. It should've felt like a victory-Cassandra was dead, the Crimson Circle destroyed-but the weight in her chest told a different story.

They had survived the darkness. But what now?

Behind her, Luca stepped into the moonlight. His suit was blood-stained, his shirt half-torn, but his presence-still magnetic, still dangerous-wrapped around her like gravity.

"She left something behind," he said, holding out a black velvet pouch.

Aria opened it.

Inside: a sigil ring, pulsing faintly with a red glow, and a folded letter sealed with wax.

Her mother's handwriting scrawled across it: To my heir.

"She knew I'd kill her," Aria whispered.

"She hoped you wouldn't," Luca replied.

Aria broke the seal.

> "You were never meant to love him. You were meant to outlive him. But if you're reading this, then you've chosen the path I could never take. The throne is yours now. But remember: it comes with a price."

Beneath the letter was a map. Marked with blood.

Not of a kingdom.

But of every remaining warlock faction still loyal to the old regime.

"It's a hit list," Luca said grimly.

"No." Aria folded it. "It's unfinished business."

Talia arrived moments later, a cane supporting her healing legs, her eyes sharper than ever. "I've decoded the Circle's mainframe. Cassandra had alliances even we didn't predict-one in Prague, another in Shanghai. They're regrouping."

"So we strike first," Aria said.

But Luca hesitated. "Aria... there's something else."

She turned to him.

He pulled a sealed file from his coat. "This came from the Vault. Your mother's deepest secrets."

The name on the file made her blood turn to ice.

Project Seraphim.

Inside were photos. Experiments. Test subjects. Notes scrawled in Cassandra's hand.

One of them... was Aria.

"They were altering bloodlines," Luca said. "Mixing shifter DNA with old magic."

Talia's voice shook. "You weren't just born into power, Aria. You were... made."

Aria stared at her own photo as a child. Tubes in her arms. Magic etched into her skin.

"She experimented on me," she murmured. "From birth."

"She was trying to create the perfect heir," Luca said. "You're the result."

Aria backed away, nausea rising. "So what am I now? Witch? Wolf? Weapon?"

"You're you," Luca said. "And whatever she did-whatever she planned-you broke it. You chose your path. That makes you more human than she ever was."

But Aria didn't feel human.

She felt... betrayed. Hunted. Engineered.

And very, very dangerous.

**

That night, she stood before the council of allied warlocks and surviving packs. The room buzzed with tension-no one knew what she would say, what she would do now that the Circle had fallen.

Aria walked slowly to the head of the long obsidian table.

"I am Aria Blackthorn," she said, voice echoing like steel. "Daughter of Cassandra. Slayer of the Circle. And I do not want your crown."

Murmurs broke out.

"But I will take your allegiance," she continued, "because war is coming. And it won't wait for you to bicker over bloodlines."

Luca stepped beside her.

Talia behind.

They formed a new trinity-witch, wolf, and warrior.

Aria raised the map. "There are still monsters out there. If we don't unify, we'll be slaughtered one by one."

The Alpha of the Norwood Pack stood. "And who will lead us?"

"I won't be your queen," Aria said. "But I will be your weapon."

Another silence.

Then applause.

Not thunderous.

But growing.

Accepting.

**

Later that evening, in the quiet of her apartment, Aria stood before the mirror.

The sigil ring gleamed on her finger.

Her reflection looked the same-but she wasn't.

Not anymore.

She heard Luca step behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His warmth grounded her, but it couldn't erase the storm in her chest.

"You don't have to carry this alone," he murmured.

"But I do," she said. "Because this isn't over."

He kissed the side of her neck. "Then I'll carry you."

She turned, eyes locking with his.

"I don't want a throne," she whispered.

"Good," he said. "I've never been into princesses."

She laughed-just once. It was sharp and short, but real.

Then his mouth claimed hers with desperation and reverence, with hunger that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with need. She pulled him to the bed, hands tearing at his shirt.

The world burned behind her eyelids.

And in that moment, the monster inside her wasn't something to fear.

It was something to wield.

**

But far from the city, in a stone fortress buried beneath the Alps, a woman in crimson robes watched the flames in her scrying bowl with a smile.

"So," she whispered, tracing Aria's image in the fire, "the heir survived."

Behind her, dozens of black-robed figures knelt.

"Let her enjoy her little kingdom," she said softly. "Because when I come... I'll take everything."

And the flames exploded into darkness.