Echoes of Dark Curse

CHAPTER THREE

The hall shattered into chaos.

Crimson banners trembled as the chandeliers above swayed dangerously, glass tinkling like warning bells. Shouts rose outside the windows, distant and growing—metal clashing with metal, screams splitting the air.

Orion stood first, his chair scraping across the marble. He reached for the ceremonial sword strapped across his back and drew it with a practiced sweep, the steel singing.

I rose to follow—but a hand gripped my arm.

Hard.

"Evangeline," my father's voice snapped—sharp, commanding. "Come."

Before I could reply, he yanked me toward him and away from Orion. My hand slipped from the table, my goblet crashing to the ground and spilling red wine like blood across the marble.

"Wait—" I gasped, turning over my shoulder.

Orion had stepped forward, sword in hand, shielding my retreat with his body. "I'll hold the front," he said tightly, never looking back.

At the far end of the hall, King Vesper lifted his hand.

"Clear the chamber!" he barked, his voice ringing like iron. "This is no time for diplomacy. Ready my legions and alert the city guard. Serenvale stands ready for war."

His knights moved swiftly, already forming a line along the exits. Courtiers scrambled to flee, robes dragging, faces pale with fear.

The entire castle was stirring.

Aurelian ran around the table, a long sword in his grip. His eyes darted across Father's face and mine, confused as everyone else of

"What's happening?" he demanded, chest heaving. "What do you need of me?"

Before the King could answer, another figure entered—General Thorne, his armor scorched and helm tucked beneath one arm. There was a gash above his brow, blood dripping into his beard.

"The southern wall is breached!" he reported grimly. "It's them, Your Majesty. The Berserks."

The word silenced even the clamor of metal.

My father froze for just a breath. His hand on my arm tightened.

"Take her," he said to Aurelian. "Now."

Aurelian blinked. "Father—?"

"Take Evangeline to the stables," King Alaric commanded, his voice hollow but firm. "Ride north. The path to Auroria should still be clear. You are to escort her there with as many knights as you can muster."

"I'm not leaving!" I cried, twisting in his grasp. "I won't leave you—"

"You must," he snapped.

"No! I won't run like a coward while our people—while you—"

His eyes met mine, dark with fury and something else beneath it. Fear. Not for himself. For me.

"You are not running. You are preserving what's left of us," he said, voice barely above a growl. "Go. Now."

Aurelian didn't wait for my tears. He grabbed my wrist and pulled.

We ran.

Through a corridor already licked with smoke. Through hallways I had walked in peace just hours before. My slippers slipped against marble slick with spilled wine, and my dress—too heavy, too tight—threatened to trip me at every step.

"I can't—" I choked, breath catching. "Aurelian, I can't—"

"You can," he snapped, dragging me harder. "And you will."