The Battle of Crowns

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟕

The storm had grown into a relentless symphony outside Alexander's private office, its thunderous growls rivaling the storm brewing within. This was not a room for discussions of pleasantries or idle strategies—it was a battlefield dressed in mahogany, marble, and shadow. When Alexander called a meeting here, it wasn't just a summons; it was a declaration of war.

The walls, rich with tapestries depicting the brutal history of Euphoria, seemed to absorb the tension, magnifying the unease. Lightning slashed the sky, briefly illuminating the crimson streaks running through the marble floor, a macabre tribute to Alexander's ruthless conquests. His obsidian desk loomed at the room's center, cluttered with maps, correspondence, and a goblet of untouched wine—a quiet symbol of his control over both the tangible and the untamed.

Alexander sat behind it like a predator waiting to strike, his blood-red eyes flickering with a volatile intensity. His black and crimson attire clung to his imposing frame, his damp hair casting shadows across his sharply angled face. The room smelled of leather, smoke, and the faint tang of blood—ominous and foreboding.

Anthony entered first, his movements calculated and deliberate, as if every step was part of a larger strategy. His piercing gaze swept the room before he took his seat to Alexander's left, his navy coat and silver-trimmed attire a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness surrounding him. He exuded an aura of control, but even he seemed to sense the tension thrumming in the air.

Vincent followed closely, his dark eyes narrowing as they flicked over every corner of the room, seeking threats where others saw only shadows. His charcoal tunic and gloves gave him an air of quiet authority, though the tension in his posture betrayed his readiness to act. He sat without a word, but his gaze lingered on Alexander longer than was comfortable.

And then, Sebastian strolled in. The very air seemed to shift with his arrival, his emerald-green tunic clinging to his lean frame, his dagger glinting at his side. He carried himself with an effortless arrogance, leaning against the edge of Alexander's desk instead of sitting. His smirk was sharp enough to cut glass.

"Let me guess," Sebastian drawled, his tone practically oozing sarcasm. "You've decided we're not all expendable after all. Shall we toast to your sudden epiphany, Alexander?"

Alexander's glare was colder than the storm outside. "Sit down, Sebastian," he said, his voice low and laced with menace.

Sebastian chuckled, sliding into his chair with a theatrical sigh. "Always such a charmer," he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Alexander ignored him, his gaze sweeping over the room. "I called you here," he began, his voice measured and commanding, "because the time for petty games is over. The kingdom's merging is no longer a distant threat—it's a reality bearing down on us. If we don't act now, we lose everything."

Vincent leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "And what exactly is your grand solution, Alexander? Threats without plans are just noise."

Sebastian smirked. "Oh, don't be so harsh, Vincent. Alexander loves his theatrics. Let him finish his monologue first."

"Enough," Anthony snapped, his tone sharp enough to silence even Sebastian. "Alexander wouldn't summon us without cause. Stop acting like a fool."

Sebastian raised his hands in mock surrender. "Ah, the voice of reason. How refreshing. But forgive me if I'm skeptical. Alexander's plans often involve us cleaning up his messes."

Alexander's fingers tightened around the edge of his desk, but his voice remained steady. "This isn't about personal grievances. Christian, Sky, and Ace have made their positions clear. They want unity. Peace. Weakness. And if they succeed, we'll be nothing more than relics of a fractured past."