CHAPTER 551: ZURA’S DOOM

The moon of Zura hung high above the palace towers, its pale light pouring through silken drapes and pooling across the marble floors of the Princess’s bed. The scent of roses and lavender, once comforting, now mingled with something strange, sweet yet acrid. Every maid lay sprawled on the marble floor, motionless, candles guttering out one by one.

Lireya stirred in her sleep, a restless frown forming between her brows. Her dreams had been filled with shadows—faces she could not name, eyes that gleamed with hate.

A faint click broke the silence.

The door opened a fraction, and a figure slipped through, a woman draped in a black cloak that shimmered faintly like silk soaked in moonlight. She moved with the grace of someone used to silence, her breath steady, her eyes cold. The faint trace of perfume she wore—violets and smoke—lingered as she crossed the threshold.

Lireya’s eyes snapped open.

For a heartbeat, confusion clouded her gaze. She was still half drunk from all the wine she drunk earlier. A blade glinted before her, inches from her chest. Her foggy mind cleared as fear engulfed her.

"Assassin!" she gasped, her voice hoarse. She pushed herself up, the silken sheets tangling around her arms.

The sword pressed deeper, its tip biting into her skin.

"Guards! Guards—!"

Her cry turned into a strangled breath as the blade drew a thin line of crimson down her bodice.

"Who are you?" Lireya whispered, her voice trembling between command and dread.

Slowly, she lowered her hood then tilted her head. The flickering candlelight revealed her face—sharp, beautiful, and familiar. Lireya’s breath caught in her throat.

The assassin’s lips curved into a humorless smile. "Since you’re dying, Your Highness, I will grant you that truth."

"It’s you," Lireya whispered, disbelief warring with recognition. "Mira."

Mira’s eyes were dark and gleaming, her expression unreadable. "Yes. It’s me."

Lireya tried to keep her voice steady. "You’ll never escape. The palace is full of guards. You’ll be hunted down before you reach the gates."

"Still arrogant, even with death staring you in the face," Mira murmured. She trailed the edge of her sword along Lireya’s cheek, leaving a thin white mark. "Do you remember Estalis? The dungeon where you threw and tortured me?"

Lireya’s eyes flared with recollection.

"Ah, so you remember," Mira said, her voice trembling with fury and satisfaction. "I remember every moment in the dungeon, every lash, every humiliation. Now, I return the favor."

With a vicious kick, she drove Lireya back against the bedpost. The princess gasped as Mira spat at her face.

"How dare you treat me like this!" Lireya shouted, choking on her pride. "I am the eldest princess of Zura!"

Mira laughed. It was low and bitter. She pulled Lireya by the hair and dragged her off the bed.

"Kneel and beg me!" Mira’s voice oozed with hostility. She kicked her to force her to her knees.

Then she reached into her cloak and pulled out a piece of cloth, its stench sharp enough to make the air curdle, and shoved it into Lireya’s mouth.

Lireya retched, her eyes wide with horror as tears streamed down her cheeks. The foul taste burned her tongue, and every breath came as a ragged gasp. Mira watched her struggle with detached fascination, the faintest trace of a smile curling her lips.

"Look at you. How pitiful. Where did all your arrogance go?" Mira whispered, leaning close enough that Lireya could feel her breath, "Now you understand what it means to choke on your own disgust."

The princess whimpered, her chest heaving. Outside, the clamor of boots and shouts echoed through the corridor—the guards, finally closing in.

Lireya seized the fleeting chance, her muffled voice breaking through the soaked gag. "Please... don’t kill me," she gasped. "I can give you gold—more than you could ever spend."

Mira’s smile deepened. The candlelight flickered across her face, carving shadows that made her look sinister.

She dragged the blade lightly across Lireya’s chest, the steel whispering against skin. Blood welled up, dark and glistening, soaking the tainting her night gown.. She gasped and clutched at the wound, her breath catching in pain and fear.

"Do you think I’m a fool?" Mira hissed, straightening. "When you’re dead, everything in that chest will still be mine to take."

Lireya’s eyes blazed with fury and despair. "You...!" she tried to scream, but the sound was swallowed by the cloth and the pounding of footsteps drawing ever nearer.

Mira only smiled again—quiet, cruel, victorious.

The sound of running footsteps grew louder.

Mira glanced toward the door and smirked. "How fortunate for you, Your Highness. I could have made you suffer more but time is running out. Death will be your reprieve."

She drew her hand back, and with one swift motion, thrust into Lireya’s chest without holding back. Blood blossomed against the white linen like a crimson flower as Mira vanished into the darkness.

...

The moment General Turik and his men reached the queen’s boudoir, the stench of blood met them before they even crossed the threshold.

Inside, the scene was a nightmare.

Queen Miranda lay sprawled across her silken bed, her once elegant gown drenched scarlet. A dagger jutted from her chest, buried deep between her breasts. Her eyes stared upward—wide, glassy, and unblinking—as if frozen in disbelief at the betrayal that had claimed her. The golden tiara still rested askew in her hair, gleaming mockingly beneath the dim candlelight.

Turik stood motionless, his breath catching in his throat. Around him, the other generals exchanged horrified glances. None dared speak.

Elsewhere in the palace, a similar horror unfolded. In the Crown Prince’s residence, the guards found nothing but silence and death. The prince’s body lay slumped beside his shattered goblet, crimson wine mingling with his blood. The nursery beyond was a massacre—a tiny shape still beneath blood-soaked sheets.

In a single night, the royal family of Zura had been annihilated. King Roman’s bloodline—men, women, and children—was wiped from existence.

"What a tragedy," whispered an old minister, his voice trembling. "Zura is doomed."

General Turik’s jaw clenched, his grief twisting into fury. "This is the doing of Northem!" he roared. "They seek vengeance—for Lara Norse. Curse them all!"

Another general struck the wall with his fist, his voice breaking. "How vile... how utterly merciless! Never in our history has Zura been so shamed!"

"Enough!" Turik barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Now is not the time for mourning or blame." He turned sharply toward the guards. "We must find the assassins—before they flee the palace."

He pointed to one of his commanders. "Zamree! Lock down the gates. No one enters, no one leaves. Interrogate every servant, every guard and guest. Bring me someone alive to answer for this."

"Yes, Supreme General!" Commander Zamree snapped a salute, then turned and shouted for his men. The echo of boots and clanking armor filled the hall as soldiers raced toward the palace gates.

Turik lingered behind, his gaze falling once more on Queen Miranda’s lifeless form. What a waste of beauty!