Morning sunlight spilled across the royal chambers, filtered through silk curtains embroidered with golden thread. The queen stirred, her eyes opening slowly. Her body ached, yet her lips curved faintly as memory returned. She reached to touch her neck, finding the skin smooth, unmarred.
The maids entered cautiously. They bowed, speaking softly, "Your Grace, you slept deeply. The king has not risen yet, but the princes await you in council."
The queen gave a gentle nod, her composure restored. "Leave me time to prepare. I will join them shortly."
The maids bowed again and withdrew.
What they did not know was that the chamber was not empty.
Behind a panel of carved stone, hidden within the wall, Noctis crouched in silence. The queen had revealed it to him during the night — a secret escape route known only to the royals, a passage carved centuries ago to shelter them in times of catastrophe.
Noctis had followed its path. It wound deep beneath the palace, its walls narrowing and then opening into a vast underground chamber. Columns of stone supported the ceiling, torches unlit but ready in sconces, the air stale yet untouched.
He stood at the center of the vast cavern, crimson-gold eyes gleaming. Perfect. None but royals know of this. None but I will use it. This will be my lair.
The space echoed faintly with his footsteps as he walked its perimeter. It was isolated, secure, and large enough to house whatever dominion he chose to build within.
Later, when he returned to the queen's chamber through the hidden panel, he leaned close to her ear, his voice low, commanding.
"You will find my three women," he said. "The ones at the inn. Bring them here. They are not servants. They are my guests. Treat them as such."
The queen bowed her head, crimson still faint in her cheeks. "Yes, Master."
Her words trembled not from fear but from a strange reverence, as though obedience was no longer compulsion but choice.
Noctis smiled faintly. He withdrew into the hidden passage once more, leaving her to rise and dress for the day.
Above, the palace stirred with politics. Below, in silence, his lair was claimed.
The queen entered the council chamber draped in silk and composure. Princes Kaelen and Ryvar stood at her side, each carrying their own temper: Kaelen calm and calculating, Ryvar restless and sharp. Courtiers whispered at her arrival, their voices hushed in respect.
She took her seat with practiced grace, the weight of her crown steady upon her brow.
"The cathedral insists the city is threatened," Kaelen said, hands clasped behind his back. "Hunters rove every street. Fear spreads faster than the truth."
Ryvar scoffed. "Then we show them strength. We put soldiers at every gate. If there is an enemy in our capital, let it bleed here."
The queen raised her hand, silencing both. "We will act with caution. The cathedral sees shadows in every corner. But it is not shadows that govern this city — it is us."
Her gaze sharpened, her tone softer only to herself. "There are… guests within the capital. Women who must be brought into the palace. Treat them as honored, not as prisoners. Have them escorted quietly, without question."
Kaelen studied her with narrowed eyes but said nothing. Ryvar shrugged, impatient, already eager to return to the barracks.
The queen's order was accepted. Arrangements began.
Beneath the palace, Noctis moved in silence.
The lair stretched wide — a cavern of stone threaded with veins of passage. His claws traced the walls as he walked, memorizing every path.
One tunnel sloped upward, the air warmer, the stone glowing faintly with sunlight bleeding through a narrow exit. Noctis followed, his sealed armor dissolving into mist as he stepped into the light.
The sun burned against his skin, a sharp sting. But his blood surged, and the Dawnshroud Vein pulsed within him. The pain dulled, restrained, unable to break his stride.
He breathed in deeply. No longer am I chained to shadow.
The fields beyond the capital spread before him. He stood tall beneath the sun, golden-crimson eyes glinting. Though faint pain lingered in his veins, it was nothing compared to his strength. He turned back, slipping once more into the earth, into his lair.
Passage after passage revealed itself. One curved into the cellar of the kitchens, barrels stacked high with grain and wine. Another branched into the princes' wing, narrow doors opening to chambers of silk and steel. A deeper path wound toward the king's private quarters. Others spiraled outward, each offering access to places unseen by guards or priests.
Noctis mapped them all in his mind. Every turn, every stair, every door.
This palace is a cage to those who live in it. To me, it is open veins.
When the time came, he would strike wherever he wished. None would see him coming.
The queen moved through the palace halls with quiet authority. Guards bowed as she passed, courtiers stepped aside, and her orders were carried without question. Iris, Clara, and Tina followed at her side, their cloaks removed, dressed in finer garments than they had ever worn. The weight of silks and the gleam of polished armor reminded them that they were no longer common travelers — they were guests within the royal palace.
The three women exchanged furtive glances as they crossed marble floors and saw the grandeur of the capital's heart. But they spoke nothing, only obeyed.
By nightfall, servants came to their chambers with word: Her Grace summons you to her quarters.
Meanwhile, Noctis emerged silently from the hidden passage. The stone panel shifted closed behind him as he stepped into the queen's chamber.
She was waiting. Her sleepwear clung loosely, revealing more than it concealed. When her eyes met his, she lowered her head, her voice trembling with reverence.
"Master. I have done as you commanded. The three women are here. They will come to me tonight."
Noctis smiled faintly, his claws brushing her chin as he lifted her gaze. Their eyes locked, and he kissed her. The queen gasped softly, then yielded, her hands wrapping around his neck, pulling herself into his embrace.
Moments later, the sound of footsteps echoed outside the chamber.
A knock followed.
"Enter," the queen called, her voice broken and heavy.
The door opened. Iris, Clara, and Tina stepped inside, cloaked in nervous silence. What they saw struck them motionless.
The queen was on her hands and knees upon the bed, silks in disarray, her body rocking under Noctis's firm grip. Her moans filled the chamber, raw and unrestrained. Noctis looked over his shoulder, golden-crimson eyes gleaming. A smile touched his lips.
"What are you standing there for?" His voice rolled like command. "Come."
As if hypnotized, the women obeyed. Their garments fell, silks sliding to the floor. They approached the bed in silence, the queen's cries rising until Tina silenced her with a kiss, her moans muffled and trembling.
The other two pressed close to Noctis, their bodies leaning against him, their lips meeting his.
The chamber dissolved into heat, whispers, and cries. The night of carnal lust began — five bodies, one will.
The queen outlasted them all. Neglected for years, her body burned with desperation and hunger, eager for every command, every touch. Iris, Clara, and Tina fell unconscious first, their breaths shallow, their bodies limp with exhaustion. Still, the queen endured, her voice hoarse with moans, her body trembling but unwilling to yield.
At last, Noctis drew her close, his fangs piercing her neck again. He drank deeply, the taste of sovereignty burning through his veins, reinforcing the royal branch within his Grid. The queen gasped, her body arching, her eyes rolling back from the overwhelming rush of pleasure and pain combined. She collapsed at last, unconscious, lips parted in silence.
Noctis rose slowly, his chest steady, his eyes glowing brighter than before. He turned inward, the Blood Grid alive before him. The Crown of Dominion pulsed stronger, its roots spreading deeper.
But a thought sharpened in his mind.
One queen is not enough. I need more royal blood.
His gaze flicked toward the unseen halls of the palace. The king, frail and sickly. The princes, strong but untested. Each a vein of sovereign blood waiting to be claimed.
His claws flexed, and his lips curved faintly.
They will be mine.
In the silence of the hidden lair, Noctis stood before the dark lattice of his Grid. The Crown of Dominion pulsed faintly, its branches demanding more blood, more sovereignty. His claws flexed as his decision formed.
The princes first. The king last.
He rose through the secret passage, each step measured.
The first chamber was lit faintly by a single lantern. Prince Ryvar slept on a broad bed, his armor cast aside in careless heaps, his blade leaning against the wall. Noctis stepped soundlessly to his side.
Golden-crimson eyes flared.
Skill: Binding Stare — Activated
Ryvar's eyes opened, but his body froze at once. His breath hitched, lips parting without sound. He stared upward as if drowning, mind trapped in unbreakable chains.
Noctis leaned low, fangs sliding into the prince's neck. Blood surged, hot and youthful, strong with the vitality of a warrior. Noctis drank deeply, then drew back, sealing the wound with a single touch. The skin smoothed, leaving no trace.
"Rest," he whispered. The command took hold. Ryvar's eyes closed, and his breath steadied once more.
The second chamber was tidier. Prince Kaelen lay in bed, scrolls scattered on the table beside him. His face was calm, even in sleep.
Noctis entered as shadow. His stare burned, and Kaelen's body stilled instantly.
Another bite. Another rush of royal blood. This time it carried the sharpness of intellect, the weight of command. He licked his lips, healing the mark with crimson essence, leaving no sign behind.
"Return to dreams," he commanded softly. Kaelen obeyed without resistance.
The final chamber lay deeper, guarded by silence. The king lay frail upon his bed, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Candles burned low at the edges, their light flickering across his gaunt face.
Noctis stood over him. The old lion. Blood weak, but still royal. Still valuable.
The Binding Stare bound him effortlessly — not that he had strength to resist. Noctis bent low and sank his fangs into the king's neck. The taste was thinner, but its resonance carried authority, legacy, the echo of generations.
He drank just enough to stir the Grid, then healed the wound. The king's breath continued, shallow but unchanged, as though nothing had touched him.
Noctis returned to the lair.
The Blood Grid erupted before his eyes. The Crown of Dominion surged brighter, its nodes reinforced by three veins of royal blood.
New skills pulsed open:
Royal Edict II — Commands issued to thralls or weak-willed mortals cannot be disobeyed. Duration extended.
Dominion Mantle — Passive aura that strengthens allies' obedience and weakens enemies' will to resist.
Crown's Shield — Creates a ward of sovereignty. Protects the user from control or binding effects.
Noctis's lips curved faintly as he studied them. Each node demanded more, but each node promised domination greater than before.
The queen had given him entry. The princes and king had given him power.
The palace was his now, even if none of them knew it.
In the silence of the hidden lair, Noctis stood before the dark lattice of his Grid. The Crown of Dominion pulsed faintly, its branches demanding more blood, more sovereignty. His claws flexed as his decision formed.
The princes first. The king last.
He rose through the secret passage, each step measured.
The first chamber was lit faintly by a single lantern. Prince Ryvar slept on a broad bed, his armor cast aside in careless heaps, his blade leaning against the wall. Noctis stepped soundlessly to his side.
Golden-crimson eyes flared.
Skill: Binding Stare — Activated
Ryvar's eyes opened, but his body froze at once. His breath hitched, lips parting without sound. He stared upward as if drowning, mind trapped in unbreakable chains.
Noctis leaned low, fangs sliding into the prince's neck. Blood surged, hot and youthful, strong with the vitality of a warrior. Noctis drank deeply, then drew back, sealing the wound with a single touch. The skin smoothed, leaving no trace.
"Rest," he whispered. The command took hold. Ryvar's eyes closed, and his breath steadied once more.
The second chamber was tidier. Prince Kaelen lay in bed, scrolls scattered on the table beside him. His face was calm, even in sleep.
Noctis entered as shadow. His stare burned, and Kaelen's body stilled instantly.
Another bite. Another rush of royal blood. This time it carried the sharpness of intellect, the weight of command. He licked his lips, healing the mark with crimson essence, leaving no sign behind.
"Return to dreams," he commanded softly. Kaelen obeyed without resistance.
The final chamber lay deeper, guarded by silence. The king lay frail upon his bed, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Candles burned low at the edges, their light flickering across his gaunt face.
Noctis stood over him. The old lion. Blood weak, but still royal. Still valuable.
The Binding Stare bound him effortlessly — not that he had strength to resist. Noctis bent low and sank his fangs into the king's neck. The taste was thinner, but its resonance carried authority, legacy, the echo of generations.
He drank just enough to stir the Grid, then healed the wound. The king's breath continued, shallow but unchanged, as though nothing had touched him.
When Noctis returned to the lair, the Blood Grid erupted. The Crown of Dominion glowed with violet-black fire, brighter than before.
System Notice[Royal Blood Integration Complete]New Skills Unlocked:
1. Sovereign's Voice — Any spoken command carries compulsion. Strong-willed foes resist with difficulty; weak minds obey without question.
2. Throne of Shadows — A conjured seat of dominion. While seated, essence regeneration increases by 50%, and allies under oath gain doubled strength.
3. Coronation Rite — Temporary evolution. For one hour, body and aura radiate sovereign force, suppressing lesser bloodlines and granting immunity to holy suppression.
Noctis stared at the lattice, his golden-crimson eyes gleaming. His claws flexed once, a faint smile curving across his lips.
Three new powers — born from one old, dying king.
He laughed softly to himself, the sound echoing across the stone.
The throne is mine already.
The hidden passage closed behind him, sealing the taste of royal blood deep in his veins. Noctis stepped once more into the queen's chamber.
The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp. On the bed, the queen and her companions lay together in slumber, their breaths even, their forms bare beneath tangled silks. Clara rested against the queen's shoulder. Iris and Tina curled closer to the foot, their faces calm in sleep.
Noctis lingered in the shadows, golden-crimson eyes narrowing, a smile cutting across his face. They sleep soundly, unaware of how tightly they are bound to me.
The Grid pulsed within him, its new branch glowing with sovereign power. His body burned, his lust rising once more, unquenched. He stepped forward, the bed shifting beneath his weight.
Through the night, the chamber filled with sound again.
First Iris, her soft moans breaking into gasps.Then Clara, her voice trembling, body arching beneath him.Tina followed, her cries sharp, clutching at the sheets.Last came the queen, whose long silence of neglect shattered into raw, desperate moans.
Each one stirred under his touch in turn, their voices rising one after another until the lamps burned out and the night gave way to dawn.
When morning came, silence returned.
The queen lay sprawled on the bed, her breath shallow, her body limp in sleep. Clara draped across her, their limbs entwined as if clinging for warmth. Iris sat slumped against the bedframe, eyes glazed and unconscious. Tina sprawled on the floor nearby, her body twitching faintly even in rest.
The chamber was a ruin — silks tangled, pillows strewn, the scent of their exhaustion heavy in the air.
The door creaked. A maid stepped inside, carrying a tray. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight before her — the queen and her companions in disarray, the room desecrated.
She turned to scream.
A hand clamped over her mouth.
She froze, terror flooding her gaze until golden-crimson light pierced her eyes. Her body slackened, will extinguished.
"Quiet," Noctis whispered.
Her body stilled.
"You will bring the others. All of them."
She nodded once, blank-eyed, and left.
Twenty minutes later, thirty-two maids stood in silence before him, eyes hollow, their wills erased.
Noctis surveyed them with cold satisfaction. "From now on, you will ignore everything that happens within this chamber. Obey well, and you will be rewarded."
Their answer came in unison, toneless: "Yes, Master."
His hunger stirred again.
"Half of you may return to your duties. The rest… remain."
Cloth slipped from their bodies, soundlessly.
Noctis licked his lips, laughter low and cruel.
Then the chamber filled with sound once more — moans rising one by one, echoing against the stone walls until the entire room trembled.
The queen stirred first. Her lashes fluttered, her breath shallow, her body trembling with exhaustion. When her eyes opened, the memory of the night before was not confusion, but acceptance. She turned her head toward the side of the bed.
Clara lay draped across her, limp and still, her chest rising and falling in unsteady rhythm. Iris had pulled herself halfway up, slumped against the bedframe, her gaze unfocused, lips parted in silent breath. Tina sprawled at the foot, twitching faintly even in sleep, her hands clutching at the silks as though still dreaming.
The chamber was quiet, but the air was heavy, saturated with their shared surrender.
Noctis was nowhere in sight, but his presence lingered. They felt it in the ache of their bodies, in the weight upon their minds, in the whispers of command that had already rooted in their souls.
The queen turned her face into the pillow and whispered a single word. "Master…"
Across the city, bells tolled once more.
The cathedral's sanctum was filled with smoke and prayer, the priests bent in frustration. "The shadow remains," one hissed. "We feel it, but it is veiled. It hides itself beneath sanctity. We are made fools."
Hunters reported in, their armor scarred with dust and filth. "We scoured the markets. We searched the quarter. Nothing."
A high priest struck the table with his staff. "Then go lower. He hides beneath us. Into the sewers, into the cellars, into the forgotten veins of this city. Leave no stone untouched."
By dusk, torches lit the underbelly of the capital. Hunters waded through the sewers, zealots pressed relics against wet stone walls. Rats scattered before them. Filth clung to their boots.
Still, they found nothing.
The presence remained, heavy but unreachable, like a storm cloud that never broke.
Noctis moved through the hidden passages beneath the palace, his golden-crimson eyes gleaming in the dark. He heard the muffled bells, felt the stir of holy light far above. He smiled.
They search in filth while I walk among their kings.
The cathedral would scour the city, but their hands would never reach the throne.