Before Nauthizia could respond, the distant sound of horses’ hooves echoed through the castle’s courtyard. She turned sharply, her heightened senses catching the faint murmur of voices. She moved to the window, her eyes narrowing as she saw a company of armored men assembling outside the gates. Their white surcoats, emblazoned with the symbol of the cross, gleamed in the morning sun.

“Paladins,” Constantine said from behind her, his tone grim. “They’ve come for you.”

Nauthizia’s lips curled into a snarl, her fangs glinting. “And who leads them?”

Constantine’s gaze flicked to the leader of the group—a man clad in ornate armor, a golden cross hanging prominently from his neck. His voice was laced with contempt as he said, “The Metropolitan himself.”

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Nauthizia’s glowing eyes flared as she turned away from the window. “So the Church thinks it can rid itself of me and claim my throne.”

“They want to install him as the new king of Wallachia,” Constantine said, his voice darkening. “This is a coup.”

Nauthizia’s laugh was low and dangerous, her fingers curling into fists. “Let them come,” she said, her voice cold and resolute. “If the Church wants a war, I’ll show them the wrath of Dracula.”

Constantine’s spectral form flickered faintly, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. “Don’t underestimate them. They’ve come prepared.”

“Let them try,” Nauthizia growled, her voice rising. “Wallachia is mine. And I will show them what it means to challenge a monster.”

As the paladins approached the gates, the shadows of the castle seemed to deepen, as though the very walls were preparing for battle. Nauthizia stood tall, her glowing eyes blazing as she prepared to defend her kingdom—and her identities—against those who sought to destroy Dracula.