The following night, the air in Bloodmoor was thick with anticipation. The grand hall, once filled with intrigue and whispers, had now become the stage for Alexi’s next move. The ritual was set to begin soon, and the court had gathered in full force, their faces masked with careful neutrality. Nobles lined the chamber, watching with bated breath as the relics from the Crimson Vault were placed at the center of the room, each artifact gleaming with the promise of power.

Lady Selene stood near the front, her posture calm and poised, though her eyes flickered with something darker as she watched the proceedings. Her support for Alexi had shifted the balance of power in his favor, but everyone knew that her allegiance was fragile.

Marcellus, ever watchful, stood close to Alexi, his eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble. The tension was palpable, and though the court remained outwardly composed, Alexi knew that every noble in attendance was waiting for Vasilis to make his move.

As the ceremony began, Alexi stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd. The relics before him hummed with ancient magic, their power tangible even from a distance. He raised Vasilis’s stolen dagger, its runes glowing faintly in the dim light of the hall.

"Tonight," Alexi began, his voice carrying across the room, "we gather to strengthen the bonds of this kingdom. The relics of the first-bloods are not merely objects of the past—they are the foundation of our future. With this ritual, I will bind their power to my bloodline, ensuring that Bloodmoor stands strong against any who seek to destroy it."

The crowd remained silent, their eyes fixed on the dagger in Alexi’s hand. But Alexi could feel the undercurrents of suspicion and greed that flowed through the room. This ritual was more than just a display of power—it was a declaration of dominance.

Just as Alexi prepared to begin the ritual, a loud crash echoed through the hall. The grand doors at the far end of the chamber were flung open, and there, standing in the doorway with a look of pure fury, was Vasilis.

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He stormed into the hall, flanked by a small group of his most loyal supporters. His pale features were twisted in rage, and his eyes locked onto the dagger in Alexi’s hand.

"How dare you!" Vasilis snarled, his voice filled with venom. "That dagger belongs to me—passed down through my bloodline for generations. You have no right to wield it!"

The court erupted into murmurs, the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface now boiling over. Alexi remained calm, though his eyes flashed with cold intensity as he met Vasilis’s gaze.

"You forfeited that right the moment you chose to betray this kingdom," Alexi said, his voice low but dangerous. "You aligned yourself with the fae Prince, seeking to hand Bloodmoor over to an enemy who would see us all destroyed."

Vasilis’s eyes burned with hatred. "You are the one leading us to ruin, Alexi. You cannot even produce an heir to secure your bloodline. You cling to the past while our enemies grow stronger every day."

Alexi stepped forward, his voice filled with authority. "The fae Prince doesn’t care about your ambitions, Vasilis. He will use you to weaken this kingdom and then discard you once you’ve served your purpose. Bloodmoor will not fall to you—or to him."

Vasilis sneered, his hands clenching into fists. "You’re a fool, Alexi. A relic of a dying age. Bloodmoor’s future lies with those strong enough to seize it, not with a lord who clings to the power of the past."

As Vasilis’s words echoed through the hall, the air seemed to thicken, and Alexi could feel the eyes of the court shifting once more. The stakes had never been higher. The nobles watched with rapt attention, caught in the tension between two men who each sought to define the future of Bloodmoor.

"Then let’s end this," Alexi said, his voice like steel. "Here, now. You claim to be stronger than me—prove it."

For a brief moment, Vasilis hesitated. He had not expected Alexi to challenge him so openly, but the fury in his eyes quickly overpowered his caution. With a snarl, he drew his sword, its blade gleaming in the flickering torchlight.

The room fell deathly silent as Alexi stepped forward, the dagger still in his hand. He met Vasilis’s gaze with cold determination, knowing that this confrontation would determine the fate of his kingdom.

And as the tension in the room reached its breaking point, the shadows in the corners of the hall seemed to stir. Zephyrion’s influence was there, lurking just beyond sight, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.