Princess Of The Skulls - Chapter 37: Chapter 37

The cathedral had become a charnel house where the dead fought, shadow and steel sang against supernatural claw. My newly risen army of corpses moved with jerky, unnatural movements, but they felt no pain and knew no fear. They grappled with my father's shadow-creatures while the living survivors pressed against the walls, too terrified to flee.
"Impossible," my father breathed, his face gone white beneath the blood spatters. "You're not strong enough to command so many dead."
"I'm stronger than you ever imagined," I replied, feeling the intoxicating rush of necromantic power flowing through my veins. Each corpse I controlled was like an extension of my own body, their movements guided by my will. "Strong enough to end this."
But even as I spoke, I could feel the magic taking its toll. Commanding the dead required a piece of my life force for each corpse, and I was sustaining nearly two dozen animated bodies. The power was burning through me like acid, aging me with every passing second.
More, my grandfather's voice whispered. Draw more power. Take what you need from the living.
Around me, the survivors of our battle—Aldric, Kael, our loyal soldiers—all possessed the life energy I could drain to fuel my magic. It would be so easy to reach out and take what I needed, to sacrifice a few lives to save the kingdom.
But as I looked at Aldric, I saw the trust and admiration in his eyes despite the horror surrounding us, and I realized what my grandfather was truly offering. Not just power, but corruption. The same path that had led the previous Skull Kings to their downfall.
"No," I said aloud, and my grandfather's laughter echoed through my mind.
Then you will fall, as all the weak fall. Your enemies will triumph, and your kingdom will burn.
Maybe. But I would fall as myself, not as some twisted reflection of what I'd once been.
I released my hold on half the corpses, letting them collapse back into true death. The sudden reduction in magical drain left me staggering, but still functional. Still fighting.
My father seized on my moment of weakness, directing his shadow-creatures in a coordinated assault.
They flowed around my remaining zombies and came straight for me, claws extended and eyes blazing with hunger.
Kael appeared at my side, his twin daggers spinning in complex patterns that somehow managed to wound the incorporeal attackers. "Whatever you're doing," he shouted over the sounds of supernatural combat, "do it faster!"
"Working on it," I gasped, raising my blade to meet another shadow-creature's attack.
But I wasn't working on anything. I was dying by degrees, my life force spent keeping the dead animated while fighting creatures that barely belonged to this world. We were going to lose, and everyone in this cathedral was going to die because I'd been too proud to accept the full extent of my heritage.
Then Aldric was beside me, his sword blazing with golden light that made the shadow-creatures recoil.
"Seraphina," he said urgently, "bind us."
"What?"
"The wedding ritual—it was interrupted, not completed. The magical energies are still here, still seeking connection." His blade carved through a shadow-creature, dispersing it back to whatever realm it had crawled from. "Bind our life forces together, share the burden."
Of course. The binding ritual hadn't been designed just to make me a willing sacrifice—it had been meant to create a magical connection that could be used to channel power. But instead of my father using it to control my death, I could use it to amplify my life.
I reached out with my necromantic senses, finding the threads of energy that still connected us from the interrupted ceremony. With desperate precision, I wove them tighter, creating a true soul-bond between myself and Aldric.
Power flooded through me—not the cold, corrupting force my grandfather offered, but something warm and clean and infinitely renewable. Aldric's life force flowed into me, while mine flowed into him, creating a feedback loop that multiplied our strengths.
The remaining corpses jerked upright with renewed vigor, their movements becoming smoother and more coordinated. But more importantly, I could feel new magic building—not necromancy, but something that combined my death-touched power with Aldric's innate sorcery.
"Impossible," my father snarled, his shadow-creatures wavering as they felt the change in magical pressure. "You cannot bind light and darkness!"
"Watch me," I replied.
Together, Aldric and I raised our hands toward the creatures of living shadow. Golden light and silver darkness intertwined, creating something entirely new—a force that was neither life nor death, but the balance between them.
The shadow-creatures didn't just disperse. They screamed as our combined magic tore them apart, sending their essence back to whatever abyss had spawned them. My father's spell shattered like glass, the backlash sending him to his knees.
"It's over," I said, walking toward him with measured steps. My blade was steady in my hand, no longer trembling with exhaustion. "Surrender, and I might let you live to see exile."
He looked up at me with eyes full of hatred and bitter pride. "I am Magnus Blackthorne, tenth of that name, keeper of the ancient pacts. I do not surrender to pretender queens."
"Then you die as a king," I said simply, and drove my sword through his heart.
As his blood pooled on the altar stones, I felt the last of the old magic dissipating. The binding seals he'd maintained through decades of dark sorcery were broken, but the forces they'd contained weren't escaping—they were being absorbed into the soul-bond between Aldric and me.
We would be their new guardians, their new prison. Not through slavery and sacrifice, but through the willing partnership of equals.
The cathedral fell silent except for the moans of the wounded and the whispered prayers of the terrified. I looked around at the destruction, at the nobles cowering against blood-splattered walls, at the bodies of friend and foe alike.
"Long live the Queen," Kael said quietly, dropping to one knee.
One by one, the survivors followed his example until the entire cathedral echoed with the words that would reshape two kingdoms.
"Long live the Queen".