The Shadow Queen Is Too Alluring—I Can't Handle This Anymore!
Chapter 82: The Betrayer Wears Your Face

Chapter 82: Chapter 82: The Betrayer Wears Your Face

Lyra froze mid-step.

Before her stood a figure cloaked in obsidian armor laced with gold, his face concealed behind a visor of cracked glass. The moment her gaze met his, a strange electricity sizzled in the air—not danger... recognition.

Zero-One lifted his gunblade, his stance defensive. "That’s not just another Court emissary..."

"No," Lyra whispered, heart hammering. "That’s—"

The stranger removed his helm.

The entire Shadow Keep seemed to gasp.

Because the man who stood before her—

Had her face.

Not exactly. But close enough to see the bone structure, the gaze, the familiar arch of a defiant brow.

It was like staring into a warped mirror that showed not your reflection, but the possibility of who you could’ve been—had everything gone wrong.

"He looks like me," Lyra’s mind reeled, "if my soul had grown twisted in the dark instead of burned for justice."

The figure smiled coldly.

"I go by the name Ashen Lyric. And I am the Heir Apparent of the Abyssal Bloodline—your bloodline, as it should have been."

His voice was a blade dipped in honey—smooth, sweet, but dripping poison with every syllable.

And when he moved, shadows parted like curtains afraid of displeasing their true master.

The Court of Mirrors had sent their ace.

And he wore her lineage like a crown of thorns—proud, painful, and beautiful in its destruction.

Ashen Lyric’s gaze swept over the kneeling Lords of the Shadow Court.

"Tch. You bend the knee to this half-blood hatchling?"

Varnok snarled, his blade scraping stone. "Mind your tongue. She carries the First Queen’s blood. You are but a side branch—twisted and forgotten."

"And yet I stand," Ashen Lyric said, stepping forward, "while your Queen still questions who she is."

He raised a single gloved hand.

"Let me show you who she’s meant to be."

The shadows in the chamber responded—to him. Not fully, but just enough to feel like a slap in the face.

Part of her wanted to prove him wrong, to draw her blade and cut down this arrogant imposter.

But another part—

A dangerous part—

Wanted to listen.

What if he wasn’t wrong?

What if she was the splinter, the deviation, the broken inheritance?

Suddenly, a burst of memory surged into her mind—unbidden, violent.

She saw a younger version of the First Queen, cradling twin infants.One glowing with silver light.The other wreathed in black flame.

The Queen whispered, "One will rule the shadows. The other will try to save them."

Then—a scream, and the vision shattered.

Ashen Lyric lunged.

His blade sang—a haunting aria of ten thousand deaths. Lyra parried, barely, the clash of steel ringing like war bells across the chamber.

The Shadow Lords scattered as the duel began.

Zero-One tried to intervene, but Varnok held him back. "This is not our fight. This is their blood’s reckoning."

Steel met steel.Shadow met shadow.

Their movements were mirrors—synchronized, perfect, inevitable.

Every strike from Ashen Lyric wasn’t just an attack—it was an accusation.

You were never meant to lead.You were the broken heir.You forgot your purpose.You diluted the bloodline with weakness.

And each time she blocked, Lyra felt the weight of her ancestors behind her—not always supportive.

Sometimes... disappointed.

When he slashed down with killing intent, something inside her snapped.

No.

She was done doubting.

With a roar, Lyra unleashed a torrent of shadowfire—black flames kissed with lightning that shattered the floor and sent Ashen Lyric skidding backward.

Her voice echoed with something ancient, something royal.

"You mistake compassion for weakness.But I am the heir who chose humanity over cruelty."

Ashen Lyric stood, laughing.

"So be it," he said. "But know this, Lyra the Reluctant—your mercy will be your undoing."

He vanished in a swirl of smoke, but not before tossing a crystal shard to the ground. It cracked, releasing a spectral image of a battlefield—dozens of shadow-aligned kingdoms falling under siege.

"I’ve already begun," his voice echoed. "Let’s see if your throne survives long enough for you to claim it."

Lyra picked up the shard.

Her hands trembled.

War had begun.

And her first battle... might not be against invaders.

But against herself.

Lyra sat rigid on her obsidian throne, fingers clenched tight around the cold armrests. Her silver eyes swept across the Shadow Court’s hall, no longer soft with doubt—but sharp, like a blade that had tasted blood.

Behind her, the battlefield illusion still pulsed from the crystal Ashen Lyric had left, showing shadows burning, alliances crumbling, and one truth echoing louder than any scream:

"There’s a traitor among us."

The room was silent.

Then—

"My Queen..." Varnok stepped forward, bowing low, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease. "We suspect the leak came from within. Your inner circle."

It was a poison that always started from the inside, wasn’t it? Not the enemy outside the gate, but the whisper beside the throne. The hand that helped you dress... could also hold the blade to your back.

Lyra’s thoughts spiraled.

Who had access to the battle plans? Who knew the exact timing of the army’s formation? Who stood close enough... to twist the knife?

She had trusted too quickly.

And now, her kingdom would bleed for it.

The throne room, once her place of ascension, now felt like a coffin—a box of shadows pressing in from all directions. Every echo of footsteps was a possible betrayal. Every bowed head, a potential executioner.

And yet—she couldn’t flinch.

Queens did not cry. Queens did not doubt.

Queens crushed betrayal with smoke and fire.

Zero-One’s voice broke the silence. "Your Majesty, we intercepted a soul shard transmission. It was routed through the north tower—your personal advisor’s wing."

All eyes turned to Mistress Aelira, the elegant woman draped in midnight-blue silks, known for her quiet counsel and unmatched knowledge of ancient magicks.

Her expression didn’t change.

She simply tilted her head.

And smiled.

"Finally," she murmured. "It’s exhausting pretending loyalty for this long."

Gasps erupted through the hall.

"You—" Lyra rose from her throne, shadows swirling around her feet like awakened serpents. "You sold us to the Abyssal Court?"

Aelira’s smile deepened. "No, my Queen. I sold you. Because I remember what the Shadow Queen once was. Not this fragile girl who hesitates to kill, who doubts herself at every turn."

"You think mercy is a weakness. But that’s what makes me different," Lyra hissed.

"Exactly." Aelira’s voice dripped venom. "That’s what makes you unworthy."

The words echoed, cruel and cutting.

They weren’t just insults.

They were confirmation—of every fear Lyra had buried deep inside.

As Aelira was dragged away, she whispered one last thing:

"The Obsidian Codex is still sealed beneath the throne. Open it. And you’ll become more than a shadow heir... You’ll become eternal."

The name of the forbidden relic coiled around Lyra’s mind like a serpent around the neck—tight, persuasive, impossible to ignore.

She had always sworn she’d never use it.