Chapter 230
“So this… is Prince Edward’s crest,” Anton Trillo said softly, his tone carrying an unexpected reverence.
The air in the mausoleum shifted, as Anton lifted his chin even higher. The arrogance around him doubled.
He stared at the ancient symbol as though looking at something so powerful.
Then he unlocked his phone and opened his gallery.
A moment later, a beam of light flashed across the chamber wall.
The device projected a crystal-clear image beside Prince Edward’s portrait.
His phone was one of the newest flagship products released by The Obsidian, the technology company owned by Ares—powerful enough to function as a portable high-definition projector.
The image stabilized.
It was a ring.
A heavy black signet ring carved from obsidian-like metal, its surface polished smooth despite its apparent age. At its center was the exact same circular crest engraved into the prince’s mural.
The Red Wolf.
Every line.
Every curve.
Every intricate carving was identical.
“This heirloom,” Anton said quietly, “has been passed down from father to son… to the firstborn male of every generation in our family p>
The moment the image fully illuminated the wall, stunned silence swept through the chamber.
Then, the collective gasps.
“Holy shit p>
Philip Hardy’s voice echoed loudly through the tomb.
The usually refined historian had completely forgotten his composure.
Grace Varona covered her mouth.
“Could it be she whispered, unable to finish the thought forming in her mind.
“Look at the carving,” Philip said, stepping closer to the projection like a man possessed. “The detailing… they’re exactly the same p>
His breathing quickened with excitement.
“This isn’t coincidence p>
Governor Sanchez slowly turned toward Anton, awe written plainly across his face.
“Anton he murmured. “Could you truly be a descendant of the Fifth Prince p>
The governor glanced toward Prince Edward’s mural once more.
“No wonder you said you felt drawn to this place,” he continued. “No wonder you stood here for so long earlier p>
The atmosphere inside the tomb shifted instantly.
The possibility alone was enough to send chills through everyone present.
A surviving bloodline of Emperor Alaric.
A direct descendant of Azuverda’s lost royalty.
History itself seemed to tremble beneath their feet.
“Where is the ring now, Mr. Trillo?” Philip asked eagerly. “Can we examine it p>
Anton smiled faintly, clearly enjoying the attention.
“I already mentioned it earlier,” he replied. “It’s secured inside a private bank vault p>
There was unmistakable pride in his voice now.
As though carrying the blood of kings elevated him above everyone else in the room.
But while the others stared at Anton with amazement, Lara remained silent.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the projected image on the wall.
A faint crease formed between her brows.
Indeed, many royal crests from Azuverda’s era had once been forged into signet rings, military emblems, ceremonial buttons, and noble seals. Unlike parchment or cloth, metal could survive centuries.
It was entirely possible.
After meeting the Zuvels and the Nades, Lara had already begun piecing together the truth.
Emperor Alaric’s descendants had survived the purge.
Not as royalty. Not as nobles. But as scattered remnants forced to abandon their lineage—children who took their mothers’ surnames or buried their identities beneath entirely new names just to survive.
So could Anton Trillo truly be descended from Alaric p>
From her?
The thought should not have unsettled her.
Yet something inside her tightened painfully.
A strange heaviness settled in her chest.
Earlier, when Anton first approached her, she had already felt an inexplicable resistance toward him.
Now that feeling had become even stronger.
And what disturbed her most p>
Why… was her reaction toward Anton so different?
The question echoed endlessly inside Lara’s mind as the others continued discussing the signet ring with growing excitement.
When she met Amelia and Shay, she had not felt this discomfort. If anything, she had been instinctively drawn to them. Especially Shay.
The little girl’s bright eyes, stubborn innocence, and unguarded affection reminded Lara so painfully of Althea as a child that sometimes it became difficult to breathe.
There were moments when Shay laughed and, for the briefest second, Lara could almost see the little princess running through the palace gardens again beneath the golden light of Azuverda sky.
And Ares p>
Despite his coldness, despite the suspicion he initially directed toward her, Lara never hated him.
She understood caution.
A man like him did not survive by trusting easily.
Even Asher, with his sharp tongue and unreadable smiles, never stirred hostility within her. In fact, becoming friend him seemed so natural.
But Anton Trillo p>
The moment he appeared, something deep inside her recoiled.
Not from fear nor discomfort but from resentment.
A deep, instinctive resentment she could neither explain nor suppress.
Her gaze remained fixed on the projected crest glowing against the ancient wall.
The Red Wolf. It symbolized Prince Edward’s bloodline.
Could Anton truly be descended from the Kromwels?
But the crest, even if it was not fake, could fall into the wrong hands.
Because p>
Why did her soul reject Anton so strongly? He even reminded her of that despicable Turik.
A sudden voice seemed to cut through the storm inside her mind. It was cold, sharp and merciless.
Remember. In this life, you are a full-blooded Norse. The words struck her like icy water.
You are not related to the Kromwels in any way. You should not be biased. Think logically.
Lara’s fingers curled slightly at her sides.
For a brief moment, silence consumed her thoughts.
Then—
No!
The answer rose from somewhere far deeper than logic.
A place untouched by blood, time, or death itself.
No.
Even if this body carries Norse blood… My soul is part of the Kromwels.
A faint ache spread through her chest.
Because she knew she knew it with terrifying certainty.
My spirit…is one with Alaric and still a Kromwel.
She could feel it. The connection. The grief.
The loyalty carved into her existence across two lifetimes.
No matter what name she carried now p>
No matter what blood flowed through her veins p>
Some part of her still belonged to the fallen empire buried beneath this mausoleum.