When Does Lady Macbeth Die

"I, Alpha Dante Moretti, don't want your money. I want your name. And I want you." Julian Vane was the "Golden Prince" of the city until his family's empire was burned to the ground. In a single night, he went from a King to a prisoner, sold by his own brothers to settle a blood debt with their greatest enemy: Dante "The Butcher" Moretti. Dante is cold, ruthless, and obsessed with control. He forces Julian into a "Blood Marriage, a vow that makes Julian his property. The plan was simple: break the Prince, take the Vane family secrets, and discard the remains. But Julian is no longer the pampered heir they remember. Betrayed by his blood and caged by a monster, Julian discovers a darkness within himself that matches Dante’s own. As the line between hate and obsession blurs, the "Golden Prince" must decide if he will kill the man who owns him, or rule the underworld by his side. In a world of silver-plated guns and red-stained silk, Julian will learn that silence is a weapon, and Dante will realize that he didn't just buy a husband, he invited a predator into his bed. "You can own my body, Dante. But if you touch my soul, I’ll make sure yours is the first one I send to hell."

Because I saved my husband during a car accident, I lost my eyesight. He wept, promising to treat me well for the rest of our lives to repay my sacrifice. I cooperated with the treatment wholeheartedly, hoping for a full recovery. But on the day I finally regained my sight, I stumbled upon something that shattered my world. In our marital home, his first love lay beneath him, her flushed face betraying the passion of the moment. Their bodies intertwined, and the air around them thick with stifled moans—a vivid tableau of infidelity. "She's just a blind woman. Why haven't you divorced her yet?" the woman murmured impatiently, her voice laced with disdain as she moved against him. My husband, immersed in pleasure, still mumbled an excuse. "My love, just a little longer. Soon, we'll be together openly…" I turned and left without a word, pretending I had seen nothing. As I walked away, I remembered the witch's sacrificial ritual in the misty forest—only a few days away. My husband's betrayal cut deep, carving wounds I couldn't ignore. I made up my mind to return to the forest, to embrace my identity as a witch once more, and to sever all ties with him. Yet, after I disappeared, word reached me that he was searching for me everywhere like a madman. Rumor had it he had completely lost his mind.

Seer Corvyn once foretold that House Ashveil would produce a daughter who could see the future. I hid the birthmark I was born with on my forehead, yet my younger sister painted a vivid mark on her forehead every single day. Then, a royal decree came, naming her the Crown Prince, Prince Caelen’s fiancée, and I married Prince Aldric, just like I had wanted. For the next five years, I used my ability to foresee the future to help Aldric rise to power. On the night he ascended the throne, I finally wiped away the layers of makeup and told him my secret. However, instead of relief, he flew into a rage. He carved the flesh from my forehead and had me executed. “Leanora, how dare you imitate Rosalind’s birthmark? If you hadn’t chosen me first, she would never have been forced to marry Caelen! She should have been my true queen! For five years, every moment I touched you has disgusted me. You shall die in her place.” When I opened my eyes again, Aldric burst in, cutting off Seer Corvyn mid-sentence. “How can a mark prove that Rosalind is the chosen one?” “I’m willing to use the blank royal decree Father once granted me to marry the Lord Chancellor’s illegitimate daughter, Rosalind Ashveil.”

The Clan Healer told me that without the vial of Progenitor's Blood, the Blood Blight afflicting me meant I had only seventy-two hours to live. But my husband, Miles, the new Duke of our world, gave the only vial of the precious cure to my adopted sister, Vivienne, the woman I had turned three years ago. "She's in agony from the rejection, Isolde. It's a pain you can't possibly understand." His tone was self-righteous, devoid of any concern for the patch of skin on my collarbone already turning to stone. I nodded, watching as the life-saving, dark red liquid slid down another woman's throat. I accomplished a great deal in the time I had left. As I signed the documents, the lawyer's hand trembled. "Are you certain you want to transfer everything, Your Grace? The territorial rights of a thousand-year-old clan..." I didn't hesitate. "Yes. To Vivienne." My adopted daughter, Lily, the girl I had risked everything to save, who was now forever frozen at the age of eight, cowered in Vivienne's arms, pointing at me and screaming, "Aunt Vivienne is my real mommy! You're the witch who turned us into monsters!" I offered no defense. "Yes, that's right. Be a good girl and listen to your new mother now." The Progenitor's Ring, the symbol of the clan's supreme authority, now rested on Vivienne's hand. "Oh, sister, you're too kind," she sobbed, her sobs a practiced performance. "I'll be sure to protect the family in your stead." I nodded. "You'll run things better than I ever did." I even signed away my control over the Elder Council, a council sustained by my own blood. For the first time in a century, a shadow of complex emotion crossed Miles's face. He stared at me,"Isolde, stop fighting. It's better this way. You need to rest." Yes. On my deathbed, I had finally become the perfect, submissive Isolde they always wanted. An Isolde who was about to turn to dust. The seventy-two-hour countdown had begun. I wondered, when I finally turned to ash,

The day I learned the truth about my husband, Duke Alistair, and his adopted sister, Liana, I left. I abandoned my title, my home, and returned to my father's palace. A year passed. Then came news of chaos in the duchy. The servant Alistair sent spoke with desperation, “Your Highness, the Duke and your son are lost to reason. If you don’t return, I fear they will burn everything to the ground.” I looked at the blood I'd coughed onto my handkerchief. I nodded. "Fine. I'll go back." The doctor had already given me my diagnosis. Consumption. I had only a month left to live. So I went back. And I played the part of the perfect duchess. I no longer demanded Alistair's loyalty. I even found him three new mistresses who looked just like Liana and sent them to his bed after he had sent her away for me. I no longer made Damian study the arts of statecraft and not forced him to master his courtly duties. Instead, I supported his ridiculous dream of joining the Expeditionary Force. I took the pain they gave me. I wrapped it in the "understanding" they always craved. And I served it back to them cold. But it drove Alistair mad. He threw out the mistresses. He crushed me in his arms. His kiss was a punishment. He bit my lip, drawing blood. "I sent Liana away! What more do you want from me? How can I earn your forgiveness?" Damian cried and clung to my arm. "I'll never call Aunt Liana 'gentle' or 'beautiful' again! Mother, please. Just stop." They didn't understand. I wasn't making a scene. I just wanted to live out my last month in peace. And then, I wanted to die.

The Devouring Queen is a paranormal revenge fantasy set between a blood drenched Lycan kingdom and a starving vampire empire, where every moon can crown a monarch or claim a corpse. The story follows Elara, once a gentle Luna who was betrayed and murdered on her wedding night. Instead of finding peace, she awakens three years in the past inside the stolen body of a hidden vampire princess. She returns to life in a world already preparing for her death, because in thirty nights the Lycan King must kill his true mate to awaken an ancient god beast. Now two women wear the same face, and only one can survive the prophecy that hungers for blood. Elara, reborn as a ghost wearing royal skin, abandons innocence and embraces the power she never had in her first life. With a quiet voice and a predator’s smile, she steps into a kingdom filled with secrets, manipulations and creatures who underestimate her. Cassius, the beautiful and broken Lycan King, is trapped between the woman he once loved, the version he helped destroy, and a prophecy that demands sacrifice. Their love is poisonous, irresistible and destined to end in ruin. As the nights slip away, Elara weaves a dark game of power and deception. She announces a false pregnancy, visits the chained original bride under midnight moons, and manipulates courts and armies with deadly grace. The mirrors around her begin to bleed, the lies thicken, and the prophecy tightens like a noose. The climax erupts in a courtyard filled with fallen soldiers, where the two identical brides tear the king apart to decide which destiny will rule. The kingdoms that remain have only two choices: kneel or burn.