The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss
Chapter 84: And He Thrives!

Chapter 84: Chapter 84: And He Thrives!

The high doors of Berkimhum Palace groaned closed behind her.

Lara Von Roxweld didn’t flinch at the sound, but her breath hitched slightly — just enough to crack the stillness. It was the sound of containment, of luxury forged into a cage. The sound of power she had never wanted.

She stood at the threshold of rule, her boots still damp with blood, her chest still heaving with the rhythm of the field. And yet everything here reeked of perfume and old politics. The air felt thinner in the halls of inheritance. Like the palace itself sucked the urgency from her lungs.

To the people outside, she was a war hero. The Crimson Fang reborn. But inside these walls, Lara could feel it — the change. The narrowing of gazes. The way her father hadn’t smiled. The way Claire’s voice had cooled the second nobles came within earshot.

This was no welcome.

It was a warning.

"You made too much noise,"the palace seemed to whisper. "And now, they remember you."

She clenched her jaw.

Her armor creaked with the movement, dried blood flaking from her gloves. No one dared comment on the state of her uniform. Not yet. But she could see it in their eyes — the disdain of velvet-cloaked merchants who had never seen a battlefield, of lords with polished fingernails and rusted morals.

They whispered like beetles behind painted fans.

She had fought for this kingdom. Bled for it. Buried half her men defending borderless towns from raiders and empire scouts. And yet here, among chandeliers and stained glass, she was the outsider.

An unwanted reminder of real war.

She moved down the corridor in silence, ignoring the way servants froze along the walls. Her mind played over the court session like a sword-edge dragging over scarred bone.

...He’s alive. And he is stronger...stronger than ever...

Even now, she could feel the weight of that declaration. The way it had cracked through marble and memory. The people had roared. Her father had frozen. And in that moment, Berkimhum had remembered its prince.

Atlas.

The name still struck something bitter beneath her ribs. Not hate. But love. No, much deeper than love . Something more dangerous.

’Need.’

She hated needing anyone. But she needed him. They all did.

Because the truth was simple.

They would lose this war without him.

Claire walked beside her now, crisp and composed, a soft perfume trailing behind her like fog. Her posture was perfect — too perfect. The kind of elegance bred from decades of dinners filled with poisoned words.

Lara didn’t trust it.

Didn’t trust her.

But she needed her too.

Behind them, Isabella’s footsteps echoed like soft taps against a tomb wall. She hadn’t said a word since Lara brushed off her concern — hadn’t even looked her in the eye. Lara didn’t blame her.

She’d meant what she said.

She didn’t want comfort. Not from a queen who had kissed her daughter’s blood and then turned to smile at the court.

No, Lara wanted war.

She wanted Atlas.

She wanted to burn down everything that had tried to erase him.

She reached the antechamber of the throne room and paused. Her reflection hovered in the polished obsidian wall — a stranger in armor, cracked with ash and lit from behind by fading torches.

Her blood had dried dark against her chestplate. The Royal crest — Swords clashing — looked more like a war zone now.

’Good,’ she thought. ’Let them see it. Let them remember.’

Isabella finally broke the silence behind her. "The nobles will expect tact, love."

Lara didn’t turn.

"Tact?" she said.

Her voice was soft.

Then sharper.

"Tact is what got us here. Diplomacy. Concessions. Half-hearted treaties while they prepared armies in the east."

Claire exhaled slowly, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve.

"If you alienate the court too soon, you risk being dismissed. Even a hero can be voted irrelevant."

Lara faced her.

Eyes like coals.

"Let them try."

Claire didn’t blink.

Neither did Lara.

For a moment, the air between them snapped taut.

Then the doors opened.

The throne room was colder than she remembered.

Light bled through the stained glass like diluted fire, casting fractured shapes over the long hall — reds and golds, now dulled by age and weather. What should have been divine felt hollow. Like a cathedral to dead promises.

Lara stepped forward.

Each bootfall rang louder than the last. The sound struck the marble like defiance — the only anthem she needed. Behind her, Claire and Isabella followed, shadows in two distinct rhythms: one calculated, one tired.

The nobles stood in quiet clusters along the edges of the chamber. Robes in gold and black. Perfumed sleeves. Thin smiles.

None of them bowed.

She scanned them one by one. House Ulbridge. House Moltir. Even the craven Lord Vesith, whose lands hadn’t seen war in over a decade but whose lips had declared loyalty with every coin saved by not sending troops. Parasites in brocade. Men who only spoke of honor when it was convenient to do so.

A few nodded with forced civility.

But most simply watched.

Judging. Waiting. Their faces said it clearly:

You are bloodied. You are tired. You are too loud, and too wild, and too dangerous.

She met every gaze.

Let them choke on her defiance.

The King’s voice broke the silence.

"Approach."

Henry Von Roxweld sat atop the raised dais like a relic carved from ash — not a ruler, but a statue of what a king used to be. The great throne beneath him had never looked so hollow.

"Daughter," he said.

No warmth.

No welcome.

Just obligation.

Lara stopped six paces from him. Close enough to challenge. Far enough to remain unarmed by protocol.

"Your Majesty," she replied. Her tone was neutral. Strained. Balanced between venom and diplomacy.

Claire bowed from behind, a formality without feeling. Isabella dipped her head without meaning it.

The King did not rise.

He studied Lara like a puzzle he regretted finishing.

"Your return brings questions," he said. "Reports say you survived an ambush on the southern ridge. That you killed three raiding bands. That you took back three villages the Empire had already claimed. And yet you returned with no army. No reinforcements. No prisoners."

He paused.

"Why?"

Lara held his gaze.

"Because I didn’t come back to trade numbers," she said. "I came back to tell you the truth."

A breath passed between them.

The nobles leaned closer.

She could feel their eyes biting her skin.

"Your truth," the King murmured.

"No," Lara corrected. "His."

The room stiffened.

The very air turned taut.

Henry’s jaw clenched. He leaned forward slightly, cane tapping once against the marble.

And Claire, sharp as a whip, seized the moment.

"My lords," she said, stepping forward, "the Princess refers to Prince Atlas Von Roxweld."

Murmurs burst like gasps of steam. Whispers broke into nervous questions.

"Are we still keeping up with this lunacy—"

"He died—"

"They sent scouts—!"

Claire’s voice cut through them all.

"For God’s sake He lives."

She raised her chin, eyes cold fire.

"And by his sister’s witness... he thrives. What more you lot want?"

******

Pictures of the characters are now available on my discord. link down below:

.gg/yrnQskUgPF

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.