When Oliver and his group entered the throne room, the aristocrats screamed and shuffled away in fear. The shattering of wine glasses stopped the musicians and drew Piers' attention toward the door.

Piers glared coldly and sat back on his throne, crossing his leg. "What gives you the right to intrude?"

Oliver shook his head. "I am in no mood for games and wordplay, Piers. You know why I'm here." Oliver answered, his voice heavy-laden with emotion.

Yonsu was the villain behind the screen for two lifetimes, but Oliver's enemy had always been Piers.

Because of Piers, he suffered.

He felt the sharp pains of countless knives.

He went to war.

He lost his family.

He watched his friends die.

He burned his soldiers.

He gave up his chance for love.

He was humiliated and branded as Ghost.

He was tortured and broken.

He died.

Oliver's only crimes were his bloodline and naive affection for an insane king.

How dare he?

Piers didn't see the maelstrom of emotions building in Oliver. Instead, he waived his hand with disdain. "Enough of this nonsense. Guards!"

A group of royal guards came trickling in, but they did not have the same glimmer as Tomin. They were also facing some hardships serving under Piers.

"Arrest the intruders," Piers demanded.

The guards were a little wary and looked toward Oliver for guidance.

Piers stood from his throne with an enraged look. "Don't look at them! I am your King! Arrest. Them."

"You have asked you men to arrest representatives of the Realms," Gallio said with a laugh. "They have every right to hesitate, you dumb shit."

"You have no right to be here," Piers seethed.

Oliver slowly walked down the center of the throne room. The violet in his eyes had darkened amidst his rage and was nearly black. The thud of his heavy steps made everyone's hearts stutter. A trail of muddy footprints followed behind him, staining the white tiled floor.

"Believe me, Piers. I have no desire to be in this place ever again. I would rather see it in ruins." Oliver said without fluctuation. He stopped halfway and inhaled sharply. "I can still smell the stench of blood and bones of those who have died for that accursed crown. I often wonder if the battlefield has seen less blood than this room."

"Stay back," Piers ordered, but his voice had weakened. His eyes darted toward Tomin.

Tomin drew his sword and stormed toward Oliver. However, Oliver's eyes showed nothing but indifference. However, Tomin's stumbled when Oliver's stony expression broke into an eerie grin.

"Killing you once was never enough," Oliver chuckled. With a step, he met with Tomin.

The room was startled by a flash of white, but it lasted for just a moment. Tomin tettered on his feet for a moment, his mouth open in shock as if he choked on a scream. His knees buckled and fell to his side; however, his head toppled off in another direction, rolling to the feet of several aristocrats.

The aristocrats shrieked, trying to escape from the dead body and Oliver; however, they faltered as they approached the doors guarded by Oliver's entourage.

Piers paled and staggered back. "Stop, Oli. You continue like this, and you will be written into history as a villain."

"A villain?" Oliver laughed coldly. "Yonsu told me we're villains clinging on the threads of heroism... It's an apt description because I am not a kind man. I am not benevolent and all-forgiving. I'm quick to anger, vengeful, and will slaughter without hesitation."

Piers shuddered and refused to say anything. 

"Villainy can be based on perspective," Oliver continued. "And as such, some will see me as a villain or a monster. History may even curse my name for the lives I have taken. However, I accepted that fate the moment I picked up my swords. People will fear me... especially you. Call me a villain, Piers, and I will wear that moniker proudly because it means I opposed you."

"Don't you understand what I want? What I need?"

Oliver shook his head. "No. You want a power I cannot fathom, nor do I care for it."

"Ewen understood it," Piers muttered. "He respects my goals and will help me achieve them."

"Ewen is dead." Oliver's words were coarse and filled with malice. 

"How?" Piers blanched, his body quivered, and tears fell freely from his eyes. "How could you kill him? He's your brother! 

Oliver sighed. "Even if I did kill him, it would have been justified. Alas, Yonsu's sword beat me to it."

"But—"

"Stop," Oliver interrupted, annoyed with the direction of the conversation. He knew that Piers and Ewen cared for each other in their twisted way. However, Piers would have sacrificed Ewen at any point in time to gain more power. 

"The war is over. You've lost." Oliver said.

Piers didn't bother wiping his eyes but tried to look confident. "You fought against the Ravagers, not Bierze."

Oliver exhaled slowly, trying to control his wrath. "I said not to play fucking games, Piers."

Piers stepped back again, but the back of his legs hit his throne and tumbled into it, his crown falling askew. "I'm not!"

The doors to the throne room opened with a loud bang, and the Bierzean nobles and fief lords stepped inside. They all wore dark looks as they walked inside and lined up with Draco and the others.

"Piers Belelot," Duke Holt called out. "The war is over, and the Guardian's army stands at our gates."

Piers' eyes widened and darted back and forth between the aristocrats that were supposed to protect him.

"What is the meaning of this?" He hissed at Oliver. "You didn't just come here to mock me but to capture my kingdom?"

He seemed to shrink in his throne, his back hunched like a cat. Oliver didn't understand how Yonsu and Piers always seemed to be insurmountable obstacles. Perhaps it was because they successfully tormented him in his previous life, or he was too naive. However, this no longer mattered.

"As I said, Piers, you lost," Oliver repeated.

"Oathbreaker!" Piers pointed his finger unabashedly toward Oliver. "You should be serving me! You should be on your knees before me!"

The once haughty and confident King from moments before had wilted into a tantrum-throwing child again. He spouted the same bullshit as before.

"Treaty? You mean the Belelot's terms of surrender to the Guardian of the Realms and Kardos family?" Oliver inquired with a laugh.

There was a murmur in the room, and all eyes turned toward Piers.

"How... what?"

Quincey stepped forward and pulled out the scroll. With a commanding voice from all his years serving with Oliver, he reiterated the contents of the 'treaty'.

This time the stir had become more hostile. The nobles and aristocrats alike yelled out their admonishments.

However, Piers wasn't bothering with the protests. He was staring intently at Quincey. His lips trembled, and he pointed a trembling finger toward him. "It's you," he muttered.

Quincey turned back toward Oliver was a questioning look. Oliver nodded and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Oliver knew the crown was Quincey's birthright even though Quincey hated the thought of being a King. However, seeing the state of the city and the people suffering, he knew they couldn't sit idly by. Quincey had always been an honorable man, one who stood up for him. He would do the right thing despite his hesitations.

"It's me, cousin," Quincey said with a hardened gaze.

"You were supposed to be arrested in the treasury," Piers murmured.

Quincey frowned, knowing that the whole incident in his previous life was a setup. "I found an ally who saved me from your plan," he said and pulled out the ring from around his neck. "And I found my father's ring."

Some of the crowd in the throne room her aptly paying attention to the conversation and were able to piece it together. They stared at Quincey with fervor.

Oliver took the initiative to speak out. "Quincey Belelot, son of Gideon Belelot, has returned to reclaim his throne."

Piers' eyes turned wild. "It's mine. It's mine. It's mine!" His words started as a mutter but escalated to a yell.

"You know it's not," Oliver said. 

"Why? Why are you doing this?" Pier's mind was cracking now that everything was slipping from his grasp.

"Why?" Oliver tilted his head slightly, seemingly baffled by the question.  "You were never the rightful heir, nor were you worthy of it in the first place."

"What do you want from me?" Piers' voice was more of a whimper.

Oliver closed his eyes with a laugh. "To put it simply... revenge."

He sauntered to the steps leading to the throne.

"Revenge for a life suffered and a life lost. Revenge for the family who died without a grave. Revenge for the horrors endured for your bidding... and I will have it." 

"Stay back." Piers shrunk deeper into the throne, and then he pointed a trembling finger toward Quincey. "You can't make him King!" 

Quincey scoffed at Piers' appearance. "The Realms' representatives say otherwise. I have the support of Abrorg, Osmela, Rucrea, and Wynter," Quincey nodded toward the people behind him. "I also have the advocation of the Guardian of the Realms."

Piers' eyes snapped to Oliver, almost begging him to stop this charade. "He... He knows nothing about leading a kingdom!" Piers tried to protest.

Quincey felt the anger burning through him.  "I saw the state of this kingdom. Farms are collapsing. Villages raided. The cities are crumbling... all while you sit here in gold and diamonds. My people suffered because of you, Piers. My people."

"Either you leave that throne yourself, or we make you," Oliver said, his voice even and calm.

Piers shook his head pathetically and tried to curl his body in the throne even more.

With an exasperated sigh, Oliver reached to pull Piers off the throne. However, Draco had rushed to his side and caught his hand before Oliver made contact. 

"I promised you a gift, husband. I will fulfill your every wish and desire to ensure Piers receives a  fitting punishment. But I will not allow you to sully your hands by touching him." He pulled Oliver's hand to his lips and gently kissed his palm, ignoring the small splatters of Tomin's blood. 

Oliver's frosted look melted for a moment, and he relented with a smile. 

Draco grabbed Piers by the collar and yanked him off the throne. He used too much strength and threw him down the stairs. Piers tumbled on the ground with a cry, and his crown flew off. It rolled on its side until it clattered next to Quincey's feet.

Quincey picked up the crown and frowned at it. He didn't put it on, just carelessly dangled it from a finger. "Oliver, I leave the details of his punishment to you."

Oliver looked at Piers thoughtfully, then his brow creased with a pained memory. "Piers Belelot, you know your crimes. I do not have the time or patience to repeat them."

He turned toward the crowd and recalled the words that scarred him in his previous life. "Because of the sins of Piers Belelot, the Realms will arrest him and strip him of his royal status. He will no longer bear the honorable title of King. Additionally, the name Piers Belelot will be struck from history. The former Bierzean King will forever be shackled with a name befitting his villainy.

"He has haunted this continent with his greed. He's stirred terror with his betrayal of the realms. He has lived closer to consuming this land than preserving it. Because of this, he shall forever bear the name 'Glutton', and will be punished according to his crimes."

Draco, Quincey, Savvi, and Gallio felt a shiver run through them. They heard the original words being read when Oliver was stripped of everything he had earned. They watched how a scroll had taken away his titles and identity. They watched how the great General and Guardian Oliver Kardos had become the Ghost. Their emotions stirred.

Gallio turned his gaze to the ceiling, holding back the tears in his eyes. 

Savvi was standing still with his fists clenched until they shook.

Quincey was standing tall; however, his tears slipped freely down his cheeks. His General had found some vindication. 

Draco still held Oliver's hand, his eyes burning with unabashed pride. 

Piers was slumped on the ground, his jaw slack and crying miserably. "You can't do this to me."

"Don't lose yourself in despair just yet, Glutton. Your punishment has only begun." Oliver said in a mocking tone. 

Oliver nudged Quincey and ushered him to the throne. Quincey took a deep breath to steel himself, walked up the stairs, and faced the throne. His hands brushed against the ornate armrests. Another deep breath sounded, and he turned and sat on the throne. 

Oliver followed him and took the crown from his hands. Quincey clenched his jaw, ready to protest, but Oliver gave him a look that meant he couldn't fight this. 

With a quiet groan, he lowered his head, and Oliver placed the crown atop it.

"As of this day, Quincey Belelot will serve the kingdom of Bierze as King," Oliver announced. 

He stepped back and bowed slightly. The others followed suit while the Bierzean nobles and aristocrats kneeled. 

Piers' looked around the room frantically as he saw everyone bowing toward Quincey. Another was living his dream... his cousin, no less. 

Everything worthwhile was taken from him. His title, his name, his throne, his prestige. 

"No," he muttered. His hands clenched his face, his nails biting into his skin. "NO!"

The pain seemed to wake him, and he wanted to get away. He scurried around on the ground, a mixture between crawling and dragging his body. 

He didn't notice that Draco had moved, and in panic, he crashed into Draco's legs. He yelped as he fell back. His face was red from his crying, and drool had dripped from the corner of his mouth. His mind was broken.

"Worry not, little Glutton. I know you have an appreciation for cages, and I have prepared a special one for you. You will call it home for the next thirty years."

Before Piers could shriek, Draco hit the back of his neck. Piers stiffened and then slumped to the ground. 

••••••

The light from the full moon had painted the snowy landscape in a delicate silver. The snowdrifts and hills were like brushstrokes on a canvas. It was simply picturesque.

Sophia was sitting with Oliver in a small sitting room. Her deep purple dress offset Oliver's white military suit and fur cloak. Her fingers pulled at his sleeves, touching the subtle silver embroidery, and clasped the ivory button.

"You look stunning," she said with tears in her eyes. 

Oliver chuckled. "A trait I must have inherited from you."

She waved off his joke and sighed happily. "When you met Draco, I was in Bierze, and you were in Wynter. I regret that I missed seeing my son fall in love. I bet it was beautiful."

"It was like being consumed by fire," Oliver said softly. "And there is no extinguishing it."

"Good. To see you happy is the greatest gift. Now come. Many are waiting for you." She stood up and pulled him from his seat. She straightened his cloak and the Lyrell emblem. 

When everything seemed in place, Oliver took her hand, led her out of the small room, and met with Aaron. Aaron's eyes glistened when he first saw Sophia and kissed her forehead. He then turned his attention to Oliver. 

Six months had passed since the war and dethronement of Piers. Now that the Realms had settled in peace, Oliver and Draco decided to hold their official wedding and crowning ceremony.

"Rucrea is lucky to have you as their King," Aaron said with pride radiating from him. "I'm proud of what you have accomplished."

Oliver shook at the compliment and then broke into a grin. He pulled his father into a tight hug. "Thank you," he murmured. 

The three of them walked into the temple. The moonlight streamed in from the large windows behind the altar, staining the white marble floors and walls with the same silver glow as the landscape outside. The ebony trees that held the ceiling were decorated with tiny red and silver flowers. Luminescent dragonflies danced around the temple, giving the area a gentle glow.

The rows of pews were filled with people from every realm, including his friends that endured through lifetimes. They stood immediately as Oliver stepped forward. 

However, Oliver's eyes remained on Draco at the end of the aisle. As always, his suit and furs were black. His hair was plaited in complicated braids, and a black circlet sat on his head. His red eyes flared when he saw Oliver.

He wanted to rush to Oliver; the waiting to hold him was unbearable. He took several steps forward, hoping it would shorten his wait. 

Oliver chuckled and quickly reached him, taking his place by his side. 

Mardon started the ceremony when they stepped in front of the altar. As he spoke of the blessings of marriage, Oliver and Draco faced each other. Draco pulled him close and rested his forehead on his.  

One of Draco's hands was around the back of Oliver's neck, while the other held Oliver's hand with the branded mark. Draco lovingly caressed the raised skin while whispering words of affection so only Oliver could hear. With a gentle smile, Oliver would respond in kind.

Mardon's words were long lost on them as they stepped into their own world. 

When Mardon's hand touched their shoulders, they were pulled out of their own conversation. Warm laughter reverberated off the temple walls.

They shared a questioning look, but then Mardon held up the white circlet crown. Oliver flushed slightly with a smiled and kneeled. Mardon placed the circlet on his head.

"White, black. Ice and fire. The opposites that bring perfect balance to the Realms." Mardon mused as he looked between the two men. "We greet the Kings of Rucrea: Oliver Kardos, Guardian of the Realms, and Draconis Lyrell, the Dragon King."

The cheers sounded, and the palace bells rang, alerting the kingdom that Oliver was officially crowned King.

Celebrations were initiated, and the entire country came alive. The palace was bustling with music and commotion from the banquet.

However, the hosts of the ceremony had long disappeared. They had escaped the confines of the palace and sat at the edge of the snow-covered bluff that overlooked Rucrea. The moon had slipped behind the clouds, and snow had started to fall again.

Draco kissed Oliver's hand. "If Anima stood before us now, what would be your wish?"

Oliver leaned against Draco and rested his head on his shoulder. All he wanted was a second chance to change his fate. He accomplished this. 

The war was over. Finally over. 

Ewen paid for his crimes. Yonsu had perished. The Ravagers were defeated. Piers was rotting away in a prison carved into the cliffside of the bluffs.

His family and friends were alive. Draco was his husband.

"There is nothing else I can want for," he finally answered.

Draco smiled. "I may not be as powerful as Anima, but if I could grant your wish, what would you ask for."

Oliver closed his eyes as he laughed. "I would wish for a kiss."

Draco's fingers clasped Oliver's chin, pulled him close, and captured his lips with his own. The kiss was slow and unhurried, trying to savor the touch.

"Granted," Draco said softly. "Do you have another wish?"

"I do," Oliver hummed happily. "Ask me that question every day for the rest of our lives."

Draco kissed him again and whispered against his lips, "Granted."

••••••••••The End••••••••••

••••••A/N••••••

First things first... Thank you. I truly enjoyed introducing you to Oliver, Draco, and this world. 

Some have asked, and yes, there will be an epilogue soon. ❤️

A Ghost's Wish started as a random idea I jotted down in a notepad two years ago. I dusted it off the shelf and outlined it earlier this year. It was supposed to come out in July, but everything was put on hold while I refocused on my health—physically and mentally. 

It took some time to put this story together, but it finally came together. I am so glad that I was able to share it with you.

The fact that you chose to be a part of this story means much more than you can realize. Thank you for traversing this road with me. 

Thank you ❤️