“Give me your army,” she says. Not a question. A declaration.
Thalmyr inclines his head.
“Yes,” he agrees.
But she’s not done.
“And give me my crown,” she commands.
His hands rise, lifting the crown of gold, inset with emerald-green jewels that match her eyes and the banners hanging from the castle walls. He steps forward, closing the gap between them. His gaze settles on her—unflinching. The crown glints in the candlelight as he raises it up, and places the crown on her head. No fanfare. No ceremony. Just acknowledgement of the truth.
The weight of it sinks into her skull. The power of it courses through her veins like a message straight from her lineage. Not foreign or borrowed or metaphorical.Familiar. Inevitable. Like it has been waiting for her to return to it.
For a heartbeat, Elyssara is a little girl again.
Hungry. Forgotten. Sleeping on the cold, hard floor with Stars painted onto the half-broken ceiling because her father wanted her to believe there was still something beautiful above them.
No one was coming to save that little girl.
So she became the woman who would save herself—and everyone else with her.
“Queen Elyssara Dawnmere of Dravara. Lightborne of the prophecy. Savior of the realms,” he murmurs, as if this moment is one he’s been waiting for, too.
Holy fucking Stars.
She has been many things in this life: thief, Earthbound, fugitive, Starbound, Lightborne.
Queen fits better than she expects.
Ronyn’s arm swings over her shoulder. Seren’s palm finds her own, their fingers entwining. But Elyssara’s gaze comes back into focus. Sharpening in resolve. They lift to meet Thalmyr.
“I won’t be saving the realms,” she breathes. “I’ll be remaking them.”
Not into what they were—into something that will never allow this again.
“And I’ll bring the Stars to their fucking knees.”
Gooseflesh blooms across her skin, like her very cells recognize the truth in her vow, and in the distance, she swears she hears the thunder of hooves striking cobbles.
“That’s whyyouare the Lightborne of the prophecy,” Thalmyr murmurs.
And for the first time since she walked into this place, they stand on the same side of something. Not allies. Not equals. But two people who understand exactly what must be done.
And what it will cost.
Because for the first time in a long time, the future is no longer being decided for them.They are about to take it.
Elyssara spins to Seren. “We meet everyone back in The Perils to strategize. Then… we bring them here for war.” Her eyes pan across the room, locking on the group before them.
“Daphinia is to perform the blood rite.”
A pause.
“I want Nyrielle’s power.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
When mercy dies beneath command
