Page 259 of House Ignis

. The truth had dissolved into a silence no one dared disturb while the Ravager uprising tore noble territories apart.

Ember had grown up believing she was unwanted. Abandoned.

It had been my father who stepped into that void. Not as a king making some cold, strategic calculation, but as a male protecting the family of his mate.

He had brought Ember into the palace himself. He had given her tutors, guards, training, and a future. And eventually, he had given her our name.

Ember Pyreson.

A royal declaration carved into law and fire. It was a warning to every noble court and rebel clan alike that she stood beneath Zymarra’s protection—no longer a lost girl from a shattered house, but a daughter of the throne. Second to the Flame.

“My other daughter,” he said now, his voice thick with a pride that didn't need to be performative.

For the briefest heartbeat, I saw Ember’s walls tremble. They didn't fall. They never would. But they trembled.

“Ava,” my father said, finally turning his full attention back to me. His expression was warm, but I could see the calculation sitting just beneath the surface—something sharp and deliberate. “I received a letter from General Eldrethine. He is… not entirely pleased about the dissolution of the betrothal.”

My heart lurched. Jeremy. Guilt flickered through me before I could suppress it. I hadn’t meant to hurt him; I had only meant to survive.

“But,” my father continued, his voice rising as he turned toward the surrounding nobles, projecting his words to every corner of the hall,

“I am pleased that you are happy, Ava. That has always been my priority.” His smile widened—perfect, regal, and entirely political.

“And of course… having Umbra at our side is not a disadvantage.”

Of course. Alliances. Power.

Strategic marriages wrapped in silk and smiles.

My fingers curled into the heavy crimson folds of my skirt, nails biting into my palms as I forced my face to remain a mask of royal composure.

Then, suddenly, his entire face lit up with genuine excitement.

“Ah,” he beamed. “And here she is—the queen herself.”

I turned, and the air seemed to grow heavy.

Queen Sailene entered the hall like a living shadow draped in luxury. Her black gown clung to her curves like liquid darkness, catching the firelight with every step.

A raven boundling perched elegantly on her shoulder, its obsidian feathers shimmering with an unnatural, piercing intelligence.

Her high ponytail swung behind her like a weapon, and when her violet eyes found mine, the entire room seemed to tilt on its axis.

Gods. Those eyes did not simply look. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she turned gracefully toward my mother.

“King Solren,” she purred, sliding into his embrace with a familiarity that made it clear this was not their first dance across a political battlefield.

“Queen Sailene,” my father greeted warmly.

Then her gaze moved. Slow. Deliberate. It landed on me with the precision of a blade finding its mark. A dangerous smile curved her lips, one that didn't reach her cold, violet eyes.

“Zymarra’s flame,” she said, her voice like velvet over steel. “At last, I meet the girl who has managed to twist half the Umbra males into knots.”

Her eyes flicked briefly toward Ember, then to Ezra.

Ezra went still beside me. He didn't show any obvious tension, but somehow I felt it anyway, something inside him drawing tight and lethal.

Her wicked smile returned to me.