Page 81 of The Nymph King

Around her, the nobles shifted on their feet. Their eyes moved from the black residue on the walls to the throne, and then to her. She let her eyes fall shut for a second, enjoying this one victorious moment.

She’d done it. She’d proven her worth, broken free of the chains, and was now the queen.

The thought lasted only a moment before the problems crowded in behind it.

Tanyl had died without telling her what he promised the Upper in exchange for the Drasil. Whatever bargain had placed that weapon in his hands had not necessarily died with him, and Imani had no reason to believe the Deity beings powerful enough to grant a Drasil would accept losing their investment without consequence.

Nor did one applauding ballroom speak for an entire kingdom. These nobles had watched her destroy Tanyl and chosen the safest response available. The territories beyond Stralas had armies, leaders, loyalties, and grievances of their own. She’d need to meet with them soon and solidify her position. Taking the throne had answered one question, but whether Essenheim would stay beneath her was another.

When her eyes opened, she looked instinctively toward the place where Kiran had been standing.

Empty.

Imani frowned.

He should have been moving toward her by now.

She searched the crowd again, faster this time. Kiran had come all the way to Stralas after making it perfectly clear that he intended to reclaim her. She had expected a confrontation the moment Tanyl fell—an ultimatum, a demand, some arrogant attempt to carry her back to Niflheim while the palace was still reeling.

Instead, he was simply… gone.

He had used her one moment of weakness to disappear in the chaos.

Damn it, she cursed.

She had been waiting for him to make his move. The throne first. Kiran second. That had been the order in her head since she saw his banners outside Galwell. Once he tried to force her back to Niflheim, she would have had cause to close Stralas around him and use Ellisar’s soldiers to keep him there.

But Kiran had never given her the opportunity.

He had watched her win, told her he loved her, and vanished.

Imani clenched her fists in her lap. The opening had been there, within reach. And she had let it slip away.

Victory didn’t feel as glorious as it should have. It sat unevenly in her chest, edged with the awareness that Kiran had tumbled through her grasp. She had won, but she still had work to do to secure her place. Tanyl’s bargain remained unexplained. The kingdom beyond this ballroom had yet to decide whether it would follow her. And the ruler she had expected to trap tonight had vanished before she could close her hand around him.

She had taken the throne.

But Kiran had walked away.

What had he wanted badly enough to leave her behind?

CHAPTER 24

The applause died unevenly, some hands stilling before others, and the ballroom’s energy turned inward. Conversations faltered mid-breath. Movement slowed, then stopped. One by one, eyes found the throne, wide and stunned, as if people were still processing a spectacle.

If she didn’t act now, the moment would slip again, as it had with Kiran, and with it, the power she had just taken.

She rose from the throne, her dress swishing around her feet, blood still splattered on the folds.

“Stand down,” she said to the remaining guards. They hesitated only a second before obeying.

“The ball will continue.” A faint smile touched her lips, easing the room’s tension. Yet some nobles remained hesitant, their instincts and uncertainty warring, and they paused as they watched the unfolding power dynamics. Then, gradually, the hesitation broke—a nobleman here, a courtier there—until the entire room had eventually reoriented itself around her. Music resumed in cautious notes, building slowly as motion returned to the room, and with each step, each breath, each resumed conversation.

Imani let out a small, relieved sigh, and sat down. Her hand went to her chest, knowing Tanyl lingered inside her. His essence had dissolved into the power already moving through her, another current threaded through the crown, the Drasil, and the magic gathered beneath her skin.

Her stomach turned.

Across the floor, servants had begun cleaning what remained of him.