Page 29

They pulled my copper-red hair into an intricate crown braid, pinning it with silver moonstone stars that pressed cold against my scalp.

I studied my reflection in the tall mirror, Malakai’s words echoing softly in my head: A bastard born of a mortal distraction.

I drew a long, steady breath. Let the lords look at the wine-red velvet. Let them admire the silver thread. They thought they were summoning a fragile half-breed to court to count her flaws.

I turned on my heel, my heavy silk skirts whispering against the stone as I pulled the oak door open. Soren straightened instantly, his hand resting near his hilt as he fell into step beside me.

“Let’s go show them the mongrel is still breathing,” I said quietly.

We marched toward the grand throne room, the distant tolling of the citadel bells rolling out over the spires like a summons. The winter solstice was waiting, the three moons were rising, and the court was about to see exactly what stepped out of the silver pool.

FOURTEEN

The grand oak doors of the throne room swung open with a heavy groan that vibrated through me.

A second ago, the high hall had been a sea of noise—whispered conspiracies, rustling winter silks, and the low drone of anxious nobility. The exact millisecond I cleared the threshold, the room fell dead quiet. An absolute silence reclaimed the vast granite space, so sudden it sounded like snapping timber.

Thousands of eyes looked down from the spiraling stone galleries, tracking the deep velvet of my formal gown. I pulled my shoulders back, lifting my chin into a mask of royal stoicism. Beside me, Soren’s boots clicked sharply against the granite map on the floor. I could feel his eyes scanning the upper tiers, alert for danger, his hand resting flat against his hilt. Farther back, near the base of the dais, Caspian stood with the other officers. His blue eyes anchored onto my face the moment I entered, his jaw setting hard as he tracked the silver embroidery hiding the fresh marks on my arms.

I marched past the silent rows of lords, keeping my breath steady, forcing down the panic.

Breathe.

Just Breathe.

I took my position on the high dais, standing at my father’s left. Aerynn stood to his right, his golden hair catching the amber candlelight, his face unusually grim.

I wonder what his problem is.

The King didn’t turn his head to acknowledge me. He remained seated on his obsidian throne, his green eyes vacant and unreadable as he stared out over the court.

“The first trial is concluded,” King Fjörn announced, his voice slicing through the cold hall. “Princess Tauriel has entered the Lunareth Remnikai. The silver waters of the Mani Vatn have accepted her presence, confirming her place within the royal bloodline. The succession moves forward.”

The silence fractured instantly.

“Accepted, Your Majesty?” a voice called out from the second tier—Lord Vane of the southern valleys. He stepped to the stone banister, his brow furrowed. “The mages report that her core remains entirely silent. What legacy did the pool awaken in her veins? What magic does she bring to the kingdom’s defense?”

“We saw the fountain of silver spray,” Lady Isa called from the western gallery, her silks rustling as she leaned forward. “But the mages speak of physical marks beneath her sleeves. If the goddesses have given her a gift, why can no one name it?”

“Is she a true child of the Drakhar throne, or a fragile placeholder that will break when the winter solstice darkens the peaks?” another voice demanded.

The questions pelted the dais like iron arrows. I stood motionless beneath the structured velvet of my gown, my jaw clenched tightly.

Before chaos could take the floor, a figure rose from the highest tier of the eastern gallery.

Lord Dellyn.

The entire chamber turned toward him as if pulled by a single thread. He wore a heavy cloak of emerald velvet—the exact shade of the fabric I’d caught a glimpse of beneath a rogue’s armor during the coup. His sharp features carried that same empty smile I had seen through the smoke. He didn’t shout. He simply turned and began his descent. His boots clicking in a slow, deliberate rhythm as he navigated the long stone stairs leading down to the floor.

The court watched in total stillness as Dellyn reached the flagstones. He walked directly across the map of the continent, his steps unhurried, until he stood at the base of the dais, looking up at me.

“The Konungr speaks of succession, yet the court is presented with nothing but a beautifully dressed riddle,” Dellyn said, his smooth voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the high collar of my dress before anchoring onto my eyes. “Let us speak plainly, Princess. You spent your life breathing mortal dirt. You return to Nymeria, and the sacred waters leave you with nothing but marked skin and a silent core. You bring no Stormcall. You bring no foresight. You offer nothing to the defense of this realm.”

The naked venom behind his delivery cut through the room.

Beside me, Soren took a hard step forward, his knuckles turning white as his blade cleared his sheath by an inch. At the base of the dais, High Commander Manem’s midnight armor creaked as his hand moved automatically for his sword.

My father raised his right hand.