The road back to Verdane was dusted with frost, as if the kingdom itself had been holding its breath during Elira's absence. She rode in silence beside Cael, the memory of the Flame Vault still burning behind her eyes.
Lucien was waiting.
At the gate, his silhouette stood tall beneath the arching iron, the storm-grey cloak billowing like a warning. Elira dismounted slowly, her hand brushing the dagger still strapped to her thigh.
Lucien's eyes swept over her face. "You've changed."
"I had to," she said softly.
Cael remained behind her, but his presence weighed heavily between them. Lucien's gaze flickered to him—cool, unreadable.
"I see he survived the fire."
"I survived the truth," Cael said.
Lucien didn't blink. "That makes two of us."
Elira raised a hand, stopping them. "This isn't the time for a war between past and present. The council convenes tonight. They know I went to Theralyn."
"You think they'll forgive that?" Lucien asked.
"I don't need their forgiveness," she replied. "I need their fear."
---
The Great Hall hadn't changed—the same stained-glass windows, the scent of old ash, the hollow sound of boots on stone. But as Elira walked through its center with her crownless head held high, the nobles turned. Whispers followed.
She wore no gown tonight. Only black riding leathers, her family crest replaced by the Theralyn sigil burned faintly into her collarbone. Cael walked two steps behind her. Lucien walked at her side.
At the high table, the Duke Council waited.
Duke Estermont, red-cheeked and bitter, rose. "You disappeared without leave. You fraternized with exiled bloodlines. You brought a cursed knight into our gates. How do you plead, Lady Verdane?"
Elira's voice rang like tempered steel. "I do not plead. I command."
Gasps echoed.
"I have walked into the vaults your ancestors buried. I have stood before the true flame. And I have returned, not as a daughter of Verdane—but as the last phoenix of Theralyn."
The Duke pounded his fist. "This is treason!"
Lucien stepped forward, calm and cold. "Only if she is not your future queen."
The room stilled.
Estermont's eyes narrowed. "And are you declaring her so, Duke Aurelian?"
Lucien met Elira's eyes. Then nodded. "I am."
A rustle spread through the crowd.
Cael said nothing.
Elira's voice softened. "Let this council know—if you strip me of title, you lose the heir to Theralyn's reborn power. If you accept me, you gain a Queen forged by fire."
---
Later, in the silence of her chambers, Elira sat by the hearth. The fire danced, warm but uncertain.
Lucien entered without knocking. "They didn't argue for long after that."
"They fear you more than they trust me," she said.
"They'll learn," he replied. Then, quieter: "So will I."
She turned to face him. "Lucien…"
But words faltered.
He approached slowly. "The night we met… I thought you were a pawn. A noble's daughter too wrapped in politics to matter."
"And I thought you were heartless," she replied with a smile.
"Maybe I was. But you changed that."
His hand touched her jaw, hesitant, reverent. "I have seen you bleed, fight, fall, and still rise. I would burn with you, Elira. But never ahead of you."
Tears glistened in her eyes. "You already do."
And this time, when he kissed her, there was no duty, no strategy—only the weight of everything they had endured. The pain, the betrayal, the stubborn hope.
The fire crackled softly. The world beyond the chamber held its breath.
---
Outside the palace walls, Cael stood alone beneath the courtyard tree.
His hand brushed the old scar near his collarbone—the place her name had once been carved in blood.
He didn't hate her.
But fate had never offered him a second place.
Only first… or exile.
Behind him, a shadow moved.
Matron Neria's voice whispered, soft as dust.
"You saw the fire. Yet you walked away."
Cael didn't turn. "Because I saw something stronger."
"What will you do now, Cael Dorneth?"
He watched the stars.
"I will be her shield… even if I'm no longer her flame."