The palace was quiet, too quiet.
Not the stillness of rest—but the silence before a storm.
Elira walked the inner courtyard at dawn, her bare feet touching cold marble. The golden phoenix crown sat heavy in her private chamber. She wore no jewels now, only a thick cloak around her shoulders. Her fingers brushed the wall, tracing cracks older than any written scroll.
Verdane was not just a kingdom. It was a wound stitched shut with silk.
And now, it was bleeding again.
A guard approached. "Your Majesty, the foreign delegation from Velmara has arrived."
Elira turned. "Are they alone?"
"They brought warriors under the guise of escort. Seventeen, in total. Armed."
"They come to test the throne," she muttered. "Good. Let them."
---
In the eastern drawing hall, the delegation from Velmara waited.
Lord Vireos, silver-bearded and fox-eyed, bowed only after a pause. "We heard of your miraculous resurrection. Some call it divine. Others call it... inconvenient."
Elira met his gaze evenly. "And which do you believe, Lord Vireos?"
"I believe in strength. Whether by gods or devils."
"Then you're in the right hall. I am both."
Gasps echoed from his attendants.
Vireos's smirk thinned. "Velmara offers a treaty. Trade routes. Soldiers, if you need them. In exchange... your cousin Wren marries our crown prince."
Elira's blood turned to ice.
Wren was only seventeen.
"That is not an offer," she said. "It is veiled slavery."
"Think of it as diplomacy."
Lucien stepped forward from the shadows. "Think of it as rejected."
Vireos's gaze darkened. "You would dare insult Velmara?"
Lucien smiled. "We would dare far worse."
The silence was blade-sharp.
Vireos snapped his fingers. His guards moved, subtly—hands near hilts, stances shifting.
Elira raised a single hand.
The torches in the room burst into flame, wild and roaring.
Every man froze.
"I am the flame," she said coldly. "And I do not bend."
---
Later, in the safety of her war chamber, Elira slammed her palms on the map.
"They'll attack," she said. "Not now—but soon. Through trade ports. Through council infiltrations. Velmara never offers peace without poison."
Lucien circled the map. "We'll need Wren kept safe. Move her to the Hollow Isle."
"She'll hate it."
"She'll be alive."
Elira looked up. "You don't think I was too harsh?"
"I think you just declared yourself the first sovereign queen to deny Velmara in three centuries."
She exhaled. "So... yes."
Lucien approached. "They will try to break you."
"Let them."
"No," he said. "Let me stand with you."
She blinked.
"I've stood beside kings and liars. But you are the first to make me believe in something more than war."
She didn't reply—but she reached for his hand.
He took it.
And the silence that followed was not storm, nor sorrow.
It was steady.
---
Meanwhile, in the outer city, Cael walked the riverbanks where they once trained as children. He passed a group of commoners whispering about the Queen. Some cursed her as a witch. Others hailed her as the Flameborn.
He ignored both.
His path now lay in the shadows.
Matron Neria joined him beneath the bridge.
"You're not staying in the capital?"
"No," Cael replied. "She doesn't need two swords. And I've burned enough bridges."
"She loved you."
"She loved an idea of me. And I clung to her like a prayer I couldn't release."
He handed her a folded letter. "Give her this. After the coronation moon."
"Where will you go?"
"Where the curse cannot follow."
"Will we see you again?"
He paused. "Only if she calls."
---
That night, Elira stared out her balcony, eyes fixed on the horizon where Velmara ships had docked. Her hair blew wild, untamed.
Lucien came beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
She leaned into his warmth.
He whispered, "What are you thinking?"
"That power makes enemies faster than it wins allies."
"And yet you rose."
"I wonder... if I'll stay risen."
He kissed her temple. "Even flames settle. When you do, I'll be there."
She turned in his arms. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If the world turns on us, if the council betrays me again, if war breaks out... don't protect me from it."
His brows furrowed.
"I don't want to be sheltered. I want to stand beside you in blood, in fire, in truth."
Lucien held her close. "Then let's face it all. Together."
Their lips met—not in haste, not in hunger, but in understanding.
And when they finally broke apart, the stars overhead seemed to whisper: