However brief her reign might be.
Her fire surged at his words, clawing at her ribs as if it longed to burst free and set the table to ash. Ella dug her nails into her palms beneath the cloth to remain still, forcing her magic back into its cage. Not here. She swallowed hard.
Across the table, Nira met her eyes and mouthed one word for her alone:breathe.
Ella clung to it like a rope thrown into stormwaters, her best friend’s gaze anchoring her even as the news her father had shared threatened to drag her under.
The room clattered with cutlery and wine and rumor, yet all she could hear was the grief hidden in her father’s voice. She’d come home to warmth, to laughter, even to Bryn’s ridiculous inside joke echoing across kingdoms, and within an hour, politics had stripped it bare, leaving only duty and loss. Her mother’s shadow lingered in every corner.
Ella folded her hands in her lap, spine unyielding. She wouldn’t cry.
There would be time to grieve later.
If the fates allowed her that much.
41
BLOOD WITHIN THE VEIN
Her father leaned close, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. “Ellandria… I have to announce it tonight,” he murmured, the words tinged with worry. “Your coronation will be in two days. The people need something to hold on to.”
Panic swelled in her chest, despite knowing this moment would come. The prophecy rose in her memory, no longer distant lines cast by the fates but a relentless drumbeat beneath her ribs:
A queen will fall, her time undone,
The daughter crowned beneath red sun.
She’ll thread the Veil that none may cross,
Restore what kingdoms thought was lost.
Her fingers clenched tighter around her goblet, the rim cooling her skin even as the words burned through her. She was the daughter. She was the crown. But was she the path forward for every kingdom trembling beneath the unraveling Veil?
Eryndor turned fully toward her, his hand brushing her arm. “You look beautiful tonight, Ellandria.” His eyes glimmered with years and grief and pride. “When I heard whispers you weretangled in a Dravaryn Claiming, I was terrified. We all were. I still have questions, gods know I do. When I learned you were returning, I braced myself to see a ghost of your former self. But you”—his gaze held hers steady, unwavering—“ran away a girl and returned a woman. Strong, powerful, and full of purpose.”
Her vision blurred as she threw her arms around him, clinging tightly. Her father was here, alive, and back in her life. The ache she’d carried for years cracked open, flooding her with a relief she’d never dared let herself feel.
She glanced down the table, searching for Jakobav. He wasn’t watching, though he must’ve heard every word. His attention was fixed elsewhere, too carefully, the avoidance louder than a stare. She tried to smooth her expression, unwilling to let him see her this raw. “Technically,” she managed, “I have the same purpose I did when I left. But now I feel capable of achieving it.”
A soft chuckle rumbled in her father’s chest as he held her tighter. “Your stubbornness hasn’t gone anywhere.”
He straightened, lifting his goblet, and the hall hushed. “In two days’ time,” he declared, his voice striking the vaulted ceiling like a bell, “Orchid will crown its queen.”
A cheer surged through the chamber. Goblets lifted, feet stomped, voices rose in celebration. Ella lifted her chin high, though grief burned her hollow, and refused to falter.
Marisol approached with a fresh decanter, her steps light but certain. She bent to refill their goblets.
“You don’t have to do that. Sit with us,” Ella said warmly.
Her father’s mouth curved faintly. “Marisol is no longer the castle’s chief steward. She’s just helping with the banquet tonight.”
Ella turned to Marisol and said, “Really? What are you doing now?”
Marisol’s smile deepened, soft but with purpose. “Helping where I’m needed. I stepped away from stewardship some time ago. I’ve been working under the castle’s defense council.” She lowered her voice as she refilled Ella’s goblet. “Most of my time is spent restoring the old archives. Translating what remains of the ancient texts. Some of them…are becoming relevant again.”
The shift in Marisol’s tone told Ella more than the words themselves. The Veil. Maybe even restoring lost Fae scripts. Secrets waiting in dust.
Ella set down her cup. The Crown loomed closer with every minute, a responsibility she could feel gathering around her like stormlight. There was so much she didn’t know. So much she’d missed.
