That made his mouth snap shut.
Alora’s smile widened, deciding she liked her fire. “Then I welcome your support, Lady Solara. Argyle needs every flame.” She turned to the court. “Who else here supports my claim?”
A hush followed, tense, waiting, until a deep voice broke it.
“I, Lord Zuma of the Forbidden Ridge, grant you my fealty,” he said, stepping forward. His broad form cast a long shadow in the torchlight. “My people will fight under no banner but yours.”
Skeptical murmurs hummed through the crowd.
Theia stepped into the open beside him and bowed her head. “I, Lady of Stormwatch, stand with you, my Queen.”
The murmurs quieted, shock following.
Caelum crossed the floor next, his movements crisp, the silver pauldron at his shoulder catching the light. “House Basile has always served Argyle.” He clamped a fist over his heart. “To the end.”
The room shifted, the air charged with something more than magic. Murmurs stirred through the crowd like the first roll of distant thunder. Nobles who once clung to old order now watched their peers rise in tandem.
And Alora stood taller, the fire in her spine catching like dawn on steel. The shadows fell like veil over her head, leaving behind a crown.
Delphi cut in, voice shrill. “You have no claim. Your mother ceased to hold any royal standing the moment she died.”
“And you gladly took her place before her body was buried in the ground,” Alora replied in the same tone. “Now you find yourself in the same position.”
Delphi paled, at last stunned silent.
The Archbishop stepped forward. “Now Princess, Prince Rihan is the rightful heir.”
“Yes,” Alora agreed, narrowing her eyes. “He is.” She let her voice rise, filling the throne room as she spoke to her people. “I pledge before the Seven, that Prince Rihan will become king—when he comes of age. For I refuse to place my brother in harm’s way. For he is not ready for what is coming.”
Behind her, the Harbingers pulled open the heavy curtains. The red rift in the night sky bathed the chamber in its ominous light. It had doubled in size over the weeks.
“A war is on the horizon,” Alora announced. “When the Blood Moon rises, the Primordial that cursed our land…and the one who gave me life…will come. He comes to destroy. To devour. To consume all you hold dear.”
A fear hummed through the room.
“I spent my life hiding from what I am.” Her voice wavered with the tightening in her chest. “Then I tried to run from it. But hiding and running will never set us free. So when the end comes, I will face the dark. For there is more at stake than bloodlines or thrones. This is a war for the world.”
Her gaze swept the room, meeting eyes across rank and station.
“Therefore, I, Alora Lark, daughter of Salvia and Laurent, King of Argyle. Wife to the God of Shadows. Queen by birth andbond…” Her voice strengthened. “I ask you to fight beside me. Not out of duty or fealty, but for the hope of another dawn. For another spring. Another lullaby sung without sorrow.”
She stepped forward. “Fight with me and I swear to you all…” Her eyes misted. “When the war ends, so will the Sleeping Curse.”
The moonlight spilled through the dome above, catching in her crown. At her feet, moss coiled through the floor. Spider lilies bloomed through marble, glowing like scarlet stars.
A hush blanketed the room.
A rustle moved through the chamber as others stood to bow one by one.
Except Delphi and the lords.
Alora’s gaze swept over to them.
Lord Graye, wide as a boar and draped in layers of furs, rose with a sputter. “This is madness. We will not bow to a woman, let alone a bastard?—”
He cut off in a wheezing gurgle, his face turning purple as the shadows tightened.
“Mind your tongue when speaking to your queen, or you willlose it.” Alora flicked a hand, drawing them away. “The Lords of Argyle, you have governed my father’s kingdom in my absence, and I thank you. But it’s time I step in, unless you wish to dispute that.”
