I can be better than what I was in that chamber. I can be the leader they believe me to be.
I have to be.
Istand alone in the preparation chamber, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The coronation gown transforms me into something I barely recognize. Gold fabric flows like captured sunshine, the bodice fitted with intricate embroidery depicting celestial patterns – stars and planets spiraling across my torso in silver thread. The skirt pools around my feet in layers of shimmering silk, and behind me, a train stretches at least ten feet, heavy with more embroidered constellations.
Astrid helped with my hair, blonde waves pulled back in an elegant style woven through with gold ribbons and tiny moon-shaped pins – Mother’s touch. My face is painted subtly: gold dust at my temples, lips stained deep rose, kohl lining my once vibrantly green eyes, now flecked permanently with gold.
I look like a queen.
I feel like a fraud.
The Solar Sovereign crown from the mirror maze sits on my bedside table where the Cardinal page will collect it soon. Even from across the room, it seems to pulse with significance. Intricate metalwork depicting planets orbiting a central sun, precious gems catching the light like stars.
I earned that crown. I survived the trials, built alliances, proved myself worthy to five House leaders who voted unanimously.
But they don’t know the monster lives inside me, waiting.
The temperature drops suddenly, noticeably. Shadows in the corners of the room deepen, and the candles flicker despite no breeze.
I don’t startle anymore when he appears.
Lucien steps from the darkness near the tapestried wall, dressed in black formal attire that makes him look like a Prince from a fairy tale. The white mask covers half his face as always, but his dark eyes gleam as they take me in.
“My Queen...” He pauses, seeming to search for words.
“I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes,” I admit, turning from the mirror to face him. “Someone braver than me. Someone who deserves this.”
“You deserve it.” He moves closer, and I notice he’s still recovering – there’s a slight hesitation in his movement, a carefulness that speaks of lingering pain. “Everything you’ve endured, everything you’ve overcome. You’ve earned that crown, Cyra.”
The familiar calm settles over me as he approaches. The constant low-grade fever of withdrawal that’s lived under my skin for weeks simply … vanishes. The ache in my bones, the tremor in my fingers, the gnawing hunger – all of it goes quiet.
“It happens every time you’re near,” I say quietly, looking down at my steady hands. “The addiction. It stops screaming when you’re close.”
A look of pain engulfs his expression.
“I know,” he says softly.
“Only you.” I meet his eyes. “With Lord Zevran, the healing helps. It feeds the hunger temporarily. With you, the hunger just … stops. Like it’s never been there at all.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his gaze intense behind the mask.
“You do something similar for me,” he admits. “The shadow magic – it’s always there, always pulling. Demanding to be used, whispering that I could do more if I just surrendered a little more of myself. But when you’re near...” He pauses. “The shadows listen. They become almost … peaceful. Like they recognize something in you that calms them.”
We let this revelation settle over us for a moment.
“Maybe we’re antidotes to each other,” I whisper.
“Or catalysts.” His lips curve in the faintest smile. “Catalysts don’t just neutralize. They transform.”
He closes the distance between us, and suddenly we’re standing tooclose for propriety. I can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the cost of shadow-walking across star systems still written in the tension of his body.
“I need to thank you,” I say, my voice unsteady. “For everything you’ve done. I don’t think I’ve said it properly.”
“You don’t need to?—”
“Yes, I do.” I cut him off gently. “You brought Mother to me when I needed her most. You nearly killed yourself shadow-walking across the solar system to save my life.Again.”
