“Forgive the interruption,” he says, shoulders squared. “But, Princess Celeste—the king requests your presence in the council chamber.”
I blink. “The council chamber?”
Holden nods once. “Yes. He said to bring you there directly.”
Ezra’s brow lifts, his mouth parting slightly. “He’s never allowed you inside before.”
“No,” I murmur, rising to my feet. “He hasn’t.”
Not officially. Not like this.
The only time I’ve stood within that chamber was the day Dante and I forced our way in—an intrusion Farvis made very clear would not be tolerated again. Every other time, when I asked for entry, I was turned away.
Whatever this is… it isn’t ordinary.
I stand and lift my chin. “Well. Let’s see what’s changed.”
“Good luck,” Nadya says. “I’ll see you later.”
“I really hope so,” I murmur.
Sir Holden waits just outside the lesson room, offering a polite incline of his head before turning to lead me through the quiet, echoing halls of Ivystone.
With every step, I feel apprehension settling deeper into my chest. My boots tap softly against the stone floors, and I force myself to breathe slowly. I don’t know why I’ve been summoned, only that the council chamber isn’t a place I’m normally permitted to enter. I’ve spent months cloaked in mourning and forced obedience, passed over like a shadow in the corner of every conversation.
But I am the heir to the Delasurvian throne. I am commander of the royal regiment—even if I’m currently on hiatus. I have faced carnivorous monsters with jagged teeth and claws, and I’ve walked awaybreathing. So whatever this is, I will not let them see me small.
My spine straightens as we near the double doors carved with curling vines and old kingdom sigils, the bronze handles gleaming despite the grey light that filters through the tall windows overhead. Two guards push the doors open without a word. They’ve been expecting me.
It’s been so long since I’ve been in the council chambers that I’ve forgotten what the place looked like. The space is cool and bright. Arched windows line the far wall, casting thin lines of pale light across the long marble table in the center of the room. Maps are unfurled in places, flanked by scrolls, inkpots, and quills. A low fire crackles behind the king’s seat.
King Silas sits at the head of the table, his posture severe and immovable, as always. Farvis stands just behind him with a roll of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, face pinched with duty. And to the king’s right is Dante. His arms rest on the table, fingers laced, his expression unreadable until his gaze meets mine.
“Celeste,” the king says, not rising. “You’re aware of why you’ve been summoned?”
I step closer to the table, clasping my hands behind my back. “No, Your Majesty.”
“We’ve received word from the realms.” His voice is brusque, every syllable sharpened by power. “Each of the courts we visited during our tour has responded.”
I glance toward Dante, and his mouth lifts—just barely, a flicker of something quiet and proud. My heart thuds, a breath catching in my throat.
“Every realm,” the king continues, “has accepted Dante’s claim to legitimacy.”
My gaze snaps back to him. “Then congratulations are in order,” I say, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “That’s incredible news.”
But the king shakes his head once, lifting a hand, as if to halt the celebration. “Not yet. You see, there is one realm left whose approval is required to make the claim official.”
Farvis steps forward with parchment and quill, the motion practiced, precise.
I look between him and the king.
“Delasurvia is the final vote we need. And the laws, though ancient, remain clear. Majority must be achieved, and your kingdom’s voice tips the scale.”
Dante looks at me, and I catch the rise and fall of his chest as his storm-grey eyes flash.
I draw a steady breath, then take a step toward the table, letting my stance reflect the gravitas of my title. “Then I accept,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Delasurvia supports Lord Stregasi’s claim.”
Farvis lays the parchment on the table and offers the quill. I skim the words, making sure there’s nothing hidden in the ink, before signing my name with careful, clean strokes.
