Chapter Seventy-Four
Enter as Draekenra
They dressed her in silence and shadow, but she would not leave without thunder.
On Xavien’s arm, Amerei stepped into the palace of the Vykenran Senate—a queen unmade, yet dressed for war. Her black dress trailed the floor like shadow, silk catching the fractured light of a dome above. Shards of glass scattered color across her bodice, as if the sun itself had crowned her. At her side, Xavien bore his iron-wreathed crown with practiced ease, a shadow cast to her storm.
He slowed as they neared a pair of towering doors.
Her heart ached—Viktor stood just beyond them, beside Storne.
Watching.
Waiting.
Xavien bent close.
“Your father will enter first, as commander of my guard. Disregard the murmurs. To some he is a hero, to others a pariah.”
Amerei barely moved her lips.
“Then what am I?”
Xavien’s hand pressed the small of her back.
She stiffened, willing herself not to flinch.
His fingers trailed higher, deliberate, then fell lower—too low.
Amerei could almost feel Viktor’s gaze burn across the chamber. Watching this princeling’s gamble.
“You are…” Xavien’s palm lingered. “…the woman they’ll soon kneel before.”
He urged her onward.
“Enter as though you are already Draekenra.”
The doors groaned open.
Storne strode first. Then Viktor.
Amerei heard his name—her name—echo in her mind.
Enter as if you are already Seraphim. Bride of the Ruakite guardian.
She lifted her chin. Drew breath like armor.
Because you are.
Xavien’s voice rang out like prophecy:
“Behold the rightful heiress to the throne of Casqadia.
Born of ancient line.
Shaped in silence.
And now—risen to claim whatnone of youhad the courage to guard.”
