“You’ll stay by my side as you must,” Seraphina snaps, her voice carrying across the clearing.
Her dragon huffs and curls into a sunny spot, tucking its head beneath its paws.
I approach cautiously. “Your Godbeast seems frustrated.”
Seraphina barely glances at the apple before snatching it from my hand and tossing it toward her dragon. “Here. Perhaps something sweet will settle you.”
The dragon stomps on the offering with deliberate disdain before curling back up, golden eyes narrowed in defiance.
“Do you know why your dragon is fussy?” I ask, silently imagining what it might be like to have a dragon for a Godbeast instead of Kaelzar. The thought unsettles me so deeply that I catch myself shaking my head, as if to ward it off.
“She’s been nagging me to let her go to explore the kingdom,” Seraphina mutters, irritation barely contained.
My mind latches on to the fact that Seraphina called the dragon she. Not it.
I frown. “You didn’t let her?”
Seraphina turns, her gaze cold as ice. “She’s here to serve me, and here she’ll stay.”
“Even if it makes her miserable?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Seraphina stiffens. Her dragon lifts its head. “Control,” she says sharply, “is how you survive the Trial,” she snaps, her voice like flint. Then she tilts her head, lips curling. “What is it you want, failed queen? A lesson in obedience?”
I ignore the jab, keeping my tone steady. “Zyrel and Liona seem to be getting closer. I thought?—”
“You thought what?” Seraphina scoffs, her laughter as sharp as glass. “That I would ever stand beside you?”
But the derision drains from her voice as her eyes catch on something behind me. Her posture straightens. I turn and find Ryker standing there.
“One would think it’d be easy to speak with you,” he says, his voice light but laced with tension. “But I can’t seem to find a moment.” Just like I intended. These private moments with Ryker unsettle me more and more with each time.
All conversation around us ceases, the court’s collective attention snapping to their king.
“What is it you wish to ask, Your Majesty?” I ask, keeping my tone polite but guarded.
“Accompany me to the ball tonight.”
I swallow, torn between the softness in his voice and the ache still lingering in my chest.
I see the court watching, waiting. Their stares press in, expectant,polished smiles barely masking hunger. It should be a simple answer. He’s the king. I’m meant to want this. To want him.
But something in me stills. I remember Kaelzar’s face and despite my frustration with him, I can’t bring myself to accept Ryker’s invitation.
“It’s your birthday, Ray,” he says quietly, his voice softening to a plea. “You’re not spending it alone.”
He means well. And once, that might have been enough. A painful twist grips my heart. A flicker of quiet evenings with Kaelzar flashes through my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back. “I?—
Before I can finish my thought, Consul Montague steps forward with a practiced smile, Consul Black at his side. “My daughter would be honored to accompany you, Your Majesty.” His tone is smooth, but his cold gaze lingers a heartbeat longer than necessary.
In the next breath, the pieces begin to fall into place with the sharp clarity.
It was Consul Black who’s been speaking of war and urgency, weaving a narrative that demands a new queen. And now he stands beside Montague with slumped shoulders and a lowered head, not as an equal, but as a subordinate. A servant.
So if the Consul of War and Defense has truly been whispering fears into the court’s ears, stoking panic over our godless frontlines—just as Eva said—then I can’t help but wonder if there's a favor he owes Montague. A debt that binds him.
Was my removal orchestrated, piece by piece, to clear a path for Montague’s daughter to ascend where I was meant to stand?
