Page 35 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

The council is already mid-frenzy with raised voices and overlapping accusations. Their words twist through the chamber like tangled seaweed.

“—reckless to withhold this any longer—”

“—we have yet to verify if the scroll is even genuine—”

I coil forward like a ribbon filled with power, letting intimidation speak for me. Sarah follows closely behind, but my gaze stays forward as I pass each noble floating in front of their carved coral chairs.

Nyx waits at the base of the dais' steps, shoulders squared and posture unwavering. Her eyes find mine, and a quiet nod is given, reminding me to breathe.

You are in charge, not them. Breathe in. Breathe out. Whooo.

Words continue to fall from each of their mouths, but one voice cuts through the rest.

Duke Seren leans forward from his seat near the center. “And what is she doing here?” His words are heartless. Spoken with true disdain, “A land-dweller with stolen power has no place in this hall, let alone beside a throne. I see no honor in a king for welcoming a thief to council matters.”

Typical. Seren Malquor, Duke of Virellius Deep. He is cunning, politically shrewd, and, as always, his ego is too big to fit into his tail.

Virellius Deep predates the kingdom itself—a fact Seren clings to with desperate pride. He wears his ancient bloodline like armor, even though its power has long since faded, wielding its history as if it still inspires fear. My least favorite noble. And unfortunately, always the loudest in the room.

The hall quiets just enough for his words to land.

I freeze at the base of the dais as I turn my head, looking downward, to meet his eyes. I don’t speak—yet. Instead, I ascend the steps, cutting through the water with silent strength—one even Mother Ocean herself cannot deny. I reach the throne and sit, the carved stone molding to me as though it remembers who I am.

Only then do I meet Sarah's gaze and give a single nod toward the throne on my right. it is neither an invitation nor a request. It is a demand.

She hesitates. Just for a breath. A flicker of uncertainty crosses her features like a shadow in the current. But she doesn't linger for long. Her chin lifts, spine straightens, and she crosses the space between us with quiet resolve.

She takes a seat beside me, head high, refusing to shrink beneath their scrutiny.

“Your majesty?” Nyx’s eyebrow raises at my actions. “Are you sure this is appropriate?” Her voice barely rises above a whisper. Nyx never questions me. Not without reason. The seat beside the throne is reserved for Virellan's future queen. No one else has occupied it since my mother's passing. By directing a human toward it—a human whose place in my kingdom remains partially unclear—I am making a statement I cannot take back.

Let them see where she stands now. I don't know what future Mother Ocean has chosen for Sarah, only that it is entwined with Virellan's.

Now settled into the throne, its weight no heavier than the eyes fixed on me, my gaze finds Duke Seren, still puffed with indignation. Of course, he would be the first to bark.

“She remains beside me,” I announce, voice calm but edged in steel, “because without her, we would not be here in this meeting at all.” A ripple of unease moves through the hall, but I don't let it stall me. “She is the only one who could read the scroll—words penned in magic meant for a single soul. My father’s magic chose her. That alone demands respect.”

I glance at Sarah. Her composure holds, but I saw the flicker earlier. The way she steadied herself before swimming forward. Bravery is not loud. It is quiet in the moments most would retreat.

I continue, returning my features to the council. “And it was her courage that revealed truths that have been buried for too long. Truths we now must face. So before any of you speak of thievery again, remember—without her, we would have nothing but silence and shadows helping us.”

The silence after my words is taut, like a body holding its breath too long. The council waits, some visibly fuming, others merely watching, calculating.

I turn to Sarah and incline my head, offering her the floor. She hesitates again, this time longer. Her fingers twist lightly in the fabric of her dress as she rises, and though her shoulders are square, I can see the tremble just beneath.

“I, um . . .” she murmurs, the words fragile in the vast hall, as she glides forward from the seat she just sat in. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what any of this means. Not really.” Her voice is apprehensive, but she does not falter. She draws a breath and continues, eyes sweeping the room, then briefly flicking toward me before finding the floor. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t even believe any of it was real when it started. Some of it, I still don’t think is real. And . . . I still don’t know why the scroll, or your former king’s magic, chose me. But I read what it said.” She lifts her chin slightly, though her voice remains quiet, threadbare with honesty. “I’m just a marine biologist. I’m not supposed to be here. But . . . the magic chose me. And it’s time I chose it, too.”

The words settle, and the silence that follows is deep and charged.

Then, as if summoned by her resolve, a soft pulse ripples outward from where she floats. A faint glow, barely visible at first, suddenly bursts like a wave through the chamber—a shimmer of pale light laced with gold and teal-green brushes against every being in the room.

Gasps echo from the council. One of the marilume lights from above flickers, the enchanted mineral reacting to the sudden surge of power. The glow lingers around Sarah for a breath before fading.

That is when the balance breaks.

The current tightens, pulsing with a unfamiliar rhythm. The glow, once fading, flares back to life. Only this time, it centers entirely on her. Sarah staggers slightly, her eyes widening as light swirls around her, cocooning her form in ribbons of magic that ripple like the sea itself.

Her skin takes on a soft iridescence, kissed by blues and silvers that shimmer with every breath. Her hair fans around her in a halo of deep burgundy and coral-red hues, threaded now with delicate strands that mirror kelp. Faint scales bloom along her arms and collarbones fine as lace, catching the light like crystal. Where once she wore a simple dress, now the fabric flows like water, reformed into something regal and elemental—woven by the ocean’s own hand. The transformation is not monstrous. It is majestic. She looks like she belongs to the sea.