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By the time I was fully dressed, my pulse was racing, and my palms were sweaty. I was eager to be finished with this ceremony so I could speak with the chiefs.

I needed to find out who Locke and Verne had been closest to.

And I needed to be on guard during the ceremony. If someone had rescheduled the coronation on purpose, I had to be prepared for anything.

As the servants marched me from my rooms, my thoughts turned to Elvira’s journals, still stowed in my armoire. Perhaps it was a good thing I hadn’t presented the journals to the chiefs yet. If one of them was behind Nolan’s death, the last thing I wanted to do was provide them with a way to kill more Mages.

If Elvira had been working with a chief to experiment on Rogues, then it was more important than ever for me to find out what they discovered. Something in those journals might provide a clue as to who she’d been working with.

Knots formed in my stomach as I thought of Cerise. If anyone could help decipher Elvira’s journals, it would be her.

My slick hands trembled as I gripped the bannister and descended the staircase that led to the throne room. Already, a babble of voices met my ears, indicating the room was full of Mages prepared to watch me accept the crown.

Gods, I was not ready for this. I wanted Tavik in my head, reassuring me.

And I wanted Cerise here. I thought of how she often fidgeted, her hands tugging at the fabric of her cloak or her dress. I thought of the intensity simmering in my blood whenever our eyes locked. Her emerald gaze seemed to beckon me, peering into the depths of my soul.

The servants around me scattered, filing down the hall to see to preparations for the feast. I faced the throne room doors alone, steeling myself with a long, slow breath. Strangely, thoughts of Cerise helped calm my agitated nerves. I stared hard at the oak doors just as they were thrown open.

Scores of Mages surrounded a burgundy carpet that led from the doors to the end of the throne room. My eyes roved over each individual, trying to identify anything that might be out of place. A hostile expression, perhaps. Maybe a cloaked stranger. Or the flash of a dagger.

But as I scrutinized each Mage, I found nothing suspicious. Everyone watched me, eyes bright with anticipation.

Still, I kept my spine rigid and my arms at my sides, ears straining for any strange sounds. My steps were steady as I moved forward, following the carpet, my eyes fixed on the dais up ahead, where a stool with a massive golden crown awaited. The magistrate stood next to it, wearing a white and gold headdress and toga. Behind him were the four chiefs, wearing tan skirts along with their ceremonial beads.

Something fiery roared within me at the sight of them. I stared at each of them, trying to discern who could possibly be a murderer. Chief Gorem stood, tall and regal as ever, his graying hair glowing bronze in the candlelight. Chief Korvus’s curly black hair was smoothed back, his wiry arms behind his back as he watched me stoically. Chief Cartier seemed rather bored, his bushy eyebrows drawn together and his gaze unfocused. Chief Ramathos’s muscular arms were rigid, his eyes narrowed with displeasure. It was clear he didn’t think I was fit to rule. He made his disdain for me evident on the day I found out I was to be king.

Could the Draconus chief possibly be the murderer?

When I reached the dais, I sank to my knees, bowing my head before the magistrate. In my peripheral vision, I focused on Chief Ramathos’s figure, waiting for him to try something. The silence in the room was deafening, so stark my ears started to ring.

“Alaric Navier,” said the magistrate, his voice deep and booming. “Do you accept this crown and the sacred responsibility it represents?”

“I do,” I said, grateful my voice was level.

“And do you pledge your loyalty and devotion to the kingdom of Mages?”

“I do.”

“Do you vow to uphold the laws and to rule justly?”

“I do.”

“And above all, do you swear to put the needs of the Mages above your own?”

I swallowed hard, my chest thrumming. “I do.” My gaze flicked upward to the chiefs. Still no movement.

“Then, by the sacred powers granted to me by the Goddess Lunaria herself, I crown you King Alaric Navier, rightful ruler of the Mages of Kenibore.”

The crown seemed far too heavy as the magistrate settled it on my head. It fit perfectly alongside the gold circlet Stover had put on me. I held perfectly still, worried if I leaned the wrong way, it would completely tip over.

As I rose to my feet, my eyes fixed on the chiefs, my body tense as I expected some sort of attack.

But the four chiefs and the magistrate fell to their knees, heads lowered in reverence. Muffled shuffling sounded, and when I turned to face the crowd, I found every single Mage was kneeling before me.

My throat felt tight as I surveyed them, noting their bowed heads. No one stared defiantly at me. No one remained upright.

And no one attacked.