The throne room of the Seelie Court glittered like dawn on a blade's edge.
Gold-veined pillars rose to meet a ceiling woven from living light. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors from the walls, fed by ancient spells and the breath of the queen herself. Servants in luminous silks moved like drifting fireflies. But none of it masked the tension that rippled through the air like an oncoming storm.
At the center of it all sat Queen Elarien, her crown a halo of woven sunlight and flame. Her expression usually serene, bordering on divine was cracked with something far more mortal: fear.
The scout's body lay on a bier of crystal thorns before her, unmoving. His wings, once luminous, were curled and blackened like dried petals. His mouth remained frozen mid-scream.
Behind her, her High Vire, Eloras, knelt in silence.
