The council chamber emptied with surprising speed once the order was given.
Servants hurried away like shadows fleeing light, guards sealed the doors, and even the Council Lord departed with a look that promised the matter was far from over.
When the final bolt slid into place, only Aria and the ten kings remained.
They stood in a crescent around her, each in the colors of their kingdoms, each radiating a different kind of danger.
The air was thick with heat and ice, sand and storm, the mingled scents of metal, leather, and something far more primal.
She could feel their attention like hands on her skin.
The King of Frostlands spoke first, his voice sharp as winter air.
"You were found near the greenhouses. The Midnight Bloom is missing. That is not a coincidence."
Aria lifted her chin, though her pulse raced. "I was there because—"
"Because someone lured you," the Sunlit King interrupted, his tone like warm honey poured over steel.
"Or perhaps," the Desert King countered, "because she was already part of the plot."
The two men locked eyes, their words striking sparks between them.
The Obsidian King moved forward, each step deliberate.
"If she were part of the plot, she would not have been caught so easily." His gaze slid to her hand. "Unless she wanted to be caught."
Her breath caught — not because of his words, but because she couldn't tell if he was accusing or protecting her.
The Verdant King spoke from the far side of the room, his voice low and almost tender.
"The flower was for her," he said. "Perhaps the real question is why."
Every head turned toward him, but his expression was unreadable, his fingers idly stroking the leaf of a potted vine beside him.
The Storm King laughed under his breath, a sound like distant thunder.
"You're all circling her like carrion birds," he said. "Let her speak."
Aria met his storm-grey eyes and almost wished he hadn't given her the chance.
She took a breath. "I don't know who took the flower. But I know someone wanted me to be blamed."
A ripple of interest passed through the room.
The Firelands King stepped closer, his heat so intense she felt it on her face. "And why would they want that, little flame?"
The name hit her like a spark in dry grass, igniting something she didn't understand.
She searched his eyes, trying to decide if it was a trap, but his expression was hungry in a way that had nothing to do with politics.
Before she could answer, the Frostlands King cut in.
"You're lying," he said, cold air curling around his words.
"She's not," the Verdant King murmured, "but she's hiding something."
The Storm King's eyes sharpened. "Then let's see if she can keep her secrets under pressure."
They began to move, each one taking a slow step closer, the circle tightening until she could feel the heat of their bodies around her.
The Desert King's voice was low in her ear. "If you tell me who it was, I'll make sure you live to see morning."
The Sunlit King's voice followed from her other side. "Tell me, and I'll make sure you never have to fear another king again."
Her knees trembled, but she stood her ground.
"I'll tell no one," she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.
The Obsidian King smiled — a small, dangerous thing. "Then we will find other ways to persuade you."
Before another word could be spoken, a knock rattled the great doors.
It was sharp, frantic — out of place in this sealed chamber.
One of the Storm King's guards slipped in, breathing hard.
"My lord… you need to see this."
He held up a strip of silk, deep black, tied in a bow — the same kind Aria had once found on her doorstep.
The Obsidian King's eyes went dark. "It's begun again."