The marble was unforgivably cold against Elaris's cheek. She didn't move, just for a heartbeat, hiding in that small space between disaster and reaction. She breathed in—dust, old wax, and the bitter tang of her own shame. The silence in the Great Hall wasn't empty; it was thick, heavy, a held breath waiting to explode.
Then it broke.
Not with a bang, but with a hiss. A wave of whispers, rolling over her from every corner of the room.
"—gods, did you see—"
"—I said this would happen—"
"—just like her grandfather,I told you, just like Theron—"
A boot scuffed nearby. A cough, poorly disguised. The rustle of silk as someone shifted, eager for a better view of the train wreck.
Then, a hand. It appeared in her vision, blocking out the gawking faces. Strong, calloused, a familiar scar across the knuckles. Kaelan. She focused on that scar, an anchor in the spinning room.
His face was a soldier's mask, neutral, but his eyes—they gave him away. A flicker of alarm, a dash of pity, all quickly shuttered. He didn't ask if she was alright. He just hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her up with a grunt of effort. Her legs buckled, feeling like over-cooked noodles, and she swayed hard into him. His grip on her elbow tightened, steadying her—the one solid, real thing in a world that had just tilted off its axis.
"Your crown, Your Majesty." His voice was low, meant only for her. He'd fetched it. The cold iron felt obscene in her hands, a heavy, guilty weight. She couldn't stand the thought of it on her head.
A shadow fell over them. Darius. His mouth was pinched so tight it was almost white. He leaned in close, his breath a warm, unpleasant puff against her ear. "For the love of the gods, Elaris, compose yourself," he hissed, the words sharp and serrated.
Then he straightened up, turning to the crowd with a stiff, horrible smile that didn't touch his eyes. "A moment of dizziness!" he announced, his voice too loud, too crisp. "The grief. The overwhelming weight of the day." He said it like he was dictating the official history of this humiliation, and damn anyone who remembered the truth.
From his perch against a pillar, Finn let out a soft snort of laughter. "Oh, I don't know. I thought it was terribly dramatic. A real… opening statement." He caught her eye, his own gleaming with malicious delight, and had the audacity to wink.
Elaris's face flamed. She wanted to disappear into the cracks between the marble tiles. She clutched the crown to her chest, the points digging into her palm—a small, sharp pain to ground her.
Then Lord Valerius was there, oozing forward like spilled oil, his face a masterclass in fake concern. "Your Majesty," he said, oozing false sympathy. He looked her up and down like a physician diagnosing a plague victim. "Perhaps… perhaps the court should be dismissed. You are clearly…" He paused, letting the word hang in the air, ripe and ugly. "…unwell. We can reconvene after you've had… rest."
Rest. The word sounded like the slamming of a dungeon door. They'd lock her in her rooms and throw away the key.
"No." The word scraped out of her throat, raw and rusty. She cleared it, forcing a strength into her voice she did not feel. "The court is not dismissed. I am perfectly fine."
A lie so transparent a child would see through it. A nervous titter rippled through the crowd, followed by the frantic flutter of a fan.
She turned her back on them, on their pitiless eyes, and made herself look at the throne. It just sat there. A stupid chunk of carved black rock. It hadn't moved. It hadn't screamed. It hadn't done anything but sit there, and yet it had unmade her completely.
Gritting her teeth, she walked toward it. Each step was a battle. She could feel their stares boring into her back, could hear the fragments of conversations they no longer bothered to hide.
"—Osric's greatest mistake, bypassing Darius—"
"—see the way she shakes?Unstable—"
"—the trading guilds will demand lower taxes the second they hear of this—"
"—remember Theron?By the end, he was offering titles to the portraits—"
She focused on the weight of the crown in her hands. She focused on the sound of Kaelan's boots, a single step behind her, a steady, reassuring rhythm amidst the chaos.
She reached the dais. Her heart was trying to hammer its way out of her chest. It's just a chair. It's just a gods-damned chair.
She sat.
The stone was cold. But the voices… the voices were gone. This time, there was only a deep, ringing silence in her skull. It wasn't peaceful. It was watchful. Waiting.
With trembling arms, she placed the crown back on her head. It felt heavier than before.
"The court," she announced, her voice echoing with a steadiness that felt like it belonged to someone else, "will resume."
The next hour was a unique and exquisite torture. Lord Valerius and the other council lords brought forth the most petty, interminable disputes—a squabble over grazing rights, a debate on the tariff on imported silk. They explained each issue with dripping, condescending patience, their eyes constantly sliding past her to where Darius stood, silently holding court. Every order she gave was met with a pause, a glance at Darius for a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of approval before they agreed.
She was a puppet. A placeholder. The real ghost in the room was her own power, swiftly draining away.
When the session finally, blessedly ended, the nobles bowed with mocking smiles and filed out, their whispers already building the legend of the "Mad Queen of Caelthorne."
Elaris waited until the last echo of footsteps faded before she slumped against the throne, exhaustion pressing down on her like a physical weight.
The scrape of a boot on stone. Kaelan approached, his expression unreadable. "Your Majesty."
"Don't," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Just… don't say anything."
A pause. "I was only going to say… you stayed."
She opened her eyes. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the throne as if it were a venomous serpent, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
"It was… quiet," she said, the words feeling dangerous.
"Good," he replied, but his tone was flat, wary. He gave a short, sharp bow. "I'll be right outside the doors if you need me." He turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness.
Alone. She was utterly alone with the thing that had started it all.
She pushed herself up, her body aching, ready to flee to the solitude of her chambers. But then a voice slipped into the silence. Not a chorus. Not a scream. Just one. Smooth as oil and clear as glass.
The Shadow Queen.
"You see how they treat you?" the voice murmured, sweet and cloying, like poisoned honey. "They smell your fear, little queen. They think it's weakness. They will circle until they can tear you apart."
The voice was a balm on her raw, exposed nerves. It understood. It was the only thing that did.
"Your brothers are already sharpening their knives. They think you are broken. They think you won't fight back."
A cold dread coiled in Elaris's gut. "What do you mean?" she breathed.
"Listen…" the voice whispered, a hint of thrilling conspiracy in its tone.
And then she heard them. Real voices, muffled but clear, leaking from the antechamber behind the throne. The door was left ajar. Darius and Finn. They thought they were alone.
"—we cannot wait, Darius." Finn's voice was sharp, all his earlier amusement gone. "This isn't just incompetence. It's full-blown madness. Did you see her? On the floor! We have to act now."
"The law—" Darius began, his voice rigid with frustration.
"The law won't save us when the mobs are at the gates demanding a sane ruler!" Finn's voice dropped, becoming a vicious whisper. "We go to the council tonight. We lay it all out. Her instability. Theron's bloodline. We have the physicians' reports ready to be 'discovered.' We get her declared unfit before the sun rises."
A long, heavy silence. Elaris could almost see Darius's face, the calculation warring with his rigid sense of order. "And the succession?" he finally asked, his voice tight.
"Passes to you," Finn said, his tone slick and reassuring. "The eldest competent male heir. It's what Father truly intended. It's what the kingdom needs to survive."
Another pause, longer this time. Then, two words, cold and final. "Tonight, then."
Their footsteps retreated.
Elaris sat frozen. The blood drained from her face, leaving her cold and numb. The chill of the throne was nothing compared to the ice now flooding her veins. Tonight. They were moving tonight. She was alone, surrounded, and utterly unprepared.
A long, sympathetic sigh echoed in her mind, a sound of shared sorrow. The Shadow Queen's voice was a soft, mournful whisper.
"Oh, my poor, brave child. To be betrayed so cruelly by your own flesh and blood. The fear you must feel… it breaks my heart."
The voice was a balm, the first hint of warmth in the desolate cold that had taken root inside her. It understood. It felt her pain as its own.
"Do not despair," it soothed.
"You are not without allies. You have me. And I have watched this court play its games for centuries."
There was a pause, a deliberate, weighted silence that stretched out, making her lean into the quiet, desperate for what came next.
"They think you are weak. They think you have no weapons. They are wrong. You sit upon the greatest weapon in the kingdom. You need only learn how to wield it."
Another pause, letting the implication hang in the silent air.
"Shall I show you?"