The wooden gates of the Throne Court stirred open without touch, as though the old timber had lungs that sighed at Seraphina's presence. She stepped in alone, lavender trailing her steps, and the first thing that struck her was the smell. A mingling of damp stone, wilted flowers, and something metallic,like old blood left in the cracks of marble. The garden breathed grief. Trees leaned toward her, their bark twisted into weeping faces, their upper branches clawing upward, leaves sharp and bone-like. The air seemed to thicken, each breath heavy, every sound waiting to be swallowed by the chamber's hollow ribs.
A cry cut across the silence. Seraphina turned, her eyes finding a woman sprawled upon the grass. Tangled hair pinned only by a broken butterfly's wings, rags clinging to her body, head sagging toward the ground.
"She was twelve," the woman rasped, voice tearing itself raw. "Two days I begged them. They never searched. When I swore I'd come to you,they said they'd do with me what they did to my husband."
The words clung to the walls like broken glass. Seraphina's fingers stiffened at her side, but she did not move. Eyes traced her every gesture, waiting.
Elowen stepped forward from the throne of screaming stone faces. Her palm steadied the woman's shoulder, her voice slicing through the sobs. "Justice will be done."
Two knights in long navy coats bent low, lifting the woman to her feet. The sobs dulled into whimpers, each step toward the door leaving behind a silence that pressed down like ash.
Seraphina's gaze rose to the advisors, each seated upon thrones of carved bone and rib. They watched like carrion birds, glass-eyed, unblinking. Valey trembled visibly, his robe sagging from his shoulders like shedding skin, lips shaking though no words escaped yet.
Seraphina passed him, her step rippling the thin water circling the council seats. A glass-eyed butterfly lifted from the ripple, wings gleaming, but still the advisors' eyes clung to her.
She knelt before the dais, knees pressing into the grass. Above, Elowen's crimson silk shifted, black lace catching the chamber's draft. Her command rolled like a stone descending the steps.
"See to the Commoners. Announce their new knight with clothes, sweets, with proof their queen's hand shields them."
Seraphina bowed deeper. "As you command."
Valey's voice broke, trembling. "Your Grace, such gifts may stir them. The hunger of Commoners is a flame. Feed it now, and it may burn us."
A scrape of steel followed. Terrow's hand clasped his hilt. "Then we feed iron into the flame. Double the watches at the rings. Let them rise, if they dare."
The heavy man shifted in his stone chair, silk sleeves rustling softly as his words flowed out, slow and smooth, his golden teeth gleaming with a smile.
"Knights pulled from noble doors, from merchant vaults,for what? Crumbs in beggars' hands? They will only cry louder tomorrow. The kingdom's balance lies not in pandering, nor in fear, but in what already holds steady. Why change what does not yet break?"
Elowen's golden gaze hardened. "Balance," she repeated. "You call rot balance. Valey, you call caution wisdom. Terrow, you call iron safety. Yet I hear only fear dressed in words." Her voice fell to a breath, heavy as a blade. "I will not rule through fear. Nor leave my people to shadows."
The fat man lowered his eyes, smiling faintly as though the words brushed past him. Terrow's grip lingered on his hilt but stilled. Valey bowed, trembling.
"Elowen turned. "Seraphina."
She lifted her eyes. "At your command."
"Go. Show them my hand."
She bowed low, lavender thickening the air as she left. Valey rubbed at his nose, but the scent clung stronger. Eyes followed her until she slipped through the gates.
Outside, the river stretched silver beneath the wooden bridge. Men in white coats guided massive winged chariots across, wheels never kissing water. A knight in a black long coat walked at Seraphina's side, cap pulled low, hand always on his hilt.
The Royal Ring shimmered with polished stone, children's laughter spilling through the air. She heard it before she saw them
children tumbling across golden swings and slides, their joy brighter than the toys themselves. As she passed, nobles bowed, silken sleeves dipping like banners.
On the third bridge, silver dulled into iron. Smiths and merchants bent to their knees, their silence reverent, their bodies bowed low as offerings.
Beyond the last bridge, splendor broke away. The Commoners' Ring leaned in blackened wood, walls damp with fungus, smoke dragging across crooked roofs. Yet when she stepped among them, the people bent low all the same. Knees pressed to earth, hands outstretched. She knelt, pressing silks and sweets into calloused palms. Children tugged at her sleeve, pressing into her hands small toys carved of scrap wood. She received them gently, as if they were gold.
For a moment, their shadows thinned, light cutting through their want. She lingered, eyes lifting across the bridges,iron, silver, gold,until the palace loomed radiant in the distance, impossibly far, impossibly bright.
In the Magnate Ring, within the goldsmith's shop, a man wiped sweat from his brow as he polished a lotus hair-pin. "Thank God we retrieved it," he muttered, rubbing harder at the petals. "I don't ever want to face her wrath."