The throne room did not return to normal.
It never did after moments like that.
The golden veins along the walls dimmed to a soft, exhausted glow. The air felt heavy, as though something immense had passed through and left its shadow behind.
Avelyncè Ryler sat on the lower steps of the dais, knees drawn close, hands trembling despite her efforts to still them.
"He was… calm," she said quietly.
Caelan stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly.
"That's what makes him dangerous."
---
The High Chancellor arrived an hour later—paler, quieter, and noticeably humbler than before.
"Lord Sevrin Kael," he said slowly, as if speaking the name too loudly might summon him back, "was officially declared dead one hundred and twelve years ago."
Avelyncè looked up. "Declared?"
Caelan's jaw tightened. "Executed without a body."
Silence fell.
"So he survived," Avelyncè whispered.
"No," the Chancellor said softly. "He was removed."
---
They gathered in a smaller council chamber, far from the throne's presence. Even so, Avelyncè could still feel it—watching, waiting, wounded.
"The council is divided," the Chancellor admitted. "Some believe Lord Sevrin's return proves the throne is unstable."
"And the rest?" Caelan asked.
"They believe the throne is frightened," the Chancellor said. "And that fear makes it dangerous."
Avelyncè flinched.
"That fear," she said, "is grief."
Both men looked at her.
"It misses what it lost," she continued. "Not him as he is now. But what he was."
Caelan exhaled slowly.
"That complicates things."
---
Later that night, Avelyncè stood alone on the palace balcony.
The city below glimmered with thousands of lights—unaware, restless, vulnerable.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
"I don't know how to help you," she whispered.
The warmth responded—not demanding, not pulling.
Just… there.
A presence choosing to stay.
---
Footsteps approached.
Caelan stopped beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
"You should be afraid," he said quietly.
"I am."
"Good," he replied. "Fear means you understand the cost."
She turned to him. "And you?"
He met her gaze without hesitation.
"I've been afraid my whole life. This is just the first time it matters."
---
Far beneath the palace, Lord Sevrin Kael watched the city lights flicker from a chamber carved with broken gold.
"They'll cling to you," he murmured. "Because you make it gentle."
The shard pulsed faintly.
"But gentleness," he continued, eyes darkening, "has never survived a kingdom."
He turned away, already setting his next move in motion.
---
Above, the throne pulsed once.
Not in warning.
In resolve.