"I've got you," Lucian whispered. To nobody. To her. To the matebond that was the cruelest gift any goddess had ever given. "I've got you, River. I'm here."
She couldn't hear him. She would never hear him. The words existed in a corridor and died there, absorbed by stone that was warmer than the distance between them and colder than everything he felt.
Atlas's voice came through the door again, carrying the full weight of a crown and a father.
"She is a princess because I made her one. The crown I placed on her head carries my authority, my blood, and my name. If this council has a problem with that, I invite the council to remember who built this chamber, who funds this chamber, and who can dissolve this chamber before the sun reaches the western wall."
The door opened.
Atlas walked out with River's hand in his. The king's grip was steady, certain, the hold of a man who had once said it is done with the weight of a decree and meant every syllable.
