Riven's POV
I stare at the crown like it might bite me.
"You're insane," I whisper. "I can't—I'm not—"
"You are." Kieran sets the crown on the table between us. Even in the dim light, it seems to pulse with power. "Your blood. Your magic. Your right."
"My right to what? Get killed?" I back away. "The King has an army at your gates. Putting that crown on my head won't stop them—it'll give them exactly what they want!"
"They want you dead and silent. This makes you loud and dangerous." He moves closer, and there's something fierce in his eyes. "The King can't execute a crowned queen without starting a civil war. Every noble house that remembers the Valdris line—and there are many—will rally to your banner."
"You're betting everything on a maybe!" My voice cracks. "What if they don't rally? What if they just let me burn?"
"Then we fight." Simple. Final. Like it's already decided.
"Why?" The question tears out of me. "Why do you care? You bought me to fulfill a treaty. You married me for political protection. Why risk your entire territory for—"
"Because I'm tired of bowing to a king who murdered his way to power!" Kieran's voice rises, and I see the fury he usually keeps locked away. "Because the Valdris line ruled with honor, and the current royal family rules with fear. Because if we don't stop King Aldric now, he'll bleed the North dry and move on to the next territory, and the next, until no one can stand against him."
He pauses, breathing hard.
"And because someone sent me that message three months ago. Someone who knew what you were, who knew I'd need you." His eyes lock on mine. "I don't know who. But I know they were right. You're not just a lost princess, Riven. You're the weapon that ends this."
The horn blares again, closer now.
Shouting echoes from outside—soldiers mobilizing, weapons being distributed. We're going to war whether I take that crown or not.
"I don't know how to be a queen," I say quietly.
"Good. Queens who think they know everything get themselves killed." Kieran picks up the crown. "You just need to be yourself. The girl who survived eighteen years of abuse and never broke. The woman who destroyed half a manor when her power finally emerged. That person? She doesn't need to know how to be a queen. She already is one."
His words settle over me like armor.
Maybe he's right. Maybe I've been a queen all along, just buried under years of servitude and fear.
Or maybe I'm about to make the stupidest decision of my life.
I reach for the crown.
The second my fingers touch the metal, power slams into me.
It's not like my magic—wild and chaotic. This is ancient, deep, woven into the crown itself. Images flash through my mind: battles, coronations, centuries of Valdris rulers. I see my mother—the woman from the portrait—placing this crown on her head. I see her running through flames, protecting something precious.
Protecting me.
"Riven!" Kieran's voice pulls me back. "Stay with me!"
I gasp, stumbling. He catches me, steadying me.
"The crown has memory magic," he explains. "It shows you the history of your bloodline. Did you see—"
"My mother." The words hurt. "She wore this. She ran from the massacre. She died protecting me."
Kieran's expression softens—just for a moment. "Then honor her. Take what's yours."
I lift the crown and place it on my head.
The weight is immense. Not just the physical weight—though that's significant—but the weight of responsibility, of legacy, of everything it means.
The crown settles into place, and power floods through me again. But this time, I don't fight it. I let it in. Let it show me what I am.
The last living Valdris. The rightful Queen of Ashenvale.
And absolutely terrified.
A knock on the door makes us both turn. Thorne enters, his face grim.
"My lord, the King's envoy is at the gates. He demands we surrender the unregistered mage—" He stops, seeing the crown on my head. "Oh."
"Send the envoy in," Kieran orders. "And assemble the court in the great hall. All of them. Including Seraphine."
"Kieran," Thorne says carefully. "Are you sure about this?"
"No. But we're doing it anyway." Kieran looks at me. "Can you walk?"
My legs feel like water, but I nod.
We make our way to the great hall, Thorne leading. Servants scatter at the sight of me—the crown changes everything. I'm not just the servant bride anymore. I'm something else. Something dangerous.
The hall is packed when we arrive. Every noble, every soldier, every person of importance in the Northern Territories. They fall silent as I enter.
Seraphine stands near the front, and her face goes white when she sees the crown.
"No," she breathes. "That's not possible. The Valdris crown was destroyed in the massacre—"
"Clearly not." Kieran's voice cuts through the shocked murmurs. "May I present Queen Riven Valdris Shadowmere. Rightful heir to the throne of Ashenvale. My wife. And the woman you all swore to protect when you swore loyalty to me."
The crowd erupts in chaos.
"She's a fraud!"
"This is treason!"
"The King will destroy us!"
Kieran lets them shout. Then he raises his hand, and silence falls.
"King Aldric wants her dead," he says. "Which should tell you everything you need to know about her claim. If she were a fraud, he wouldn't care. But she's real. And he's terrified."
The great hall doors slam open.
A man in royal colors strides in—the King's envoy. Behind him, I can see soldiers. So many soldiers.
"Lord Shadowmere," the envoy announces. "By order of King Aldric, you are commanded to surrender the unregistered mage known as Riven for immediate execution. Failure to comply will be considered an act of war."
Kieran smiles. It's a terrible smile. "Then consider this an act of war."
He turns to me. "Show them, Riven. Show them what you are."
My heart pounds. "How?"
"Your magic. Let them see it. All of it."
I hesitate. If I release my power here, in front of everyone, there's no taking it back. No more hiding. No more pretending to be small.
The envoy laughs. "You're staking your entire territory on a servant girl's parlor tricks?"
Something in me snaps.
I've been called worse than servant. I've been beaten, starved, threatened, framed. I've spent eighteen years making myself invisible because people like him decided I was nothing.
I'm done being nothing.
I reach for my magic—not tentatively, not carefully. I grab it with both hands and pull.
The power explodes outward.
Shadows erupt from every corner, but these aren't wild like before. These are controlled, purposeful. They form shapes—wolves, bears, dragons made of living darkness. The crown amplifies everything, focusing my power into something precise and devastating.
The floor beneath my feet cracks. The air itself seems to bend.
And from my hands, light blooms—not shadow, but pure white light that makes everyone shield their eyes. The Valdris bloodline didn't just control darkness. They controlled balance. Shadow and light. Destruction and creation.
I am both.
The envoy falls to his knees, his arrogance shattered. Around the hall, people gasp. Some kneel. Others back away in fear.
When I finally pull the power back in, the hall is silent except for my ragged breathing.
"Tell your king," I say, and my voice doesn't shake anymore, "that the Valdris line has returned. Tell him that I'm coming for my throne. And tell him that if he wants to stop me, he'll have to burn down the entire North to do it."
The envoy scrambles to his feet and runs.
As the doors slam behind him, Kieran leans close.
"Well," he murmurs. "That was dramatic."
"You told me to show them."
"I did. And you exceeded expectations." His hand finds mine. "Now comes the hard part."
"What's harder than threatening a king?"
"Surviving his response."
As if summoned by his words, an explosion rocks the fortress.
Then another. And another.
Magic. Massive, destructive magic slamming against the fortress shields.
Seraphine runs to the window and looks out. When she turns back, her face is pale.
"The King brought his entire battle mage corps," she says. "Twenty of the most powerful magic users in Ashenvale. They're tearing down our defenses."
"How long do we have?" Kieran demands.
"Maybe an hour. Maybe less." She looks at me, and for once, there's no hatred in her eyes. Just fear. "They're not here to arrest you anymore. They're here to destroy you. And everyone who protects you."
Kieran turns to his assembled court. "Anyone who wants to leave, do it now. I won't force you to die for this."
No one moves.
Thorne steps forward. "We're with you, my lord. To the end."
Others echo the sentiment. These Northern people, who hated me just days ago, are choosing to stand with me now.
Because I'm not asking them to die for a servant.
I'm asking them to die for their queen.
Another explosion, closer this time. The walls shake.
"We need a plan," Thorne says.
"I have one." Kieran looks at me. "But you're not going to like it."
"Tell me anyway."
"The only way to stop King Aldric's battle mages is with power equal to theirs. Which means—"
"I have to fight them." The realization settles over me. "Twenty trained battle mages against one untrained queen."
"With a fortress full of soldiers and the most powerful bloodline magic in history," Kieran corrects. "You won't be alone."
"I'll still probably die."
"Probably." His hand tightens on mine. "But if you win, you'll be unstoppable."
The fortress shudders again. Fire blooms against the shields—I can see it through the windows. Beautiful and terrible.
I look at Kieran, this man who planned my rescue months ago. Who married me. Who just bet everything on my survival.
"Why did someone send you that message?" I ask suddenly. "About me. Three months ago. Who knew I existed? Who wanted you to save me?"
"I don't know." His eyes are serious. "But whoever they are, they're playing a game we don't understand yet. And I think we're about to find out why."
The shields fail.
Magic pours through like a flood—fire, lightning, raw destructive force. Screams echo from the outer walls.
Kieran pulls me close, his voice urgent in my ear.
"There's something you need to know. About your mother. About why she really died."
"What? Now?"
"If we survive this, I'll explain everything. But if we don't—" He pauses. "Your mother didn't just die protecting you. She died because she discovered a secret. A secret about the King. About what he really is."
"What do you mean, what he really is?"
Another explosion, so close the floor cracks beneath our feet.
"He's not human, Riven," Kieran says. "King Aldric hasn't aged in fifty years. Your mother found out why. And it got her killed."
Before I can process that impossible statement, the wall explodes inward.
Through the smoke and debris, a figure walks into the great hall.
Not one of the battle mages.
King Aldric himself.
He looks exactly like the portraits I've seen—middle-aged, handsome, powerful. Except those portraits are from fifty years ago. And he hasn't changed at all.
His eyes find me. Find the crown on my head.
And he smiles.
"Hello, Riven," he says pleasantly. "I've been looking for you for twenty-three years. Ever since I killed your mother with my own hands."