The morning after the coronation feast, the palace stood in muted reverence.
No banners fluttered.
No horns rang.
No celebration echoed through its obsidian halls.
Today was not for triumph.
Today was for farewell.
In the heart of the Obsidian Palace, where the roots of the kingdom pulsed in ancient silence, the Hall of Eternal Flame awaited.
A ritual older than memory. A slumber deeper than death.
Velrith's Pov
I woke in darkness, the fire of the feast long extinguished. The glow of candlelight cast gentle lines across my chamber.
Beside me, Clementine lay curled in the crook of my body, her bare form soft, arms draped possessively around my waist like a child clutching a precious dream.
She slept peacefully unaware of the weight pressing down upon the morning.
I did not wake her.
I merely pulled the covers higher over her body, brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow. The bond between us still pulsed faintly a thread of magic, warm and new.
But I could not linger.
I summoned the maids, instructing them to lay out fresh robes for Clementine. She would understand where I had gone.
And she would wait.
Donning a robe of crimson silk, embroidered in the old runes of Vaelgor, I left my private chamber.
No crown.
No demon paint.
Only silence and fire.
The path to the underground sanctum was lined with tall braziers, black flames licking upward, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The court followed behind me, silent and cloaked, the weight of tradition pressing down on every footstep.
In the center of the sanctum, beneath the carved ceiling of obsidian stars, they stood waiting.
My parents.
King Vaelgor the Unbroken.
Queen Virelle the Bloodborne.
Still tall.
Still defiant.
Still regal even as time began to tug at the corners of their strength.
They were not frail.
They were not diminished.
They were finished their role completed, their legacy written in blood and flame.
Their hands were entwined, their expressions serene. No fear. No hesitation. Only the unshakable calm of those who had faced eternity… and accepted it.
I walked toward them, my steps slow and measured. My body calm.
My heart a storm.
In the center of the sanctum stood a massive obsidian sarcophagus, carved with the sigil of House Vaelgor: a serpent devouring its tail, circled by flame and shrouded in wings. This was no tomb. This was a sanctum. A throne in stone.
A resting place for rulers who had given everything.
The High Priestess of Flame stepped forward, her staff glowing faintly with inner fire, her voice low and unwavering as she recited the Rite:
"By fire, you were born.
By blood, you ruled.
By slumber, you shall endure."
The words echoed through the chamber like a heartbeat.
The nobles, all gathered behind me, repeated the phrase their voices a rising tide of reverence.
"By slumber, you shall endure."
Vaelgor turned to me first, eyes bright as ever.
He spoke in the voice of a king, but to me… it was only father.
"Rule as you must," he said. "But never lower your head. Not even before gods. Pride is your shield. Let it crack before your spine does."
He lifted his hand still rough, still strong and pressed it to my forehead.
A pulse of heat sank into my bones.
His will.
His strength.
A final blessing.
I said nothing, but I burned with it. I would carry it always.
Then Virelle stepped close, and for the first time in years, she held me like a mother.
Not a queen.
Not a symbol.
Just a woman holding her child one last time.
"The crown is not a burden, child," she whispered against my ear.
"It is a sword. Wield it. Do not drag it."
I squeezed my eyes shut, just for a heartbeat. Just long enough.
Then I let her go.
I had to.
Together, hand in hand, they stepped up onto the dais and into the waiting sarcophagus.
The lid of obsidian shimmered with ancient runes.
Their eyes met mine, once more.
Then closed.
The High Priestess raised her staff high.
And the flames roared.
Dark fire surged from the braziers and spiraled into the sarcophagus, enveloping it in a storm of binding light and shadow-etched wards.
Magic older than kings poured through the room.
And it was my hand that held the final piece:
A dagger forged from starlight and nightstone.
An artifact passed from ruler to ruler.
With a single breath, I raised it overhead and brought it down into the sigil at the heart of the sarcophagus.
A pulse of light burst outward.
Then silence.
The flames dimmed.
The air shifted.
And the tomb was sealed.
Vaelgor and Virelle, once rulers of a kingdom of blood and iron, were now something more.
Eternal anchors.
Silent watchers.
The last breath of an era.
I turned from the dais.
Alone.
Completely.
For the first time in my life there were no hands left to catch me.
Behind me, my court bowed in unison.
Nobles.
Generals.
Priests.
All eyes upon me.
No more daughters.
No more heirs.
Only the crown.
Only the weight.
And I walked past the flames, past the braziers, past the voices who would now measure my every move.
I walked with bare feet, and an invisible crown.
But the truth thundered through every beat of my heart:
You are the Queen now.
There is no one left to protect you.
And no one strong enough to stop you.
The morning after the slumber ceremony, I walked the corridors alone.
There were no trumpets.
No chants.
No flurry of attendants.
The kingdom slept in respectful hush, still digesting the ritual of fire and farewell.
Only I moved.
Only I burned.
I pushed open the doors to my chamber and stepped into a warmth that did not belong to ceremony or legacy but to something far simpler.
Clementine.
She lay half-draped across my bed, skin bare beneath folds of dark silk, her breath slow and even. She hadn't stirred since I left.
I stood there, watching her.
Her presence soothed something ancient in me. Something I hadn't known was fraying until she began to stitch it back together.
But I could not stay.
Not yet.
I gave a quiet order to the night maids to leave fresh robes and a morning tray for her, then left in silence, stepping barefoot across the stone. I didn't want the weight of armor. I didn't want the crown.
Not for what I was about to do.
The underground chamber was colder than I remembered.
The fires still burned in the braziers, blue-black flames licking at the carved pillars. The scent of ash and sacred oils hung thick in the air.
And there, sealed in obsidian, my mother and father slept.
No endured.
Their forms preserved, their power sealed beneath sigils older than this throne, older than even the Demon Houses. They would never wake again.
But they would watch.
Guard.
Judge.
I should have felt proud. Or elevated. Or divine.
Instead, I felt… hollow.
Like the rituals had carved space inside me that no crown could fill.
I had not wept.
I would not.
But something in me cracked, small and invisible.
A break I could only feel when the silence got too loud.
When I returned to my chambers, I found Clementine exactly where I'd left her—except now she was awake.
Her hair was a tangled halo, silver-gold in the firelight, and her eyes found mine the second I stepped inside.
"You're back," she said, voice thick with sleep.
I gave a tired nod. "I buried gods and became one."
"Sounds exhausting," she yawned, sitting up, the sheets slipping scandalously low.
I allowed myself a smile. It felt foreign.
"Do I look like a queen yet?"
She tilted her head, gaze running over me like a blade.
"No," she said. "You look like a woman who just gave her soul to the flame."
"I did."
She patted the bed beside her. "Come burn something else."
I walked toward her, shedding my robe as I went. Not out of seduction, but weariness. The fabric hit the floor like a discarded truth.
I climbed into the bed and let her arms pull me in, bare skin against bare skin.
For a moment, there was only quiet between us.
She stroked my hair.
I listened to her heartbeat.
It calmed me more than any chant or ancient blessing.
"Did it hurt?" she asked finally.
I didn't answer right away.
"It didn't hurt as much as knowing I can't ever ask them for advice again," I said. "Or lean on them. Or look at them and feel like someone else is still steering the storm."
She was quiet.
Then, softly, "You don't have to steer alone."
I tilted my head toward her. "You'd weather it with me?"
Clementine smirked. "You think I got branded in demonic blood and survived a pact with your inner monster just to sleep in silk sheets?"
I chuckled a low, bitter thing. "Maybe."
She leaned in, her lips brushing my collarbone. "I'm with you, Velrith. As spy. As blade. As whatever you need."
"And what if what I need... is dangerous?" I asked.
Her silver eyes met mine, unblinking.
"Then I'll sharpen the blade."
Gods, how I loved her in that moment.
Not with softness.
But with certainty.
I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing over the faint rune still pulsing on her skin from our binding.
And slowly, deliberately, I kissed her.
A real kiss.
Not of dominance or ritual or conquest.
But of recognition.
Of shared ruin.
Of a future neither of us could see but both intended to survive.
Later, when she had fallen back into sleep, her arm wrapped around my waist, I stared at the ceiling, wide awake.
I saw the throne room in my mind.
I saw the nobles who would whisper behind my back.
I saw the first court session I would hold today where I'd test who dared challenge my rule... and who deserved to bleed for it.
Just like me.
I am no longer a girl.
No longer a princess of inherited fire.
I am Queen Velrith of House Vaelgor.
My court begins today.
And may the gods pity those who think to stand against me
Because I will build my empire not on treaties and traditions.
But on secrets.
On loyalty.
On submission.
One soul at a time.
And I will not fail.