THE HALL was so silent that Mailah could hear the soft click of the cooling wax from the chandeliers.
Below, Seryn stood in the center of the room like a fallen star—dimmed, but still looked dangerous.
The King of Exiles leaned forward on his throne. His eyes raked over Seryn's new form. He didn't look impressed; he looked disgusted, the way one might look at a stray dog that had wandered into a palace.
"The Demon Princess," the King said, his voice a dry rasp. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face here. Every soul in this room has a reason to want your head on a pike. You spent centuries treating the Exiles like your personal footstools."
Seryn didn't flinch. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind an ear—a small, human gesture that looked alien on her. "I'm aware of my reputation, Your Majesty. But as you can see, I've had a bit of a... change in management."
"How?" Lucson whispered. He stepped down, his hand still white-knuckled on his sword hilt. "We saw her fall."
