The throne room of Eldrin had never known such silence.
Not the quiet of peace, but the taut, breathless hush of a blade balanced upon a precipice. The courtiers stood frozen, their jeweled doublets and silk gowns suddenly garish under the cold light of dawn. Even the banners proud sigils of the golden sunburst—hung limp, as though the very air had been stolen from the chamber.
At the center of it all, like a storm given flesh, stood the Night Court of Veythar.
They were not of this world.
Cloaked in living shadow, their armor etched with silver sigils that pulsed like dying stars, the fae warriors lined the hall in perfect, predatory stillness. Their eyesgold, violet, fathomless black burned with a hunger no mortal could name. And at their helm, seated upon a throne not his own as though it were a trifle, lounged King Kaelan Veythar.
He did not sit like a king.
He possessed the space, one booted foot propped carelessly on the armrest, his fingers drumming a slow, mocking rhythm against the gilded wood. The shadows around him coiled and writhed, tendrils of darkness licking at the edges of the sunlight daring to spill through the stained-glass windows.
Liora, still reeling from the forest, still tasting starlight on her tongue, stood before him not by choice, but by the iron grip of two fae guards.
Her father, Lord Theodric, Eldrin's aging steward, paled as though staring at his own executioner. You dare—
I do. Kaelan's voice was a blade wrapped in velvet. "But we need not make this tedious. You have something I require.
A murmur rippled through the court. Theodric's knuckles whitened around the hilt of his ceremonial sword. The Silverspine is forbidden to your kind. Whatever you seek there
Is no longer there. Kaelan's gaze slid to Liora. It stands before me.
The room stilled.
Liora's pulse roared in her ears.
Then laughter.
Brittle, disbelieving. Lady Isolde, Eldrin's sharp-tongued chancellor, stepped forward, her emerald robes hissing against the marble. You crossed the Veil, broke the Accord, and roused our city to panic for a girl?
Kaelan's smile was a slow, venomous thing. For a queen.
With a flick of his wrist, the shadows at his feet surged forward, twisting into a vision above the throne:
The falling star. The shard in Liora's hand. The voice of the prophecy
WhentheStarlightBridewedsTheShadowed King, TheRealmShallRiseOr FallBy Her Choice.
The image shattered like glass.
Liora's knees threatened to buckle. No. This was madness. She was no bride, no wielder of destinies just a woman who read stars and dared too much.
But the court was already turning toward her, their expressions shifting from fear to something far worse calculation.
Theodric staggered forward. Liora what have you done?
She opened her mouth
Enough. Kaelan rose, and the room seemed to bend around him. The stars have spoken. The Accord may yet hold if she comes willingly.
Liora found her voice. And if I refuse?
The temperature dropped.
Kaelan's shadows deepened, swallowing the light whole. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, deadly. Then Eldrin burns.
A gasp. A sob. Theodric lunged, his sword half-drawn
A fae blade pressed against his throat before he could blink.
Liora's world narrowed to the edge at her father's neck, to Kaelan's merciless gaze.
You would wage war over a prophecy? she spat.
I would burn kingdoms for far less. He stepped closer, close enough that his breath cold as midnight brushed her cheek. But you need not die a martyr, little star. Come with me. Wear my crown. And your people never suffer a single flame.
The offer hung between them, thick as smoke.
Liora searched his face for deceit, for cruelty but found only a terrifying truth: He believed this. Every word. Every star-cursed syllable.
And the worst part?
The shard in her veins thrummed in agreement.
Outside, the first bells of dawn began to toll.
Kaelan extended a hand, palm up. Not pleading. Commanding.
Well, bride of starlight? His voice dropped, for her alone. Will you kneel to fate? Or must I show you how merciful I can be when crossed?
The court held its breath.
Liora looked at her father's ashen face. At the terrified crowd. At the shadows writhing like a living thing around the monster-king who would either ruin or rule her.
Then she lifted her chin and took his hand.