Gwen tightened the last pin in Aurelia's hair, stepping back with a soft exhale. "All right," she said, brushing an invisible wrinkle from Aurelia's sleeve, "now we begin."
"My lady… are you sure you want the necklace?" Gwen asked softly as she tightened the last ribbon on the ceremonial gown.
"Yes," Aurelia murmured, drawing a slow breath. "If I'm going to stand before them, I want to stand with everything that belongs to me."
Gwen stepped back. "All right. The bath is ready."
Aurelia moved behind the privacy screen and slipped into the warm water. Steam curled around her as she washed away the night's lingering emotions, letting Gwen pour warm lavender-scented water over her shoulders. The heat soothed the ache in her muscles from the previous night's fight, washing away the dried blood, ....Cynthia's venomous words, the quiet fire she had found within herself, the fear she had pushed back down where it belonged.
When she stepped out, Gwen wrapped her in towels and guided her toward the vanity.
"Hold still," Gwen said, moving with practiced hands. "Your hair is too beautiful not to behave today."
Aurelia smiled faintly. "Since when does hair listen to anyone?"
"When the queen commands it," Gwen replied, flicking her a playful look.
Aurelia huffed a soft laugh, letting the moment ease her nerves.
Once her hair was pinned in elegant curls, Gwen brought the ceremonial gown forward. It had been tailored specifically for this day....a flowing dress of deep blue, embroidered with silver sapphire that shimmered like faint starlight. Nothing overly dramatic. Nothing screaming for attention. Yet undeniably regal.
Ready?" Gwen asked, watching her carefully.
"As ready as I can be."
Gwen lifted it carefully. "Arms up."
Aurelia obeyed, letting the fabric settle over her frame. Together, they fastened each clasp, tied each ribbon, slid each jewelled cuff into place. Gwen adjusted the cape that fell from Aurelia's shoulders, its edges glimmering faintly.
When Gwen finished latching the final clasp,she guided Aurelia to the full-length mirror.
Aurelia stood very still.
Her breath caught.
The dress was breathtaking, beautiful....fierce yet elegant, humble yet regal. It fit her like it had been woven specifically for her bones, her breath, her heartbeat.
But as always the first thing her eyes were drawn to was the familiar unevenness of her right arm, the visible marks of her curse. Her droopy eyes, her ugly face.
"A cursed queen," she whispered before she could stop herself.
Gwen immediately stepped beside her. "Don't you dare say that with that tone."
"But it's the truth," Aurelia replied quietly. "That is what they'll think. That is what they'll whisper." She touched her arm lightly. "They won't see the dress. They won't see anything except this."
Gwen placed both hands on her shoulders. "Then make them see something else. Make them see the woman who survived seven years of cruelty and still found the strength to stand tall. Make them see someone braver than all of them combined."
Aurelia inhaled slowly, letting the words settle into her bones.
She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.
Before last night, her knees might have been shaking. She might have worried about the whispers, the stares, the judgment waiting in the hall.
She wasn't the same frightened girl hiding behind long sleeves and bowed shoulders. Something had shifted inside her last night, Something proud. Something that refused to bow anymore....like a dam cracking open, letting all her buried courage rush out.
She would not hide.
She would not shrink.
"I will," she whispered. "I'll show them."
A knock sounded at the door.
"I'll get it," Gwen said, moving quickly.
The door opened...and vaelric with bright eyes peeked in, smiling as though the world had just become a gentler place.
"Mother?" Vaelric asked softly. "May I come in?"
Aurelia turned, and a warmth spread through her chest so quickly she almost forgot to breathe.
"Of course," she said.
He stepped inside timidly at first, then hurried to her when she opened her arms. She knelt, gathering him against her.
"You look… wow," Vaelric whispered, blinking up at her in awe.
Aurelia laughed under her breath. "I look… what?"
"Beautiful," he said simply, with the sincerity only a seven-year-old could carry. "Really beautiful."
She brushed her fingers through his hair. "You're only being polite."
"No, I'm not." Vaelric frowned, offended at the idea. "In my eyes, you're always beautiful. Because you're my mother."
Her throat tightened. "Thank you,my Ric."
"Ric?" Vaelric asked her.
"Your new nick name, do you like it?". Aurelia asked her beautiful boy.
"I love it". He beamed.
He smiled, leaning closer. "Are you ready?"
Aurelia let out a steady breath. "I think I am."
He took her hand in both of his, small fingers curling tightly around hers as if to give her strength. "Then let's go."
************
THE CORONATION HALL. THE GRAND HALL OF VALKORON
The great hall buzzed with whispers even before the crowds gathered fully. The ministers stood near the front, voices low but tense.
"Is it true?" one muttered. "A cursed woman being crowned?"
"Lower your voice," another hissed. "Do you want the king to hear you?"
The common folk lining the aisles whispered more freely.
"They say the curse twisted her body—"
"They say the sky might crack open if she touches the crown—"
"Will the gods tolerate this?"
"What if lightning strikes her?"
"Quiet!" someone hissed. "Do you want lightning to strike you where you stand?!"
But even the scolding voice trembled.
Despite the murmurs, they continued filing in. Some curious. Some skeptical. Some already sharpening their judgments.
Up front, the high priest polished the ceremonial crown...the Stormhelm of Valkoron.....his hands growing unsteady each time he glanced toward the entrance.
"They say the moment the crown touches her head, the storm god will smite her," whispered a woman clutching her pearl necklace.
"Aye," another replied, "and if he doesn't, then mayhap the rumors are false… mayhap the curse cannot taint the throne."
"Tread carefully," a minister warned loudly enough for three rows to hear. "The king will not tolerate disrespect toward his chosen queen. Whether cursed or not."
But even he kept glancing nervously toward the ceiling, half-expecting thunder.
The large chandeliers flickered softly, their crystals catching the morning light as nobles took their places. Guards stood along the walls in disciplined silence. Ministers grouped near the dais exchanged tight glances but none dared speak too loudly....not when the Storm Lord himself ruled the castle.
People were not merely gathering for a coronation.
They were gathering to witness whether the gods would accept....or smite....the woman chosen to be queen.
A blare of trumpets cut through the noise.
The herald stepped forward, voice clear and commanding.
"Presenting.....Her Majesty, the Dowager Queen Aelira!"
All heads turned.
Aelira entered with a slow, measured grace. Her gown of pale gold shimmered with every step, but her expression remained stiff, lips pressed into a line. She offered no smiles, only nods of acknowledgment as the people bowed.
Behind her walked Princess Levina, radiant in soft lavender, and her husband. Unlike the dowager, Levina's face was bright with joy. She glowed with warmth despite her mother's icy shadow, her steps light. Because unlike the dowager, Levina wanted this coronation. She had spent the night talking with Aurelia and saw something in her...a strength she respected. She waved softly at familiar faces, her happiness impossible to hide.
"Well she looks far too cheerful," one noble whispered.
"She adores the future queen," another murmured. "Word is they bonded last night."
"Then at least someone in the royal family approves."
The dowager took her seat, stiff-backed and severe. Levina leaned subtly toward her mother and whispered something that made her mother's jaw tighten. Still, Levina's smile didn't falter.
Whispers rippled again...but everything quieted the moment the herald lifted his staff.
He struck the marble floor once.
"Prepare yourselves," he called out.
People straightened. Nobles adjusted their cloaks. Ministers drew in sharp breaths.
Trumpets sounded a second time, echoing powerfully through the great hall.
The herald's voice rose, ringing through every corner:
"Behold....the arrival of His Majesty, Valerian Stormborne, Lord of the Tempest and King of the Realm!"
The massive double doors at the end of the hall began to open.
And every head....every single one...turned toward them.