"Long live the Queen!"
The final echo of the people's cry still clung to the stones of valkoron when the horns sounded again, announcing the end of the coronation. Aurelia felt the weight of those words settle on her shoulders....not crushing, but heavy enough to remind her that her life was no longer hers alone.
Not even an hour after the coronation rites had ended, preparations for the banquet were in full motion. The Storm Lord had ordered it himself: a night of celebration to welcome his new queen.
And when Valerian commanded, the realm obeyed.
******
Virelia burst into life that evening. Lanterns hung from every corner, their golden flames casting a festive glow on the streets. Musicians stationed in the plazas played lively tunes that invited even the most stoic merchant to tap his foot. Banners bearing the royal crest danced in the wind, and from the taverns came laughter, the clatter of mugs and voices raised in excitement....or worry.
At the largest tavern in central Virelia, The Settled Sea, a crowd had crammed itself inside, drinking as though the coronation were a festival meant for them personally.
"Did you see it?" a burly man asked, slamming his mug onto the table hard enough to spill ale across his fingers. "The sky went black as pitch!"
"Heard the thunder from Old Veya," another replied. "Nearly dropped my daughter's laundry out the window."
A younger woman leaned closer, eyes wide. "They said lightning struck the altar! Did it?"
"No, no," said an older man with a long grey beard, waving his hand as if warding off exaggeration. "Not the altar. But the storm rolled in like the gods themselves stepped down."
"And the high priest?" someone else asked.
"What about him?"
"He froze!" a boy chimed in, too excited to wait for permission. "Right when he lifted the crown. Froze like someone grabbed his soul!"
The table erupted in laughter.
"You're telling tales, boy," the older man muttered. "High Priest Elowen is many things, but easily shaken he is not."
"But the Storm Lord said something, didn't he?" the woman insisted. "I heard he called it a sign."
"He did," the burly man confirmed, leaning forward with a dramatic whisper. "Said the storm god himself was in attendance....and that the lightning was his blessing."
A hush fell over them.
The cursed queen… blessed?
"That's madness," someone scoffed. "Why would Vireon bless a cursed woman?"
"Maybe she's not cursed anymore," the younger man said.
"And maybe you drank too much," another muttered.
But the whisper had begun, spreading from mouth to mouth throughout the tavern.
If the storm god didn't strike her dead…
If the crown didn't reject her…
If Vireon allowed her to wear it…
What did that mean?
One man crossed his arms. "Whether she's cursed or not doesn't matter. The Storm Lord made her queen. That alone settles it."
"Or complicates it," the woman murmured.
But the majority drowned their doubts with ale, choosing celebration over worry. Humans had always feared the unknown....but they also loved a good tale. And tonight, the tale was of the cursed queen who stood unbroken by divine judgment.
Her name spread like wildfire.
Aurelia Stormborne.... the unbroken.
***""**
Far from the noise of the taverns, in the ancient district of Old Verya....among ruins older than the royal line itself....a different gathering took place.
The gathering of the Sisters of the Veil.
Their hidden chamber flickered with candlelight, shadows dancing along walls etched with runes that had not been read in centuries. Hooded figures formed a circle, faces masked, breaths steady.
Their leader's voice cut through the silence.
"Speak."
Her name was Seraphielle, and though her face was unseen, her presence pressed like cold fingers on every heart in the room.
"It happened," Mira whispered, her hands trembling as she wrung the hem of her robe. "The coronation has been completed."
"And the storm?" Seraphielle asked.
"T–there was lightning," another girl added. "And thunder. Loud enough to shake the stones. People say it means Vireon blessed her."
Mira's voice rose in panic. "But why didn't the storm god judge her? Why didn't anything happen to her?"
A ripple of unease moved through the chamber.
Seraphielle straightened. "Because she was never meant to be judged."
Silence crashed down.
"What do you mean?" one girl asked....Lisette, bold despite herself. "The cursed queen should have been stripped of her life by divine fire. The texts said...."
"The texts said nothing of her dying," Seraphielle interrupted sharply. "Read beyond what your fear allows you to see."
She lifted a leather-bound book from a pedestal beside her and opened it, revealing brittle pages inked in a forgotten language.
"In the book of the Evernight," she recited, "it is written that the forgotten flame shall rise again, burning the world in silent dawn."
Mira swallowed hard. "You mean… her?"
"She will burn this world, destroy everything we hold dear," Seraphielle confirmed. "Unless we keep her bound. Cursed. Contained."
A cold breath escaped the sisters.
"But we tried," Lisette said, voice tight. "Before the coronation, we tried to kill her… we failed. She fought back."
"That surprised me," Seraphielle admitted. "I did not think she still had that much strength left. But it changes nothing."
Her voice hardened.
"We will try again. Opportunities will come. And when they do, we will strike."
Mira whispered, "How? She is queen now… guarded, watched...."
Seraphielle's lips curled beneath her veil.
"To harm someone chosen by the gods, you must get close. Only a hand near the heart can pierce it."
A shiver ran down every spine.
"This is our new mission," she said. "We must infiltrate the palace. One way or another."
The candles flickered violently....as though afraid.
********
The palace, meanwhile, basked in celebration.
Aurelia sat at the long royal table, exhaustion pulling gently at her limbs like an insistent child. Her crown had begun to feel too heavy, yet she kept her posture regal. This was a banquet in her honor. She could not falter.
Vaelric leaned against her side, cupping his hand around his mouth to whisper something mischievous. Aurelia bit back a laugh and nudged him lightly.
"You shouldn't make me laugh so much," she murmured.
"Why?" he grinned. "Because your new subjects will think their queen has a sense of humor?"
"Precisely," she said with mock severity.
He only giggled harder.
Envoys from far nations approached one by one. Aurelia almost choked when she recognized the sigil on one man's cloak.
Ashmere.
Her father's kingdom. Her home....yet not her home. Emberhold's cold stone halls flashed briefly in her mind. Her father's stern voice. Her stepmother's quiet disdain.
For a breath, she convinced herself she was mistaken....but the envoys approached, clad in Emberhold's colors: deep ember-red and gold threadwork. Their leader bowed deeply.
He actually sent someone…
Politics, she reminded herself. Not paternal affection.
"You honor us with your presence," Aurelia told him politely.
"Your Majesties," he said. "I bring warm congratulations from King Azarion of Ashmere. May your reign be prosperous, your storms favorable, and your kingdom unbroken."
Aurelia inclined her head. "Your journey must have been long. I had not expected Ashmere to send representatives."
"It is a historic day," the envoy replied. "Ashmere recognizes the rise of a new queen."
Valerian finally spoke, his tone smooth yet edged like tempered steel. "Tell King Azarion Virelia appreciates the gesture. And tell him his daughter wears the crown with honor."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The envoy withdrew with a stiff bow.
As soon as he withdrew, she exhaled quietly.
The music swelled. Servants poured wine and carried platters of roasted venison, glazed figs, and sweetened breads. The hall glowed with chandeliers that rained silver light across silk-clad guests.
But even in the middle of all this noise and merriment…. valerian felt something shift.
A presence.
Sharp. Familiar in a way he couldn't place.
He lifted her gaze instinctively, and his breath caught.
A man had entered the hall.
Tall...nearly as tall as Valerian, though a touch slimmer. Hair long and golden, braided loosely down his back. His eyes were a deep, arresting blue that held an almost mischievous glint.
He walked with the kind of confidence that came not from arrogance, but from the effortless grace of someone born into royalty and accustomed to admiration.
And admiration he received.
The moment he stepped through the doorway, conversations faltered. Whispers replaced laughter. Several women pressed hands to their mouths; others straightened in their seats, suddenly overly aware of their appearance.
"Who is that?" Aurelia heard someone breathe.
"He's beautiful…"
"No....he's familiar."
"It can't be...."
The man's lips curved faintly, as if he heard every word.
He made his way straight toward the royal table.
Queen dowager Aelira....who had been lifting her goblet....froze. Her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat before she gasped so loudly half the room turned.
"By the gods…" she whispered.
The entire hall stilled.
The man stopped before the royal dais.
First, he bowed deeply to Valerian.
Then, turning with smooth elegance, he bowed to Aurelia as well....lower than strictly necessary, but sincere enough to draw a ripple of murmurs.
The music died entirely.
People craned their necks, hungry for an explanation.
Some already knew. Their eyes glowed with recognition, awe, and disbelief.
The whispers spread like fire catching on dry leaves.
"Is that.....?"
"It must be....."
"He's returned?"
Valerian's jaw tightened, and Aurelia sensed the storm beneath his calm exterior.....not anger, not fear, but a bond humming like electricity.
Kin.
Blood recognizing blood.
The man straightened slowly, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as though he savored the tension he'd created.
And then the murmurs became words. Words Aurelia wouldn't forget.
"It's him."
"The third prince..."
"Soren Stormborne."