The moment the doors of the Council Hall swung open, Liora felt the weight of a hundred eyes on her. The chamber was vast, marble floors gleaming under golden chandeliers, banners of deep crimson draped along the walls. Twelve seats, each carved from black oak, formed a crescent around the raised dais. And every one of them was occupied.
She'd never felt so out of place.
Whispers rippled like wind through grass as she stepped forward. The Prince walked beside her, his gloved hand resting lightly on her lower back—a gesture that seemed protective… or possessive.
"Your Highness," the man at the center of the crescent spoke, his voice like iron scraping stone. "You bring… a mortal into the Hall?"
Liora stiffened. A mortal?
"She is under my protection," the Prince said evenly. "That should be enough for this Council."
The man leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Protection? Or… claim?"
Liora's breath caught, but before she could speak, a woman at the far left seat let out a laugh, a soft, cold sound. "You are playing a dangerous game, Prince Kaelen. That girl's blood will stir storms you cannot control."
Her blood?
Kaelen's hand pressed more firmly against her back. "That is none of your concern."
"But it will be everyone's concern," the woman countered. "When the old prophecy stirs again."
The chamber seemed to tighten around Liora, her heart thundering in her ears. Prophecy? Blood? What were they talking about?
Another Council member leaned forward, his tone almost a whisper. "Tell me, girl… do you even know why you're here?"
Her lips parted, but the Prince's voice cut cleanly through the air. "Enough. This audience is over."
Before anyone could protest, he pulled her toward the exit. The massive doors slammed shut behind them, sealing away the murmurs that followed.
Liora's steps faltered. "Kaelen… what did they mean? What prophecy?"
He didn't answer. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed ahead.
And then, so quietly she almost didn't hear it, he murmured, "They were never supposed to see you yet."