The throne room of Aranthia had never felt so divided.
Some nobles bowed to Queen Elaria.
Others watched her with quiet suspicion.
"She is too young."
"She wields forbidden magic."
"She is unstable."
Elaria heard every whisper.
But she did not react.
Beside her stood Kael, silent as always.
Then the massive doors opened.
A tall armored man entered, his presence heavy as iron.
General Draven.
The late king's most loyal commander.
He knelt—but not fully.
"My Queen," he said, voice cold. "The northern borders are restless. Soldiers loyal to the former king refuse to surrender."
Elaria's fingers tightened on the throne.
"Then we give them a choice," she replied calmly. "Loyalty—or exile."
Draven's eyes flickered.
"And if they choose rebellion?"
A faint crimson glow appeared in her violet eyes.
"Then they face Shadowfire."
Draven smiled faintly.
But it was not loyalty.
It was calculation.