Bride of the Forgotten Throne

The High Council convened at dawn. They had not summoned the Queen. She arrived anyway. The chamber doors burst open with no herald, no trumpet, no permission.

Kaelira entered like a storm in mourning—cloaked in darkness, crowned in silence. Behind her, Elarin followed with bare feet and unveiled flame-colored eyes. Gasps bloomed like wildfire through the room.

Chancellor Myrell stood, face pale, lips tightening. "You—"

"—will not speak my name like it is dirt," Kaelira said, voice sharp as ice. "I built this chamber with my blood. You sit in it by my mercy."

The room fell dead silent.

Elarin smiled faintly, watching them all with unblinking calm.

Myrell regained her voice. "You left your throne. You vanished into the Hollow. You left us to guess at your loyalties."

Kaelira stepped closer. "You mean you hoped I was dead."

She dropped a sealed scroll onto the center table.

"This," she said, "is a declaration of succession. The Sixth Throne belongs to me alone. And Elarin of the Flame is my Witness—my sister in fire and pact."

Senator Rhys stood. "The laws do not allow witches at the royal council."

Elarin tilted her head. "That's convenient. I wrote those laws before you burned them."

Rhys sat back down, shaken.

Myrell's voice broke through again. "You expect us to embrace your... rebirth? To kneel for a Queen who walks with darkness at her back? And worse—brings it into our house?"

Kaelira stepped forward, voice low. Dangerous.

"You will not kneel. You will obey."

Her eyes flared—not with human anger, but something deeper.

Elemental.

Awakened.

Elarin touched the hilt of her ceremonial blade. Not as a threat, but as reminder. The Hollow had crowned them both.

One councilman stood, face pale. "What of the King? Does he accept your... return?"

Kaelira didn't flinch. "Ask him."

A shadow stirred in the corridor.

And Dorian stepped into the light.

He said nothing at first.

The room waited. Held breath.

Kaelira looked at him—truly looked—and something in her gaze softened. Just a fraction. He met her eyes. But what he said was for the Council.

"She is Queen. Now. Always. And any who speak against her speak against the throne."

The chamber murmured.

And then, slowly—grudgingly—every member of the Council bent their heads.

Not with loyalty.

With fear.

Kaelira didn't smile.

But her voice rang clear:

"Then let the reign of fire truly begin."