Chapter 48 Vaylen #2
"You! Fetch the palace Skyriders immediately! Sound the alarm!" Craven's voice cracks with desperation.
The guard takes a quick step toward the exit, clearly relieved at the opportunity to escape this standoff. Before he can turn, Rhealyn steps forward, her movement casual yet somehow commanding every eye in the room.
"Stop," she says quietly. The guard freezes. "Lay down your weapons."
He doesn't hesitate. His sword and dagger clatter to the marble floor.
"Step away from them," Rhealyn continues, her voice even. "Now kneel with your hands behind your head."
The guard drops to his knees, following the command with relief rather than resistance.
Rhealyn turns her attention to the remaining guards. She doesn't speak another word. She doesn't need to. One by one, she meets each guard's eyes with that penetrating gaze I've come to know so well. Within seconds, weapons clatter across the floor as each royal guard kneels in submission.
King Craven's face drains of all color as he watches his last line of defense collapse without a single blow exchanged.
Craven lurches to his feet. "You can't do this!" Spittle flies from his lips. "I am the rightful King of Embernia! My ancestors have ruled for a thousand years!"
I advance until I'm standing directly before him. Up close, his fear is palpable, the acrid stink of it rises from his skin like steam. He trembles like a cornered animal, eyes darting between my face and the exits.
"Your useless reign is over," I say, my voice low and controlled despite the contempt churning inside me. "You've done enough damage to this realm. The unnecessary war, the deaths of countless citizens, the suffering you've allowed to continue while you lounged on this stolen throne."
His chin juts out in defiance, though his knees visibly shake. "Whatever fantasy you've concocted, no one will accept it! I have lineage behind me! Generations of noble blood!"
"Noble blood spilled by your ancestors is all," I correct him. "And whatever crimes you've committed in your time wearing that crown, you will pay for them."
Craven backs against his throne. "There's no one who can take my place! You have no way to prove these lies you're spewing!"
"Heratrix herself revealed the truth," I say, each word deliberate and clear. "The Queen of Dragons told the entire Sky Order that your ancestors murdered the rightful king and stole his throne. She named me the descendant of that bloodline."
Craven's mouth opens and closes like a fish pulled from water. No sound emerges, though his eyes widen in recognition. The revelation seems to jolt him, not as fresh information, but as a dreaded secret exposed to light.
Commander Voltguard steps forward. "Your family has known all along, haven't they?"
Sweat beads on Craven's upper lip. His gaze darts wildly around the room before settling back on me. Something changes in his expression as he finally stops to consider.
"High Prime… Stormsong," he murmurs, emphasizing my surname with peculiar weight. His eyes trace my features as though searching for something specific, then his gaze flickers with a flash of genuine fear.
The air shifts between us. In that moment, his reaction confirms what part of me still questioned. Until now, I'd accepted Heratrix's revelation out of necessity rather than conviction. The dragoness wouldn't lie, but perhaps we'd misunderstood her.
But seeing Craven's face—the unmistakable acceptance in his eyes—something finally settles within me. The usurper knows the bloodline he wronged. He remembers its name. I straighten my shoulders, feeling centuries of stolen legacy straightening with me.
"What, Craven?" I ask. "Do I bear the name you thought your family had eliminated from history?"
Craven slumps against his throne, defeat crumpling his features as the weight of a thousand-year deception collapses upon him. He curls in on himself, shoulders hunched like a wounded animal. His voice drops to a low, mumbling stream of consciousness, eyes unfocused.
"Should have gotten rid of him from the start. Knew it. Always knew it." He rocks slightly on his throne. "That name—Stormsong—couldn't be coincidence, even after all these centuries." He hugs himself. "My father warned me. His father warned him. Watch for that name, he said."
I stand motionless, each word confirming what I'd barely begun to accept about myself.
Craven goes on. "Tahr promised. He promised he'd take care of it.
" Craven's voice rises slightly, panic edging in.
"Where is he now? Where is the damn Skyrider who swore to protect me?
Where is Vestra? They promised the line would never return!
" Craven's eyes finally focus on me, terror and resignation warring in his gaze.
"You have no idea what you're inheriting, Stormsong.
It will sour in your mouth. It will. You will watch your back at every corner, and then someone will come and snatch it all from you. "
I turn away from the pathetic figure slumped on the throne and face the kneeling guards. Their wide eyes dart between Craven and me, confusion warring with the dawning realization of what they've just witnessed.
"You heard it directly from his mouth," I say, my voice carrying across the silent chamber. "The Stonefall line are usurpers who seized power through bloodshed, not divine right. For a thousand years, they've perpetuated this lie while maintaining a war that he and others manufactured."
The guards exchange glances, some still uncertain, others hardening with resolve.
"Rise," I command. "Take up your weapons."
They hesitate only a moment before obeying, steel scraping against marble as they retrieve their discarded swords. One by one, they stand taller, shoulders straightening as if shedding an invisible weight.
"Arrest the false king." I point at Craven.
One of them steps forward, his face set with newfound determination. "With pleasure, Your Majesty."
The title strikes me like a splash of cold water, though I keep my expression neutral. Two guards move toward Craven, who shrinks further into the throne, whimpering incoherently about promises and protection.
When they grasp his arms, he thrashes weakly. "You can't do this. I am your king. Your sworn liege!"
The leading guard yanks the crown from Craven's head and lets it drop. The narrow gold circlet clinks on the stone and rolls out of sight.
"No longer," he says, spitting at Craven's feet. "My family has served the throne for eight generations. My grandfather died in the Screechclaw War. My father too." His knuckles whiten around the crown. "While in the meantime you reveled in debauchery."
Craven's face contorts with fear as the guards pull him to his feet. "You're making a terrible mistake," he squeals. "When Tahr returns—"
"Tahranis Flarebane won't be returning," Commander Voltguard interjects coldly. "The traitor is dead."
The color drains completely from Craven's face. His knees buckle, forcing the guards to support his weight as they drag him toward the exit.
"Put him in a cell," I order. "He is to be guarded at all times until his trial. No visitors. No messages in or out."
I turn to Dakar. "Follow them. Make sure it's done properly."
Dakar grins, his eyes lighting with mischievous satisfaction. "With absolute pleasure, Your Majesty." He offers an exaggerated bow that would earn him a reprimand under normal circumstances.
As he moves to follow the guards, Dakar claps the shoulder of the one who took Craven's crown.
"Quite the promotion day for you, eh? From guarding a dragon-shite king to serving the rightful one.
" He winks at the other guards. "And here I thought I'd have the most interestin' story tonight at the tavern. "
The guards' tense expressions crack slightly as they haul the former king from the throne room, Dakar sauntering behind them, already spinning the tale they'll tell for generations.
When the doors close behind them, I release a breath. The weight of what we've just done—what I've just done—settles over me. I've overthrown a king, claimed a throne, changed the course of Embernia's history in a matter of minutes.
Rhealyn moves to my side and smiles. "You won't do this alone," she whispers. Her voice steadies me, an anchor in this storm of change.
Phoebe steps forward, Aurelia nestled against her chest. The baby's black eyes focus on me with unnerving clarity. She reaches toward me with pudgy fingers, as if trying to grasp the significance of this moment.
Adelaide approaches. "We stand with you, Your Majesty."
Nate nods solemnly behind her. "The Sky Order will protect what's right. Not what's easy."
"And I reckon we'll have quite the job ahead," Cliffbecker adds. "Righting a thousand years of wrongs."
Commander Voltguard's stern face softens slightly. "We'll build something better for Embernia. For everyone."
I look around at these faces—my friends—and feel something stir within me.
This was too easy. I know Craven spoke true when he warned of dangers ahead.
There will be others who will challenge me, who seek to depose me as history deposed my ancestors.
But with so many loyal hearts surrounding me, I face tomorrow without dread and with the burning certainty that we will forge Embernia anew from the ashes of its broken pieces.