C H A P T E R T H I R T Y – T H R E E
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y – T H R E E
Altair
T he council room is filled with the usual noise.
Low murmurs, the occasional snicker, the rustling of papers as the vampire lords settle into their seats. The air is heavy with the scent of old wood, fine leather, and a faint trace of something metallic, like old bloo d? —probably Dazeem’s.
The thought makes me smile. The vampire lords chatter among themselves, old grievances and rivalries filling the space with a tension that never quite goes away.
I sit at the head of the table, Iolas stood to my left, scanning the room with the usual calm indifference I’ve perfected over the years. But today, there’s something else simmering beneath the surface. Anticipation. Nerves. Maybe even a flicker of excitement.
Across from me, Dazeem tries to keep his head down, his metal hand resting awkwardly on the table. He refuses to look in my direction, which is just as well. I catch the small tremor in his remaining hand as he fumbles with a piece of parchment, and the sight fills me with a dark sense of satisfaction. I’ve seen his eyes dart to the crack in the middle, where his body splintered it.
He’s already hiding—coward. He hasn’t looked me in the eye since the day I removed his hand. Since the day he touched Olwyn.
“Think they're expecting an execution,” Iolas mutters under his breath, leaning slightly toward me, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches the lords shuffle nervously in their seats. “Always makes for an interesting meeting.”
I grunt in response, my eyes flicking to the door. Olwyn should be here by now. I need her here.
Two guards open the double doors and Ailith strides in with her usual casual arrogance, moving to stand by my side. Her presence, crass as it often is, brings an odd sense of comfort. She’s blunt, but reliable. Always where she needs to be.
I glance at her, speaking quietly under my breath. “Is she coming?”
Ailith’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, she’s coming. Give her a moment.”
I can’t help the small smile tugging at my own lips. “Thank you… for helping her.”
Ailith shrugs, though her grin remains. “Someone’s got to knock some sense into her, and you’re too damn soft.”
I snort, shaking my head. When it comes to Olwyn, she’s not wrong. Ailith nudges my shoulder with hers before turning her gaze toward the door, anticipation flickering in her eyes.
And then… she appears.
Olwyn strides through the entrance, and everything else falls away. The council’s murmurs fade into nothing, the ambient noise of the room vanishing as my focus zeroes in on her.
Gods.
She looks… magnificent .
Spring green eyes lined with kohl, lips rosy red. The dark blue dress clings to her figure, the silver embroidery catching the light in such a way that it almost looks like she’s glowing. The fabric flows around her as she walks, something undeniably fierce about her.
But it’s not what she wears that holds their attention—it’s the way she carries herself, the strength etched into every line of her body.
As she walks toward me, I read every face in the room, and I know Iolas is doing the same.
Across the room, Dazeem is practically cowering. The moment Olwyn steps into the council chamber, he shrinks back into his seat, refusing to meet her eyes. His metal hand twitches on the table, the faint scrape of it against the wood the only sound coming from him. He’s avoiding her completely, staring down at his lap as if hoping she won’t notice him.
Good. He should fear her. They all know she killed the most recent assassin herself, and that she could end any one of them in a heartbeat.
But it’s Lord Damien who I keep my gaze on. Some of the older council members exchange glances, their expressions hard. But Lord Damien’s seems to be the most openly disapproving.
He’s always been more vocal of his dislike of humans, even though they work in my palace and live in our kingdom, and I can see his mouth curving into a bitter line. He won’t stay quiet, not when he sees his chance to undermine Olwyn.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table as he sighs with open boredom. “Now that your pet has arrived, can we get this meeting underway?” Each word is sharp, a blade dipped in contempt.
A murmur ripples through the council, like the rustle of dry leaves before a storm. I can feel the heat building in the room, not from anger but from something more potent: anticipation. I don’t move, don’t speak. As much as I’d love to rip out his tongue and serve it to Olwyn on a silver dish, today this must be her battle to fight, and I won’t rob her of the chance.
Olwyn’s gaze snaps to Damien, her eyes narrowing into slits of controlled fury. The silence that follows is suffocating. When she finally speaks, her voice is dangerous. “Pet?” The single word hangs in the air, and for a heartbeat, I see the first flicker of uncertainty cross Damien’s face.
She steps forward, her head held high, back straight. “I stand here not by Altair’s will, but by my own. I’ve listened to the people of this kingdom—their fears, their hopes—and I want to fight for them. If that makes me a pet in your eyes, then perhaps it’s time you questioned who really has command of the room.” She holds her arms out wide, and the guards around the edges of the room, Iolas included, stand to attention.
A few scattered gasps break the tension, and the corners of my mouth tug up despite myself. This is why I chose her. This is why I will always choose her.
Damien’s eyes widen, the scorn draining from his face. He recovers quickly, but it’s too late; the damage has been done.
“If anyone else doubts my right to be here,” she continues, sweeping her gaze over the crowd, “speak now and face me.”
She shifts, allowing the split in her dress to open and reveal the dagger at her thigh. It’s not witchsilver, so they all know she won’t kill them, but I hope their imaginations allow them to think of all the ways she could draw out their pain.
The silence deepens, shifting from doubt to something more cautious, more respectful. Even those who once glared now avert their eyes, unwilling to meet her stare.
I hold her gaze, letting her see the pride I won’t voice out loud, not now. She doesn’t need me to speak for her; she never did. And as the moments stretch on, the room starts to bend—not completely, not easily, but it bends, nonetheless.
Damien’s jaw clenches, his fingers curling into fists on the table. But he doesn’t say anything, and neither does anyone else. Some of the younger lords’ exchange glances, tentative nods of approval passing between them. A few heads even bow, acknowledging what she just proved.
Every pair of eyes in the room is on her, and for the first time, I think they’re seeing her for what she truly is: a queen. Not just my queen. Their queen.
I feel a surge of pride swell in my chest. This is the Olwyn I always knew existed beneath the surface—the strength, the fire. And seeing it return after being attacked, seeing her step into this role, seeing her own her power… it’s more than I could have hoped for.
To my left, Iolas stands straighter, his eyes wide with something like shock, or awe. He, too, recognises what’s happening here. His gaze lingers on her a moment longer before he catches me looking, and he gives a small nod, like he’s acknowledging this transformation in her.
Olwyn’s strides don’t falter, though I catch the briefest flicker of hesitation as she reaches the head of the table. There are no empty seats. Her gaze shifts to me, just for a second, and I can see it—the brief panic in her eyes. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. She’s searching for where she’s supposed to sit. She’s already proven her strength, her confidence, but now… now, she’s unsure.
And I know exactly what to do.
Before anyone can move, I stand and step away from my chair, my hand gesturing toward it. “My queen,” I say softly with a bow, my voice carrying just enough authority to silence any remaining murmurs from the lords.
Her eyes widen, but only for a heartbeat. She quickly schools her expression, her chin lifting again as she steps forward and takes my place at the head of the table.
As she settles into the chair, I catch the briefest twitch of her lips—a small, almost imperceptible smile. She casts a glance around the room, her gaze sharp as it meets each of the vampire lords. None of them dare speak. None of them dare challenge her. They’re waiting, watching.
I move without hesitation, stepping around the chair and settling on the arm beside her. I lounge casually, one leg crossed over the other, my posture relaxed but deliberate. Close, but not looming.
And gods, it feels right.
It feels so right.
“So,” she says. “Let’s begin.”
Lord Pias, an older lady with streaks of silver in her dark hair clears her throat, leaning forward.
“Your Majesty,” she begins, directing her words directly to Olwyn, her tone polite but edged with doubt, “it is admirable that you’ve chosen to take part in these proceedings again, but I wonder, what would a queen raised outside of our realm know of its struggles, of the blood and history that runs through its veins?”
A murmur of agreement hums through a few of the gathered lords and ladies. The question, though carefully phrased, is a test. I lean slightly toward her, my arm brushing against the back of the chair as I play with a strand of silver, moonlight hair—a small gesture of silent support. From this angle, I can see the flicker of determination in her eyes, the way her chin lifts just a little higher.
“I may not have grown up in Noctura, Lady Pias,” she replies, her voice calm and deliberate, “but I have listened to your people. Many of you might not know this—when I lived in Avantra, I was hidden away. Kept out of sight as if I were something to be ashamed of.”
A ripple of surprise washes over the room. Even Lord Damien’s brows lift slightly, the sneer on his lips faltering. Dazeem remains as quiet as ever, staring at the table.
“I know what it is to feel powerless,” Olwyn continues, a note of raw honesty threading through her tone. “To be seen as nothing more than an asset or a tool. Just as this war makes many of your citizens feel overlooked, used, and starved of their true potential.”
A sudden wave of pride swells in my chest, mixing with a bitter pang as her words sink in. The memory of finding her that night, half-starved, neglected yet unyielding, resurfaces with a painful clarity. My fists clench at my sides.
“And Altair saved me from that,” she adds, her gaze flicking to mine for a heartbeat. The sincerity in her voice is an unexpected blow, and I must fight to keep my expression neutral. My heart skips—a traitorous, impossible beat—as the air between us crackles with unspoken gratitude.
A gratitude I never believed I would deserve.
Damien’s eyes flick between us, catching the silent exchange, and his expression shifts, curiosity dimming his earlier defiance.
“I know the pain of being denied your identity,” Olwyn says, her chin lifting defiantly. “But I am here now, not just because Altair wills it, but because I want to fight for those who have been left in the dark. I want to give voice to those who are unheard. And that is why I sit here today as your queen—not out of circumstance, but by choice.”
A quiet descends over the room, the murmurs stilled. Lady Pias’s eyes hold a flicker of something new, an understanding, perhaps, or a grudging respect.
“And if that future calls for sacrifice?” Her voice is softer now, probing for any sign of hesitation.
“Then I will share in those sacrifices,” Olwyn says, her voice unwavering. “Because I am one of them, the overlooked and underestimated. And I will fight for this kingdom as fiercely as Altair fought for me to reclaim my own worth.”
The room remains silent, the tension palpable. Then Lord Damien nods once, a shallow dip of his head that feels more genuine than the deepest bow.
“Then perhaps, Your Majesty,” he says, a touch warmer now, “we do have the queen we need after all.”
I can’t help the slight easing of my shoulders, the silent exhale that accompanies the warmth in my heart. She’s proven herself—not just to them, but to me. And as the room shifts from scrutiny to contemplation, I know that this is only the beginning of what Olwyn will achieve.
This is her moment.
And I couldn't be prouder.