Chapter Seventy-Four
Enter as Draekenra
They dressed her in silence and shadow, but she would not leave without thunder.
On Xavien’s arm, Amerei stepped into the palace of the Vykenran Senate—a queen unmade, yet dressed for war.
Her black dress trailed the floor like shadow, silk catching the fractured light of a dome above.
Shards of glass scattered color across her bodice, as if the sun itself had crowned her.
At her side, Xavien bore his iron-wreathed crown with practiced ease, a shadow cast to her storm.
He slowed as they neared a pair of towering doors.
Her heart ached—Viktor stood just beyond them, beside Storne.
Watching.
Waiting.
Xavien bent close.
“Your father will enter first, as commander of my guard. Disregard the murmurs. To some he is a hero, to others a pariah.”
Amerei barely moved her lips.
“Then what am I?”
Xavien’s hand pressed the small of her back.
She stiffened, willing herself not to flinch.
His fingers trailed higher, deliberate, then fell lower—too low.
Amerei could almost feel Viktor’s gaze burn across the chamber. Watching this princeling’s gamble.
“You are…” Xavien’s palm lingered. “…the woman they’ll soon kneel before.”
He urged her onward.
“Enter as though you are already Draekenra.”
The doors groaned open.
Storne strode first. Then Viktor.
Amerei heard his name—her name—echo in her mind.
Enter as if you are already Seraphim. Bride of the Ruakite guardian.
She lifted her chin. Drew breath like armor.
Because you are.
Xavien’s voice rang out like prophecy:
“Behold the rightful heiress to the throne of Casqadia.
Born of ancient line.
Shaped in silence.
And now—risen to claim what none of you had the courage to guard.”
Whispers fell like wind before a storm.
Xavien led her down the steps, his boots a proud cadence against the rounded walls. Rows of jeweled rings, onyx diadems, and silver robes lined the chamber—all elves, all men.
At its heart sat the king, sagging in his iron throne. His face drooped to one side, eyes dull, grief dragging him into shadow.
The king is worse than I feared.
Xavien bowed.
“My king, I present Princess Amerei of Casqadia.”
He guided her forward, kissed her hand, then turned to stand beside him.
Amerei’s eyes flickered from son to father. She felt Viktor’s gaze like a weight at her back.
Not now. Not yet.
She bowed low.
“Your Majesty, I humbly beseech your blessing to be heard by this chamber.”
The king’s mouth opened, but only shallow, labored breaths came.
Xavien tapped his father’s hand, signet ring clicking softly.
“The king is rendered speechless by your beauty, Princess,” he declared, voice loud for all to hear. “We welcome you to Castle Draekenra, to our Senate Hall. State your reason to be heard.”
Amerei drew herself taller.
“I seek the aid of this chamber to unburden my people from tyranny. Elváliev is Casqadia’s oldest ally. And in her hour of peril, I call upon no other.”
“Tyranny?” Xavien’s tone edged sharp. “By what measure?”
Her heart pounded, but the lines she had carved the day before rose steady within her.
She spoke.
“I declare Zeporah Zrynon, daughter of Cyrus, traitor to Casqadia and threat to all Andórmanor.”
Murmurs rippled like distant thunder.
Amerei’s voice did not falter.
“I charge Zeporah Zrynon with usurpation of the highest order. Seventeen years ago she denied the elders their plenary right to name a queen. Instead, she staged a silent coup, trading thirty of Elváliev’s assassins for her crown.”
Her spine was a blade as she continued.
“I charge her with willful neglect. In the wake of drought she withheld relief, forcing thousands to abandon their homes and flood to cities where no place awaited them. She dissolved the councils, silenced every voice but her own, and filled her court with strangers to our blood and burden.”
The chamber stirred, restless.
“She has siphoned our coffers, taxed without consent, forced martial law upon the outlands, suspended the judiciary, and named herself sole arbiter of law. She weakened our trade with Elváliev to court Tyra, enriching her enemies while spurning her only friend.”
She turned, seeking Viktor’s eyes. He stood stone-still, but she felt him—saw him—through the crush of power and silence.
The chamber hushed. She let it fall.
Then she said, clear as cut glass:
“I charge Zeporah Zrynon with invoking Vykenraven.”
The hall froze.
King Yethule startled. “What did she say?”
Xavien rose, voice carrying.
“The princess charges Casqadia’s queen with invoking Vykenraven.”
Uneasy murmurs circled like vultures.
“You accuse her of a great offense, Princess,” Xavien began. “When?”
“Three nights past.”
“And who bears witness?”
“I.”
“You claim she performed it on you?”
“She sealed the Grand Hall and trespassed every mind within. If not for the Ruakite who revealed his Endowment—who risked death to shield us—we would all have perished.”
A hush rippled.
Xavien’s stance cracked, only slightly, yet enough.
He raised his voice.
“This usurper queen denies her people’s voice, enslaves their rightful heir, and calls down Vykenraven on the only one who could replace her.” He turned to Amerei. “And you seek relief here?”
“Yes.”
She met his gaze as equal.
Xavien spread his arms, calling to the senators.
“Will you stand idle while our ally crumbles? Will you ignore Tyra’s threat while Casqadia burns? Or will you act?”
He swept his hand across the chamber.
“Stand now, men of honor. Restore to Casqadia the progeny of Queen Cassandra.”
Amerei kept her eyes forward.
The voices erupted—praise, outrage, condemnation, all at once.
Xavien seized a gilded envelope from the altar.
“I cast my vote now!”
The chamber exploded in golden light.
Amerei stood unmoved, thunder crashing around her. The intent of the hall was unmistakable—violence waited, hungry.
Xavien brushed her fingers.
His gaze caught the gleam of her amethyst necklace.
“Walk out exactly as you came in,” he whispered.
“My lord?”
His serpent bracelet grazed her arm.
“Leave Vykenra in haste. I will secure your army.”
Before she could answer, Viktor was at her side, arm locking firm through hers.
Storne flanked close.
“What is happening?” she gasped.
Storne’s tone was iron. “We just made a swarm of enemies.”
The Senate doors slammed behind them. Marble thundered under their boots.
Viktor’s grip only tightened.
“Don’t look back,” he growled.
Storne swept his mantle, ready for a fight. “Where’s the horsemaster?”
“Gone,” Evander answered, appearing with Gabriel at the outer steps. “Scattered the moment the votes were cast.”
The square below seethed—senators shouting, guards turning, gold light still flashing like lightning behind glass.
Gabriel dragged Storne’s horse forward, snarling. “The feck was Xavien thinking? Parading you like his bride?”
Evander mounted. “He’ll be lucky to live after a stunt like that.”
Amerei risked one glance back at the doors.
“Xavien…”
“Seraphim—put her up,” Storne barked. “Do not let go until Bernewood.”
Viktor didn’t hesitate. He caught Amerei at the waist and lifted her clean.
“Viktor—!”
“No time," he said, reins snapping. His arm locked around her, pulling her flush against the hard line of his chest. She felt the thunder of his heartbeat, the thunder of Ruby’s hooves.
The gates loomed, guards closing ranks.
Viktor drove forward.
Steel flashed.
Ruby struck sparks from stone.
“I saw his hand on your back,” Viktor rasped hot at her ear.
“Xavien touches you like that again, he loses the hand that dared.”
“Viktor!” she cried. “The gates!”
Wind screamed as Viktor’s Endowment surged through the hinges, tearing the iron from its moorings. The doors swung wide. Ruby burst through, scattering petals, pounding into open street.
Bells clanged.
Guards shouted.
The Senate groaned open again behind them, but Amerei did not look back. She pressed herself into Viktor’s hold.
They rode as one—west, into the waiting dusk.
Into whatever came next.