Chapter 7
DAISY
Three hours later, I stand in the centre of my room, cloaked in silence, staring into the tall mirror.
It almost feels wrong, staring at myself, looking the way I am. The dress Lyvia brought in for me is… regal. Breathtaking, even. The last time I wore something so beautiful was the coronation. That almost feels like a lifetime ago itself. When in reality, it was just less than two weeks ago.
Floor-length black silk hugs my body like shadows, the material smooth and cool beneath my palms as I absentmindedly brush my hands down the front.
The deep V at the neckline dips boldly, only tempered by a sheer piece of fabric, offering just enough modesty to make the plunge look deliberately powerful, with a hint of vulnerability.
The sleeves are laced and intricate, curling around my arms like vines, and from each shoulder cascades a trail of black tulle that flows like smoke all the way to the floor.
Symbols are stitched onto each piece in silver and crimson thread.
The left side is mine—a blooming ash rose wreathed in white flame, with the delicate petals curling around the image of a half sun with bright, radiant beams. Hope, rebirth, fury and light.
The other…his. An inverted triangle with thorned tendrils curling around the shape like claws.
In its centre, a coiled serpent, ouroboros style.
The cycle of endings and beginnings. Above it, a crescent moon with a vertical slash running through its centre, and one crossing horizontally.
Beneath it, a single blood drop. Crimson. Eternal.
My fingers twitch against the fabric, my throat tightening.
They remembered him. Whoever crafted this gown, whoever saw fit to keep his symbol beside mine.
They remembered, and they honoured him. I need to find out who the seamstress is and thank them personally for not only doing such incredible work, but ensuring I had my husband with me when I need him most. I blink, swallowing down the ache.
It both pierces and soothes. I may be walking out there alone, but in this…
he walks beside me. And that’s not the only part of him I carry tonight.
The dagger he gave me rests snugly at my thigh, sheathed and hidden beneath the folds of fabric. A reminder. A promise. A weapon.
My makeup is done, too. My eyes are rimmed in kohl, subtle but fierce, enhancing the ocean blue that now sits ringed in black since I turned immortal.
My lips are shimmering with a subtle gloss that doesn’t take away from my eyes.
And my hair… gods, my hair. Gone are the knots and tangles that made it look like a golden birds nest. Lyvia worked it into soft waves, the silver streaks gleaming like lightning bolts through my blonde.
It pours over my shoulders like a mixture of molten gold and moonlight.
“You look beautiful, my queen,” Lyvia murmurs behind me.
I turn slightly as she approaches, her hands delicate and reverent as she carries the final piece of the ensemble—my crown. My gaze flickers to hers in the mirror. “Lyvia, please. It’s Daisy.”
She pauses, fingers tightening slightly around the metal in her hands. “I know. Sorry. It just… it feels strange. Calling my queen by her first name.”
I frown. There it is, the thing I’ve been dreading. The shift. The change. Even from the people who knew me before all of this. I don’t know why I’m so hurt by her treating me like I’m just her queen. “Am I not also your friend?” I ask quietly, turning to watch her expression closely.
Lyvia blinks, startled. “Of course you are. I didn’t mean…
I mean…” She places the crown gently on the table beside us, then turns and takes my hands in hers.
“I do see you as my friend, Daisy. Truly. I suppose I just… I’ve been a maid for so long.
Even for the queens who came before you.
I forget I don’t have to be so formal anymore. ”
My brows lift. “You’ve served queens before me?”
She laughs lightly at my expression. “I’m four thousand years old. I started in the palace when I was just five hundred.”
My jaw practically unhinges. “Oh. So you’re still… young?” Gods, I know I sound so freaking stupid right now. But the age thing still confuses the life out of me.
She laughs harder this time, the sound like bells over water. “By my people’s standards? Yes, relatively. I began this role as a babe, barely six in your realm’s years.”
My head spins. “Gods. Do you… do you even want to be a maid anymore? I mean, with that kind of lifespan, surely there’s time to do something else?”
A flush blooms across her cheeks, the faint lavender tint matching the hue of her braid.
She looks away, like admitting the answer might get her killed on the spot.
“I was always destined to be a maid,” she says softly.
“It’s tradition. The women in my family have always served in the palace. Generations of us.”
“That’s not what I asked,” I reply, eyes locked on hers. “What do you want, Lyvia?”
Her pale violet eyes shimmer, the question clearly rattling around inside her like a loose star.
She chews her lower lip nervously. “I… I dreamed of working in Sovarith. The Council Spires. Among the scrolls and tomes. I love the history of this realm, and to be part of documenting it—to witness it firsthand as it’s written? That was always a dream.”
I smile at the way her face lights up talking about it. It’s the kind of smile that makes me feel warm. “And could it be possible? If someone gave you the chance?”
“For someone like me?” Her voice is a whisper, all signs of happiness that was there just moments ago, now entirely vanished. “Low-born? No. That door was never open.”
“Says who?” I ask, dreading that I already know the answer.
She hesitates. “Well… I guess now, you.”
I straighten, raising my chin slightly. “Then I say it’s bullshit.”
Her eyes widen and I can’t help but laugh. “If you want to work in Sovarith, Lyvia, in the council archives, then you damn well will. Let me help you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. More than a servant, you’ve been a friend. So let me return the favour. Let me make your dream real.”
“Daisy, I—”
“Please,” I interrupt gently. “Just let me get today over with. Let me face the kingdom first. Then I’ll speak with Aran, I promise.”
Tears shimmer in her lashes, her lips parting into a trembling smile. She pulls me into a tight hug, and I feel her whole body shake against mine. “Thank you,” she whispers. “You’re going to be an incredible queen. Korithax would be proud of you.”
The words hit me like an arrow to the ribs. But somehow, they don’t break me. Not this time. Instead, they leave behind a glimmer of hope, that maybe I can make him proud. I inhale slow and deep, blinking away the sting in my eyes.
Lyvia pulls back and clears her throat, sensing the shift. “Shall we?” she asks, her voice soft and steady as she reaches for the crown once more.
I nod. My heart drums a frantic rhythm, but I let her lift the crown.
Its golden spires point towards the sky, and the moment it touches my head, it ignites—white flame blooming like a halo of fire, softly flickering on a phantom breeze.
I glance once more in the mirror, at the woman staring back.
A girl who used to be Daisy Sandoval. A queen who is now something so much more.
I let a soft smile touch my lips. One that trembles, but stays.
And just like before, like thunder in the back of my mind, I hear him. “You look beautiful, my queen. Go show them who rules Zeriavoss.”
Two very freaking long hours after a painfully thorough meeting with Aran, I’m standing outside the throne room.
My people—my kingdom—waiting inside. I stare at the towering doors, panic clawing at my ribs, each breath seeming tighter than the last as my entire body vibrates with anxious energy.
The coronation plays behind my eyes like some cruel show on repeat.
I haven’t stepped foot in here since that night.
The night I lost everything. I don’t know if this is meant to be some twisted way of forcing me to confront it, but of all the rooms in this gods-forsaken castle, why this one?
There are dozens of other chambers big enough for a gathering.
Hell, I’d rather stand outside in a thunderstorm caused by Virena and Vor’Khar’s wrath combined, than give a heartwarming speech in the same place I watched my best friend and my husband get murdered.
I drag in a shaky breath, pressing my clammy palms down the length of my gown for what feels like the hundredth time in the last two minutes. The silk is cool beneath my fingertips, grounding me. Barely.
“Everyone’s inside and waiting, Daisy. You can do this.” Aran’s voice is quiet at my side, steady in a way mine will never be.
Velentha isn’t here. She’s in their rooms under watch.
Even if she’s not my enemy, even if she stood with us now, her presence would split the crowd harsher than any blade could.
She was there, beside the Divine Six when they stormed the castle.
She stood by when they killed their king.
My mate. Maybe she couldn’t have stopped it, but she could have warned Aran, and she didn’t.
But I can’t dwell on the could-have’s or the what-if’s.
Not when there’s a room full of people waiting for their queen to be strong for them.
I glance at Aran. He’s infuriatingly calm. But the look in his emerald eyes is betraying him. “Why here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.