Chapter 7 #2
He gives me an apologetic look, his mouth pulling into an awkward cringe.
“It’s the only room that can hold everyone.
The only one suited for something like this.
” His gaze softens as he takes my hands in his.
“I’m sorry, Daisy. I haven’t been back in here since that night either.
So, we face it together. I know you lost your husband, but I feel the loss too. I lost my brother that night.”
I swallow down that lump that never seems to leave my throat these days, giving his hands a soft squeeze, and force a smile that feels far too fragile for what’s ahead.
“I know, I’m sorry. Please don’t think I believe I am the only person suffering from his death.
” One more shaky exhale, “let’s do this. ”
He releases me, straightens, and takes his place beside me as the massive doors groan open.
The sound in the throne room dies instantly as every head turns our way.
Every person rises to their feet, and the sheer weight of the attention presses down on me like stone.
I step forward on unsteady legs. Each footfall echoes up towards the high, vaulted ceiling.
The lone throne waits at the far end of the chamber, its onyx and silver colour catching the light like ice.
Tears prick at my eyes—unwelcome and treacherous at the sight of the empty space next to where I have to sit.
I blink them back and keep my chin lifted, schooling my face into an expression of utter calm. I can break later, when I’m alone.
The crowd is endless. Rows upon rows of faces, from farmers and blacksmiths, to the shadowfolk of Nox’Thraxis.
Even the counsellors from Sovarith are here, no doubt ready to immortalise my every word—and every mistake—in the archives.
‘February 22nd,’ the future record will read, ‘the day the Queen of Hell spectacularly embarrassed herself.’
I exhale slowly and mount the dais, turning before the throne to face the sea of eyes.
Thousands of them, all watching, judging, waiting.
I catch sight of Elyistria and Sariya near the front, their radiant forms unmistakable even among the throng.
Pride glimmers in their eyes as they watch me with beaming smiles.
I manage a small smile in return, and both inclin their heads in subtle encouragement.
I’m truly grateful for their never-ending support.
They don’t owe anything to me. Maybe Elyistria feels like she does, because of us technically being sisters.
But Sariya certainly doesn’t. Yet here they both are, continuously in my corner, cheering me on.
Following Aran’s instruction, I lower myself onto the throne.
The carved onyx is cold against my back, but just as before, the throne quickly alights with the same flame that flickers along my crown.
Once I’m seated, the room sinks back into their seats as one.
I nervously scan the room, trying to avoid every stare pinned on me, and I notice the stained-glass windows have all been replaced, the mirrors too.
I remember the sound of them shattering over the scream that tore through me when Korithax took his last, shaky breath in my arms. Not here.
Don’t think about it here. I silently chide myself for even letting those thoughts invade my brain right now.
Aran steps forward, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. “People of Zeriavoss, your queen is here to address your concerns and speak to you about the current state of the realm. When she is finished, you may ask any questions she has not already answered.”
He turns to me, offering the smallest nod and a smile steady enough to hold me in place.
Well. Here goes nothing.
I clear my throat, forcing my voice to carry though I remain seated, just as Aran instructed.
“People of Zeriavoss,” I begin, the words tasting strange and heavy with a responsibility I’m certainly not used to baring.
“I understand these past weeks have been difficult for you all.” My voice hitches before I can stop it. “They have been difficult for me, too.”
The crack in my tone feels like a fracture down my spine—weakness showing despite my best efforts to remain collected.
I should not be showing fragility in a realm that is all about brutality.
My hands tighten in my lap until my knuckles turn white, aching slightly from the pressure.
I subconsciously seek out the goddesses, desperate for a sliver of comfort.
Across the hall, Elyistria and Sariya each give me a subtle nod, steadying me with their gaze.
I inhale slowly, raising my chin. “Not only did you lose your king—you were left with a queen you do not yet know. A queen you have not had the chance to trust. I know I have big shoes to fill. Korithax was more than a king—he was a warrior, a shield, a blade. He stood between you and every threat. And I promise you this—” my voice hardens “—I will do the same.”
Movement catches my eye, and I my gaze drifts to a stocky man in the front row.
He has curling yellow horns that match the bright gold of his eyes, with a pale complexion.
He’s scowling, and as my eyes scan around him, I realise he’s not alone.
Low murmurs drift through the hall, doubt rippling through pockets of the crowd like a sour wind.
A woman with ivory horns leans towards her neighbour, whispering behind her hand.
Another shakes his head slowly, arms crossed.
I notice the counsellors writing down not only my words, but the way the crowd is reacting.
They don’t believe a queen can match a king.
Fine. Then I’ll show them.
I rise to my feet, the heels of my shoes clicking sharply on the marble, each step a deliberate strike as I move to the very edge of the dais.
“I am not Korithax,” I say, my voice ringing across the hall.
“I have not fought in wars or slain great beasts. At least, not in this lifetime. But I have before.” I let the words hang for a beat, my gaze sweeping the room.
“I am not Dasmyrin. But she is in me. And I am in her. It took time to accept that, but I feel her now, growing stronger with each day.”
I lift my hands, letting the power coil up my arms and bloom into pale fire at my fingertips.
I focus, praying to anyone listening that my flame doesn’t have a mind of its own like usual.
I need to show them I can rule. I need to show them I am powerful, even if I don’t feel like it.
Please just listen to me this once. Please don’t try and burn the whole freaking palace down.
“I was mortal-born. But I’m no longer that girl.
I am the reborn immortal queen.” My voice drops, fierce and steady, despite my trembling pulse.
“The Divine Six are not who you think they are. I created them alongside my sister, Elyistria. We built the realms you walk upon, the skies you look up to. And they betrayed us. They betrayed you. They stole your king, my husband, and they will take more if we let them.”
The stillness is electric now. Every eye is fixed on me. I can feel Dasmyrin in my veins—an ancient, steady flame bolstering me.
“I am not Dasmyrin. I am Daisy. And I will protect you. I will train every day, sharpen my blade and my magic so that when the time comes, we will meet them with fire and fury. I am not Korithax, but I hold his wrath. This is bigger than our realm. Our entire universe is under threat. The Divine Six have grown greedy, drunk on power. And I promise you, under my watch, their reign ends here.”
I let the fire fade from my hands, my voice cutting through the quiet.
“War is coming. And we will not be on the losing side. I am not only your queen, but I am also your protector. Under my rule, the corrupt will fall, tyrants will burn, and Zeriavoss will rise stronger than ever. We will not succumb to dictatorship. We will rise. We will fight. We will win.”
For a heartbeat, there’s only silence and the pounding of my own pulse in my ears.
Then Lucifer stands. “All hail Queen Daisy,” he calls, his sinful smile aimed right at me.
I know his words are not sincere, but he’ll do anything to make himself the centre of attention.
If only for a moment. But despite it, his words have an effect, because the room explodes. “All hail Queen Daisy!”
They rise to their feet, voices booming, feet stamping against the cold stone floor.
The sound swells until the very air vibrates with it.
I glance back at Aran. Pride softens the lines of his face, a glimmer in his emerald eyes that warms my heart.
Turning to face the crowd once more, I bring my hands together, thumbs and forefingers forming the sharp triangle of his sigil.
I raise it above my head, the weight of it anchoring me in who I fight for.
I stare out at the crowd, my chin raised high.
“For Korithax,” I say, my voice breaking—but not with weakness.
It breaks with the weight of what the symbol above my head carries.
It breaks with pride as well as fear. With honour and commitment to the man that should be stood by my side.
For him, I will do everything it takes to see this kingdom rise.
The chant roars back at me, deafening. “For Korithax!”
Thousands of hands rise, triangles held high, a sea of sharp edges and fierce loyalty to not only the man who stole my heart, but to me. The woman who will continue his legacy, no matter what.