Flames tore through the palace, heat pressing against stone and skin.
Marble columns cracked under the heat. Smoke drifted through the vaulted ceilings, thick and choking. Steel clashed in every corridor, screams echoing off the walls. The Hollow Veil had forced their way into Verdana’s heart, turning the palace into a battleground.
Elara’s sword met a masked acolyte’s spear, sparks flying across blood-slick tiles. Her gown hung in tatters, her crown blackened by stray embers. She fought with every muscle tight, every movement sharp and desperate.
Caden fought beside her, but his steps grew unsteady. Pain flared along his scar, heat crawling up his arm in red streaks. He gritted his teeth, sweat shining on his brow.
“Elara—” he choked, voice hoarse. “I can’t—control it—”
She struck down another acolyte, her breath ragged. “You are not a weapon. You are mine. Hold to that!”
His body jerked, light pouring from his skin. Guards shrank back, even their own men keeping their distance, fear plain in their eyes.
The floor shook. The council chamber doors crashed open, and nobles rushed out, ash clinging to their jeweled cloaks. Some begged for mercy, others cursed Elara’s name as they pushed past.
Lord Veylen, his velvet doublet torn, seized her sleeve. “Majesty—you must yield! For the good of Verdana—abdicate before the throne crumbles with us!”
Elara tore free, eyes blazing. “You call treason salvation? You bend knee to shadows and call it duty?”
But his words were drowned by another’s. Lady Maiven raised her voice, sharp as a blade: “The queen brings only ruin! Look to her tether! Even now it burns Verdana to cinders!”
All eyes fell to Caden. He staggered, clutching his chest as flame licked across his scar.
Arinelle’s voice sliced through the chamber from the shadows beyond. She stepped forward in her widow’s pearls, untouched by soot, her lips curved in triumph. “Behold the proof! The prophecy fulfilled. The tether cannot be wielded—it devours. Verdana’s throne is a husk, ruled by a curse.”
The nobles whispered among themselves, fear tightening their faces.
Elara raised her blade, her voice ringing above the cacophony. “Lies! Every word a poison. This throne is not yours to claim. Verdana’s heart beats with its people—not your shadows.”
As she spoke, the marble beneath the throne split with a sharp crack. Smoke rose through the gap, firelight twisting shadows across the walls.
Caden staggered. Elara grabbed his shoulders, feeling the heat burning through his skin. His eyes, once bright, faded to a dull glow.
“Elara—listen to me,” he rasped. “You cannot hold me and the crown both. The prophecy—”
“Prophecy bends. It is not my master.” Her voice shook, but her grip was iron. “Do you hear me? I will not choose between Verdana and you.”
His lips twisted in a broken smile. “Then prophecy will choose for you.”
Before she could answer, Sebastian barreled through the melee, his tabard torn, blood streaking his face. He fell to his knees before her. “Majesty! The tether—it slips beyond your grasp. He cannot hold it much longer.”
Elara’s heart lurched. “Sebastian—”
He seized her wrist, eyes wild. “Save the crown! Verdana will die if the tether consumes him here. The prophecy speaks true—you must sever it, or all is lost!”
Caden’s back arched as fire tore through him. Acolytes screamed, some falling to ash where they stood. The rest pressed in, chanting, their voices rising over the chaos.
Then the acolytes closed in, hands grabbing and pulling him away.
“No!” Elara’s cry split the chamber. She lunged, cutting down two masked zealots, blood spraying across the tiles. She reached for him, her fingers grazing his arm, the heat blistering her skin—
Shadows closed over him, hiding him from view.
Caden screamed as they dragged him into the smoke, his body lost in the fire and darkness.
For a moment, everything went quiet.
Elara dropped to her knees on the marble, her hand reaching for empty air. The crown slipped from her head, cracked and stained with blood, hitting the floor with a sharp, brittle sound.
The nobles gasped, some in horror, others in delight.
Arinelle’s laughter spilled through the chamber, sweet and venomous. “The throne is broken. The tether has claimed its vessel. Verdana has no queen—only a widow of prophecy.”
Elara pushed herself to her feet, chest tight, eyes stinging from smoke and grief. She gripped her sword, knuckles white.
“You mistake me,” she said, voice low and lethal. “I am no widow. I am Verdana.”
She charged at Arinelle, sword raised.
Chaos broke out again. Guards fought traitors, steel ringing and blood pooling on the marble. Nobles pushed toward hidden doors as pillars split and flames climbed higher.
Through the noise and ruin, Elara’s voice rose above it all:
“Caden! I will tear the veil apart! Do you hear me? You are not gone. You are mine—and Verdana’s throne will not fall!”
The words of the prophecy pounded in her mind, refusing to let go: Her tether shall bind or break her.
With every swing of her sword, every ragged breath, Elara chose. She would not let go. The tether would hold.
Even if it meant breaking the world to keep it.