The room had gone cold, despite the fire still crackling in the hearth.
Malvoria sat rigid at the long table, Kaelith bundled contentedly in Elysia's lap beside her, still cooing over a spoon as though she hadn't nearly ignited the curtains twenty minutes earlier.
The tension in the air wasn't visible, but it was everywhere—tucked between each breath, every glance.
Saelira stood at the head of the table, her dark hands clasped loosely behind her back, her silver-threaded robes whispering against the floor.
"I had spies watching the palace," she said calmly, as if she were reporting on weather, not treason.
"The moment Lucindra arrived, the wards flared. She overpowered the central hall's defenses and issued a decree claiming she was assuming command in the Queen's 'prolonged absence.'"
Malvoria's jaw clenched.
"She isn't queen," she said.
