I knocked softly.
Anything louder would have implied urgency, and urgency created expectations. Expectations, in this palace, were dangerous. I let my knuckles rest against the door a moment longer than necessary, listening—not for footsteps, but for permission.
Seraphina had been different since the fainting.
Not fragile. Not unsteady in any way the court would admit aloud. But quieter in places where she used to fill with certainty. Sharper where she once smoothed the edges. As if something inside her had shifted and had not yet decided how it wished to sit.
I didn’t like changes I couldn’t account for.
I had remained outside this door the entire time. I heard servants hesitate. I heard the careful way people said queen when they thought no one important was listening. I did not move. I did not intervene.
Not until summoned.
She had chosen solitude. That choice mattered. Still, too much isolation invited speculation, and the palace had already begun whispering. A moment passed by then I heard it.
“Enter,” she said.
Her voice was steady. I took that as a good sign.
I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind me with care. The latch settled into place, and with it the room changed. What had been private became official. Silence turned into duty.
She sat on the couch where I had left her. Not collapsed. Not composed. Somewhere in between.
Transitional.
I stopped where I always did—close enough to be useful, far enough not to crowd—and inclined my head.
“Your Grace.”
It wasn’t the title I had used earlier today. Her eyes flicked to me, brief but aware. She noticed. That mattered.
“Is it done?” she asked.
“It’s concluded,” I replied.
I peaked into the hall.
The halls still smelled like ceremony. Too much perfume. Too many bodies remembered by the air. Even alone, the palace refused to forget what it had witnessed.
“The hall is clearing,” I said. “Most of the court has already dispersed.”
Her hand shifted near her throat—she looked like she look like she finally got the sign to breathe. I pretended not to notice and memorized it anyway.
“How long?” she asked.
“Forty-seven minutes since the final vow.”
I watched the number land. Not relief. Not displeasure.
Calculation.
Nearly an hour. Long enough for rumors to take shape. Short enough that they could still be guided.
“The world didn’t wait,” she said quietly.
“No,” I agreed. “It never does.”
I waited. Because sometimes silence wasn’t absence—it was an invitation.
And because fainting or not, changed or not, Seraphina was still deciding how she would step back into the world.
I intended to make sure she didn’t do it alone.
She didn’t move, but the air around her changed. The stillness sharpened into preparation.
I took two steps closer, then stopped. Distance in Solaria was a language. I spoke it fluently.
I had been assigned to her 4 years ago . My role was not fetching or bowing. It was proximity. Discretion. Authority carried quietly so the crown never had to raise its voice and protection when her world turns upside down.
In this palace, titles mattered less than access.
I had access.
“There are already responses,” I said. “Not formal. But present.”
She looked at me. “Say it plainly.”
“Some are pleased. Some are alarmed. A few are pretending not to be either.”
Her mouth curved slightly. Humor without warmth.
“And the rest?”
“Waiting,” I said. “To see who speaks first. And who dares to speak against you.”
She absorbed that without flinching.
“A messenger came while you were inside,” I said. “Not official.”
Her gaze sharpened. “From where?”
“I don’t recognize the seal,” I admitted. “But the courier markings were pre-ceremony priority. It should have been delivered before the vows.”
“And it wasn’t.”
“No. It was held back.”
She went still.
“You don’t know what it says,” she said.
“No,” I replied. “Only that someone wanted you to stand there without it.”
She studied me for a beat, then nodded once.
Trust, granted sparingly.
“I'll read it in a moment.” she said.
I inclined my head, but didn’t leave. Sometimes her silences were doors left deliberately ajar.
Her gaze drifted to the window, to Solaria glowing softly below. Peaceful, from a distance. It always was.
“You were not neglected,” I said carefully. “If that thought crossed you.”
Her eyes snapped back to me. “Kael?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t ask, but the questions sat between us anyway. Why he had left. Why the space beside her had been empty.
“He was called away the moment the vows were complete,” I said. “Leadership obligations. The marriage activated negotiations that were dormant until today.”
“And staying would have looked like choosing me over his people.” she said.
“Yes.”
“And leaving looks like choosing them over me.”
“Yes.”
She inhaled slowly, then exhaled, controlled.
“Fine. Not like he actually likes me. I'm just a political pawn.” She muttered under her breathe.
I pretended not to hear. She is going through a lot.
Not surrendering, but acceptance of the rules is there.
I watched her and allowed myself one unspoken thought:
She’s learning faster than they expect.
Forty-seven minutes.
The number meant less than the silence it sat inside. The ceremony was over, and the court had already adjusted its footing without waiting for me.
“Bring it,” I said.
Lyria brought me the letter on a tray, as if distance might dull its intent. The seal was unfamiliar. Not ceremonial. Not personal. Political?
I broke it open and read.
Once.
Then again, slower.
It wasn’t a threat.
That would have been worse.
It was a position statement. A recognition of the marriage’s legality paired with a refusal to accept its implications. Careful language. Conditional acknowledgments. Promises deferred until “further clarification.”
A challenge dressed as courtesy.
This had been meant to reach me before I stood in front of the court.
I folded the parchment cleanly.
“This changes nothing publicly,” I said.
Lyria didn’t speak.
“But it changes everything privately.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“They wanted me bound before I could respond,” I said. “Before I could account for who would move against it.”
“Yes.”
I set the letter down.
The world hadn’t paused while I sat alone.
It had chosen a direction.
“Who saw it delivered?” I asked.
“Only me and the courier.”
“All right,” I said, standing. The room felt smaller now.
“I want to change.”
The dress had done its job. Now it was only weight.
Lyria moved immediately. Layers were unfastened, lifted away, set aside. The gown was ceremonial, heavy, already obsolete.
When it was gone, I felt exposed—not in skin, but in role. The bride had scripts. Without them, I had to improvise. I'm still lost of who this princess was before i moved in.
The navy and gold settled onto my shoulders like something earned rather than borrowed. Practical. Elegant. Command without sacrifice.
The phoenix pendant stayed.
Bride.
Queen.
Political figure.
No one announced the transition. It happened anyway.
“Now,” I said, “I can think.”
“All right,” I said. “Questions and answers time.”
Lyria blinked. “Your Grace?”
“I ask questions. You answer diplomatically. I translate honestly.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It’s already dangerous,” I said. “How bad is it if I say the wrong thing?”
“Depends on who hears it.”
“So are you going to help me?”
“Yes.”
“How many people hate me already?”
“Define hate.”
“Lyria.”
“More than you’d like.”
I leaned back. “Am I allowed to leave the palace?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“We’ll negotiate.”
“So I’m a queen with permission slips.”
“You’re a queen with enemies.”
That landed.
“Where are we, exactly?” I asked
“Solaria. The human capital.”
The city looked peaceful from above. It always did. ( why did i think that?)
Borrowed walls. Temporary ground.
I didn’t like stages.
“In one week,” Lyria said, “the court relocates to Thal’ryn.”
One week.
“I’m being moved,” I said.
“Yes. You are now Queen of Thal'ryn.”
The distinction mattered.
“And Kael.”
“He will leave with the knights once court matters are settled.”
“So he’s under pressure,” I said.
Lyria did not say anything. just watched me like a concerned mother. She must have been very close to the original princess. I must stay alive though. I couldn’t afford to be fragile princess everyone has been whispering about.
“Some factions are appeased,” Lyria said. “Others alarmed.”
“One name?” I asked.
“Vark Ironclaw.”
"A uncontrolled variable. A powerful warrior, second in command.” Lyria said.
Uncertainty was not useful, but this did answer a lot. I am more than likely going to have to tell Lyria something to keep this a secret . I doubt she would believe me if i told her I'm not the precious princess she knew.
I had been holding the question since the fainting.
Not because I doubted her—but because I didn’t. Because if something had shifted, I needed to understand it before the court did. I’d watched Seraphina navigate silence, deflection, instinct. She was doing it too smoothly for confusion and too carefully for coincidence.
“Your Grace,” I said at last, “you’ve been asking questions you should already know the answers to.”
She didn’t turn toward me.
That hesitation mattered more than any answer.
“Dates,” I continued. “Protocols. Faces you’ve met before. You’re covering it well—but you shouldn’t need to cover at all.”
Still no denial.
I kept my voice steady. This was not an accusation. It was an opening.
“You fainted,” I said. “Publicly. In front of witnesses. Some were whispering of your possible death.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“If something changed after that moment,” I said carefully, “I need to know how deep it goes. Not as your attendant. As your shield. You have no clue how happy I was when you awakened.”
She turned then.
Her expression wasn’t frightened. It wasn’t lost.
It was decided.
“I don’t remember anything from before I woke up,” she said.
The words landed cleanly. Too cleanly.
“Anything?” I repeated.
“Not in a way that would satisfy the court,” she said. “Not in a way that would survive scrutiny.”
Memory loss. A dangerous notion.
“And no one can know that,” she added quietly. Tears filling in her eyes.
No one can know, it’s everything. A crisis among all things, for it puts her in grave danger to those who of evil intent.
I weighed the angles instantly—physicians, gossip, precedent, mercy. The court loved a weakness it could pity. It despised one it had to protect.
“We say partial loss,” I said. “Stress. Exhaustion. A physician’s recommendation for discretion.”
She nodded once. “If anyone presses—”
“I intercept.” I said.
“If they don’t stop—”
“I redirect.”
She nodded her head wiping the tears before they fall.
Good. She understood the rules.
“Until when?” I asked.
“Until I don’t need the excuse anymore.”
I inclined my head. “Then we proceed as planned.”
She exhaled, slow and controlled.
That was when the knock came.
The knock was firm.
Not cautious. Not polite.
Official.
“My first appearance,” before Lyria even turned.
She crossed the room and opened the door just enough to control the view. A senior palace official stood outside, flanked by ceremonial guards—symbols, not protection.
“Your Grace,” he said. “It is time.”
“How long will it take to get there?” I asked.
“Ten minutes. The eastern gallery has been prepared. Envoys and observers are present.”
Of course they were.
Symbolic.
Non-negotiable.
Lyria closed the door and turned back to me. “They chose the gallery for visibility,” she said. “Not vulnerability.”
I stood, smoothing my sleeves out of habit.
“I wasn’t ready.”
“That isn’t required,” she replied.
The corridors were no longer empty as we walked. Courtiers lined the walls, conversations dying mid-sentence. Some bowed. Some stared. Some pretended not to see me at all.
I heard fragments anyway.
"She looks steadier now."
"Wasn’t she the one who fainted?"
"That pendant—"
The eastern gallery opened into light.
Solaria stretched below the tall arched windows, bathed in late gold. Banners still hung along the railings. The court stood arranged in careful tiers—nobles closest, foreign envoys set back just far enough to observe without participating.
All eyes turned.
This wasn’t a speech.
It was a measurement.
I stepped to the marked position at the gallery’s edge. Lyria stopped half a pace behind me—visible, deliberate, unmistakably mine.
I wasn’t ready.
That didn’t matter.
I lifted my chin and took a deep breathe.
The world was watching.
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