The throne room of Simharia's royal castle stood tall and reborn, its crimson banners freshly hung, and its golden inlays polished until they gleamed like captured sunlight.
Massive stained-glass windows filtered the morning glow, casting sacred hues on the stone floor where the court had gathered in full attendance.
On the high throne, draped in crimson and gold, sat Queen Zahara.
Her crimson hair was braided into a regal knot, and her red eyes—calm yet burning with silent might—surveyed the chamber.
The crown upon her brow shimmered faintly, forged anew to match her rise.
Beside her, seated just a step lower on a throne of dark steel, sat Reganath, her father and the former king, now an honored guardian and advisor.
Although Zahara was the queen now, she was still inexperienced, and people might underestimate her—or so was what Reganath thought.
He didn't know that all the nobles were already under Alex's control, not daring to think of going against Zahara.
