The sun was rising over Veyrhold by the time Kaelira stirred. Still tangled in the warmth of Dorian's arms, she stared at the golden light bleeding across the chamber ceiling, and wondered how long the peace would last.
She already knew the answer. Peace wasn't something she'd been born into. It was something she'd have to take. She gently slipped from the bed, wrapping herself in a soft cloak and padding barefoot to the balcony. The city below was still. But not asleep. A stillness like breath held.
They knew. The nobles. The guards. The court.
She had risen.
Not as a bride.
But something else entirely.
---
Dorian joined her quietly, the sheets rustling behind him.
"You don't have to go yet," he said.
She didn't turn.
"I have to," she said. "Before they try to define what I am for me."
A pause.
Then, "Will you stand with me?"
He stepped forward and took her hand.
"Always."
---
Later that morning, the iron doors of the High Council creaked open. Kaelira entered alone—barefoot, in a gown of deep crimson silk that shimmered like dying coals. Her curls were unbound, her shoulders bare. She wore no crown.
And yet, the room hushed like one had entered. Rows of nobles and vampires of high blood turned to face her. Murmurs echoed across the chamber like wind in a crypt. The Circle of Nine sat at the head of the room. Faces like stone. Eyes sharp. Every one of them remembered her. Even if they didn't yet understand how.
Lord Thaen's voice rang out:
"You come unbound. Not yet claimed by oath or marriage. Why?"
Kaelira's answer was clear. Calm.
"Because I am not property."
The room shook with protest. Elder Corvalis stood. "You were summoned here to complete the Binding. You refused, ignited chaos, and now you sit as if you are owed reverence."
Kaelira stepped forward, fire whispering beneath her skin.
"I am not owed reverence," she said. "I am owed truth. Two hundred years ago, you burned me. And I rose."
More gasps.
"What is she saying?" hissed one noble.
"She's mad," another murmured. "Or possessed."
Dorian stepped into the hall from the side corridor then—clad in ceremonial armor. Not as consort. Not as heir.
As ally.
"She's telling the truth," he said. "I watched her die once. And I watched her rise."
Gasps turned to stunned silence.
Only Lord Thaen remained unmoved. "And what do you want, Flameborn?"
Kaelira's voice dropped.
Low. Steady. Final.
"I want the throne."
---
Now the chamber exploded.
Shouts.
Laughter.
Denial.
"She has no blood right—"
"She was meant to marry into rule—"
"She is a creature of fire and vengeance, not governance!"
Kaelira said nothing.
She let them shout.
Let them spit.
Let them remember how loud they had been the first time they bound her hands. And then—when they had screamed themselves hoarse—she raised her palm. And called the fire.
---
Not destruction.
Illumination.
Flame laced with light rose behind her—not from torches, but from memory itself. The symbol of the Eclipsed flared above her: the sun within thorns. And even the bravest fell quiet.
"You fear me because I survived what you created," Kaelira said. "But I am not your bride. I am not your weapon. I am what comes after your cruelty."
She stepped forward.
"You burned me once.
And I rose.
Now I will rebuild this kingdom from ash—
Stone by stone, soul by soul."
"This throne will not be inherited.
It will be earned.
And I am ready to fight for it."
---
One by one… the nobles knelt.
Not in fealty.
But in awe.
In memory.
In reckoning.
---
Kaelira stepped forward, toward the empty throne. The same one that watched her die. Now, she faced it not with fear…
…but with fire.
She sat.
Straight-backed.
Unapologetic.
Powerful. And in her mind, to the girl she once was, she whispered:
"They remember what they took from us.
Now… let them watch what we become."