If the night had been aflame before, this was the moment it began to unravel... like silk catching at the edges, burning to threads.
Caelen's voice... so rarely raised in public, cut through the smoke and murmurs like a blade.
"Why are you suddenly giving up something so precious to you?"
The sound of it turned heads. Every noble, every priest, every guest froze mid-breath. It wasn't only the question, it was the desperation threaded through it, the kind that did not belong in a king's throat. It was grief wearing the wrong mask.
He was staring at her as though she had just set fire to the sun.
Power. The crown. The flame. Eris had built herself from those things, had bled and burned for them. And if there was one thing the world knew of Eris Igniva, it was that she did not yield. Not to gods. Not to men. Certainly not to consequence.
And yet...
"Because I no longer care for it."
