Elira Vane had never stood in the throne hall before . Not like this - at the center , not the edges . Not summoned .
The marble beneath her boots was cold , veined like frost across winter glass . High above stained glass filtered sunlight in shards of crimson and gold . The throne of Darethia loomed ahead : carved from obsidian and inlaid with veins of starlight crystal , rumored to have come from the heart of the first mountain split by the gods .
And seated upon it was the man they now called King in all but name .
Crown Prince Caelum Dareth .
He was taller than she expected . Harder , too - not inform , though his presence was formidable - but in silence . He did not speak at once . He studied her with sharp , cool eyes , like the black of a sword left in snow .
" You are the scribe from the lower quarter ? " he finally asked , voice a low , unyielding thing that echoed across the empty hall .
Elira bowed . Not low - never lower than the nobility expected . She had learnt that lesson . But deep enough to show respect .
" I am ," she replied .
" You read and write in six tongues ," he continued , his tone unreadable . " You are trained in ciphering , record keeping , court law and memory transcription . Your work is without error , and your name was vouched for by Archscribe Thalin . Correct ? "
" Yes Highness ."
He tilted his head slightly . " Then why , Elira Vane , did you never apply for royal scribe service ?"
Elira blinked . " Because I was never invited ."
A pause .
Then -
A single , unexpected thing : the barest curve of his lips . Not a smile . Amusement , perhaps . Or something like it .
" You are invited now ," he said .
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