Page 37

THIRTY-SEVEN

LUCIEN

T he throne room looked different now.

Not in stone or structure—no one had touched the deep-cracked floors or replaced the shattered sigils in the glass. But in the way light moved through it.

It no longer felt like a tomb. It felt like something exhaled. Like a weight had been dragged off its bones.

Evryn stood at the top of the dais, not seated on the throne this time, but beside it. Hair braided with silver and shadow-thread. Panther eyes steady. Cloak trimmed in the colors of no single house—only dusk and light. Balance.

Lucien watched her from below.

Every step she took, every word she measured—he saw the cost of it.

How heavy the crown felt, even when it wasn’t on her head.

She was doing what no queen before her had dared.

Breaking the Accords.

The words themselves felt like heresy.

They were older than the stone of the Court. A pact carved in magic and iron after the First Dominion War—when the Veil fractured and the Houses clawed for survival like starving beasts.

The Accords had kept the bloodlines separate.

Claws ruled the central dominion. The other Houses—Bearclan, Dragonflame, Sablewing—were granted territories, stripped of thrones, and warned never to challenge Umbraclaw again. In return, they were allowed autonomy. Trade. Shadows of influence. Never voice.

Never power.

Until now.

Evryn stood tall on the steps of the dais, her voice cutting through the heavy hush like a blade made of light and thunder.

“We are not just Claws anymore,” she said. “We are not a kingdom born of bloodlines and borders.”

A ripple of gasps. Frowns. One elder stumbled backward.

But Evryn pressed forward, her panther-marked eyes scanning the crowd.

“We will not rule by fear, nor isolation. The Veil belongs to all who bleed within it—and so, this throne will no longer silence the voices of the Dragonflame, the Bearclan, or the Sablewing.”

She turned her gaze deliberately to the pillars framing the hall—where Seraphine Drakar stood like fire incarnate, Calder Grimhart stood like a carved mountain, and Malrik Sablewing shimmered with memory-shadow, eyes unreadable.

“You will have a voice,” Evryn said. “A seat. Equal say in law and future. The Accords are broken. The dominion is shared. ”

The silence shattered.

It wasn’t applause.

It wasn’t outrage.

It was a moment too stunned for reaction, shock hanging like stormclouds over the court’s heart.

Lucien didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He stood near the outer ring of the chamber, hands behind his back, jaw tight.

This was history breaking open.

And he’d followed her into it. Helped carve the path with blood and steel.

But now… she was standing alone.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she believed she had to.

Evryn’s voice softened now, not in power but in intimacy.

“The old ways gave us war,” she said. “And monsters. And silence when we needed justice. That dies with the last queen.”

Her eyes, goddess-bright—swept the hall again.

“The new reign begins today. Not of blood. Not of shadow. But of truth. ”

And in that moment, Lucien thought, she was everything the Veil needed.

And still…she wasn’t his.

Later, the crowd broke into clusters. Courtiers murmured in corners, voices tight with nerves and newfound hope. Envoys from the other Houses conferred in low tones, already negotiating the fragile beginnings of this new era.

Lucien slipped away from the dais.

He didn’t go far—just far enough. Into the old courtyard beyond the pillars, where shadow blossoms bloomed in quiet defiance beneath moonlight. The garden had once been a place of war councils and whispered betrayals.

Tonight, it was still.

The stars didn’t feel like eyes for once. Just witnesses.

He didn’t hear her footsteps. He just knew .

“Lucien,” Evryn said softly behind him.

He didn’t turn. “You don’t have to explain.”

“But I want to.”

He closed his eyes. “I stood by you in battle. In shadow. In death. I followed you through flame. I will never stop protecting you.”

“I know that,” she said.

“But I can’t keep pretending I’m not breaking.”

Evryn was silent for too long.

Lucien turned slowly, pain etched across every line of him—shoulders tense, throat working hard to swallow what he couldn’t say aloud.

“Every time you look past me like I’m just your second,” he said, voice barely more than breath, “every time you speak like my heart’s not in your hand… it kills me.”

Her jaw trembled.

“I didn’t mean to?—”

He stepped in, closer than protocol should allow. Closer than someone who wasn’t her heart should dare.

“You say you’re scared of becoming her,” he said. “But, Evryn… you’ve already proved you’re nothing like Selyne.”

She flinched. And Lucien, gods help him, softened .

“You fight for peace,” he whispered. “She only ever fought for power. You give people voices. She took them. And you—you would rather cut out your own happiness than risk hurting me.”

His hand hovered near hers.

Lucien’s voice cracked. “That’s not a monster. That’s a queen worth bleeding for.”

Evryn blinked fast. Her eyes shimmered—but she held herself back.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “If I let myself have this—have you —I won’t survive losing it again. I can’t subject you to what I could become. I have no idea–”

“But I do.” He stepped even closer. Their shadows touched first. Always their shadows.

“You think I haven’t already given you everything?” he said. “You think I haven’t already lost you every night you stand five feet away and call me commander instead of anything that means something?”

She looked at him then. Really looked.

His hands were curled into fists, like touching her would undo him completely.

“I love you,” he said. No hesitation. No flourish. No shields left. “I have. I still do. I will . Even if you send me away tomorrow.”

Evryn’s breath caught. She shook her head, barely.

“This can’t be real.”

Lucien smiled, broken and raw. “It’s the only real thing I’ve got left.”

And her walls finally cracked.

She surged forward, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and kissed him like he was the last tether she had to herself.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t clean. It was desperate. Real.

A queen and her blade. A girl and her storm.

No thrones. No court.

Just them.

And the stars, still watching.