KELLY THOMPSON'S POV

Shadows crept along the walls of the royal chamber, mirroring the dark tendrils of doubt that twisted through my mind. I sat alone, my posture rigid on the throne that now felt more like a prison than a seat of power. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional crackle from the fireplace that failed to warm the chill in my bones. My fingers traced the armrest, the intricate carvings cold and unyielding under my touch.

Elara Windrider's image haunted me – her ...