Lyla sat on the throne of shadows, her fingers gripping the cold, shifting arms of the seat. It was not stone. It was not wood. It was something alive, pulsing with energy, shifting beneath her touch as though testing her.

She had thought victory would feel different.

That taking her place as Queen would bring some form of relief.

But all she felt was pressure.

Weight.

Like she was sinking into something deeper than she could control.

The Marked Ones stood before her, ...