The throne room of Velmira was carved from obsidian and gold, a place where silence held dominion and secrets clung to the walls like dust. Guards stood at every corner, armor gleaming, eyes sharp. The air was thick with anticipation—war was no longer a whisper but a drumbeat echoing through the palace.

Seraphine strode in first, her midnight robes trailing behind her like a storm cloud. She didn’t wait for permission. She never did.

Behind her, Rosalinda entered with cautious steps, her ...