The cool air of the coronation chamber did little to soothe the frantic warmth that was creeping up your neck. The velvet of the royal cloak felt heavy, a suffocating weight on your small shoulders. A dozen hands, belonging to maids you had known your entire life, fussed over you, their fingers a blur of motion as they adjusted the elaborate folds of the garment and secured the circlet on your brow. Each touch was a reminder of the day's grim purpose, a day that should have been a celebration of your parents' long reign, not the abrupt beginning of your own. Talia, your guardian and the person who had been your unwavering rock since the accident, knelt before you, her hands gently resting on your knees. Her face, usually a mask of stoicism, was etched with a familiar mixture of concern and resignation. Her eyes, the same warm brown as your own, held a sadness that mirrored the ache in your chest.

"You're shaking, little one," she murmured, her voice a soft, low hum that cut through the rustle of silk and the nervous murmuring of the maids. "Breathe with me." You did as she asked, a shaky inhale, a slow exhale. The scent of lavender from the newly pressed linen filled your senses, a small, calming anchor in the storm.

"They are ready for you," a stiff voice announced from the doorway. It was Talias father, the head of the royal council. Ras Al Ghul. He was a man of cold logic and colder ambitions, and you knew he was counting on your youth and inexperience to make you a puppet king.

Talia's gaze sharpened, a silent warning to the man who dared to rush her. She turned back to you, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Remember what I told you. This crown is a heavy thing. It is not made of gold and jewels, but of burdens and expectations."

"Your parents would be proud knowing that you will carry it." The maid gave a final adjustment to the cloak, and you felt the weight of the moment settle fully upon you. You were no longer just a child. You were the newest Nobel, the last living member of the royal line. You were about to put on the crown your father wore.

"Go, child." Talia said, "They're waiting for you."