The throne room was vast and hushed, the air heavy with the scent of iron and smoke from the braziers that burned along the walls. Stained glass caught the dim light and spilled it across the stone floor in fractured reds. Upon the throne sat Lord Kaelen Veynar, clad in his blackened armor, helm hiding all expression. His gauntleted hand rested upon the pommel of his greatsword, the blade stretching down to the bloodstained tiles. Beside him, on a throne carved smaller but no less imposing, she sat—his shadow and his fire, her black-laced armor glimmering faintly, her legs still streaked with the crimson of some unseen battle.

The doors groaned open. A herald’s voice cracked through the silence. “His Majesty, King Aldred of Veythar.”

The neighboring king entered with his retinue, gold and silver glinting against the oppressive darkness of the hall. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp as they fell immediately upon the woman at Kaelen’s side. A flicker of disapproval crossed his face before he schooled it into something resembling diplomacy.

Kaelen did not rise. He sat as still as stone, helm tilted faintly downward, his silence heavier than any greeting. The woman, however, lowered her gaze, the faintest of smiles touching her lips—private, knowing, unseen by all but him.

“My lord Veynar,” King Aldred began, forcing civility into his voice, “I have come to discuss the trade of iron and timber between our kingdoms. Matters that concern the welfare of both our peoples.”

Kaelen gave a slight motion of his head. A signal. Speak.

But Aldred’s eyes were no longer on him. They lingered on her, like a splinter driven under the nail. “And yet,” Aldred continued, his tone sharpening, “I did not expect… her.”

The words rang louder than they should have, echoing in the stillness. The courtiers shifted uncomfortably. No one ever spoke of her, not in his presence, not aloud.

Slowly, Kaelen lifted his head, the slit of his helm fixed on Aldred. The silence stretched, stretched until even the braziers seemed to dim.

“You question,” Kaelen’s voice came, deep and metallic, a low rumble that filled the chamber, “who sits at my side.”

Aldred swallowed, but pride stiffened his back. “I question only what is proper. A knight may have his mistress, but the throne demands a queen. For the sake of appearances, of stability—”

The scrape of steel on stone silenced him. Kaelen had shifted his greatsword, dragging its edge against the floor as he rose from his throne. The sound was slow, deliberate, thunder rolling in the bones of every man present.

He descended a single step, the weight of his armor resonating through the chamber. “You mistake me, Aldred. You speak of thrones as though they were yours to command.” His helm tilted slightly, the dark slit fixed upon the other king. “You forget whose hall you stand in.”

The woman’s hand brushed the arm of Kaelen’s throne, calm, grounding. She did not speak, but he felt her presence steady him as no one else could.

Aldred’s courtiers shifted uneasily, but the king pressed on, though his voice cracked faintly. “I meant no insult. Only that the eyes of the world watch us both. Rumors—”

“Rumors,” Kaelen cut him off, the single word like a blade across the air. He descended another step, until the steel tip of his sword rang against the floor between them. “Let the world watch. Let them whisper. Let them choke on their own tongues. She sits where I command. And if you, or any man, dare name her unworthy again—” His helm turned slightly, and though no eyes could be seen within, every man swore he felt them burning through the steel. “—your kingdom will burn before dawn.”

Aldred paled, his mouth opening, then closing. Silence swallowed the room. The only sound was the faint drip of blood from her boot to the floor, like a quiet heartbeat in the stillness.

Kaelen straightened, towering above, and returned to his throne without another word. He sat, the greatsword laid once more at his side. She shifted slightly toward him, her shoulder brushing his arm.