The air still reeks of smoke and charred flesh. The city, once teeming with life, is silent but for the distant cries of the dying—those left to suffer in the wake of dragonfire. Ash drifts through the ruined streets like snowfall.

The throne room looms ahead, barely standing, its once-great walls blackened and broken. I force my feet forward, past the scorched corpses of men, women… children. My hands clench into fists. This wasn’t war. This was slaughter.

And she is waiting for me.

She stands at the top of the ruined steps, her silver hair untouched by the soot that stains the world around her. The beast rests behind her like a shadow given form, its dark scales gleaming in the firelight. She turns when she hears me approach, her violet eyes burning with something I can’t name. Victory? Justification? Madness?

I stop a few paces away, my voice hoarse from smoke and grief. “They were ringing the bells. They surrendered.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t falter. “And what would you have done?” Her voice is steady, unwavering. “Allowed the queen to take advantage of our mercy, as she always does?”

The queen is dead. The war is over. Yet the streets are lined with the innocent, turned to dust because of her wrath.

“This wasn’t mercy,” I say, my words heavy with the truth I wish I didn’t have to speak.

She steps closer. There is no hesitation in her, no regret. Only the same fire that consumed this city. “It was justice.” Her gaze pins me where I stand. “If you cannot see that, then you are against me.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Because in this moment, looking at her—at what she’s done, at what she’s become—I realize the woman I loved is gone.

The breath leaves my lungs. She believes this. Truly. Completely. The woman I loved is slipping through my fingers, lost in fire and blood. I see a shadow of the mad king in her now.

And I know what I must do.

I step closer, forcing every bit of love and sorrow into my gaze.

“You are my queen. Now and always.”