The throne hall of the Land of Shadow had known many things beneath its vaulted stone.

War councils.

Judgment.

The quiet planning of ruin.

Yet the stillness resting upon it now was… different.

I sat upon the black throne that had long served as the seat of my command, one arm draped loosely along its carved edge. The serpents coiled about mine armor shifted lazily in the torchlight, scales whispering against iron as they tasted the air.

For once, the hall did not reek of blood or iron.

Only flame.

Scarlet… and pale.

My gaze drifted to the figure beside me.

Elowen.

The Pale Flame.

My Queen.

She rested upon the arm of the throne as though it had been fashioned for her alone—perched in quiet composure beside the seat of a warlord. Pale hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the firelight so that it gleamed like frost beneath a winter moon. The white of her garments and cloak reflected the torches in a faint silver glow, and for a moment the hall itself seemed dimmer for standing beside her.

Strange.

How a throne that had once felt like nothing more than stone and command now seemed… complete.

Word had already spread across the Lands Between. Riders had carried the proclamation far beyond the borders of the Land of Shadow.

Messmer the Impaler had taken a queen.

Not some timid court daughter meant to placate a tyrant.

But Elowen, the Pale Flame.

The realm would learn soon enough what such a union meant.

A faint breath escaped me, something almost akin to amusement as I regarded her there beside me. Long had I ruled by flame alone. Long had war been the only constant companion to my reign.

Now there were two fires within this hall.

Scarlet.

And pale.

The quiet shattered.

Bootsteps thundered through the corridor beyond the great doors—urgent, hurried, unceremonious.

The doors swung open.

One of my Knights of Flame strode inside, armor dusted with the road and breath still heavy from the ride. He dropped to one knee at once before the throne.

“My lord—”

His voice carried the edge of exhaustion.

“A decree hath arrived from the Golden Order.”

Silence fell like a blade.

Slowly, I leaned forward.

The knight extended a sealed parchment upward. The wax bore the unmistakable sigil of the Order.

So, they had answered.

I broke the seal and read.

The words were precisely what I had expected.

The Golden Order demandeth the return of Lady Elowen—daughter of their sworn house—to their custody by the date named within the decree.

Should she not be surrendered willingly…

War would follow.

If she were not returned, they would reclaim her by force.

For a moment the hall remained utterly still.

Then I exhaled slowly.

The parchment remained between my fingers for a breath longer.

Scarlet flame stirred along the gauntlet of my hand.

It flared suddenly—bright, hungry, alive.

The decree ignited where I held it.

Fire devoured the parchment in an instant, curling its edges inward as the Order’s demand blackened and withered beneath the scarlet flame. Ash drifted down in faint grey fragments before it ever reached the stone floor.

Gone.

The knight before me did not dare lift his head.

Slowly—very slowly—I rose from the throne.

As I did, my arm slipped from around Elowen where it had rested along the throne’s edge, the movement light and deliberate before I stepped forward. The serpents along mine armor stirred sharply now, scales rasping as though sensing the change in the air.

My boot came down upon the last flecks of ash that remained.

“They would take her.”

The words were quiet.

Yet the hall seemed to tighten around them.

My gaze lifted slowly toward the kneeling knight.

“They would come unto my hall…”

My voice lowered, dark and steady as a gathering storm.

“…and claim my queen.”

No man in the chamber moved.

I stepped down from the throne dais, the shaft of my spear resting once more against the stone floor as I regarded the fallen remnants of the decree.

“Tell them the Golden Order.”

"If they desire war.. they need only come and ask for my Beloved themselves."