I didn't stay after that. I didn't need to hear their fake bullshit about "unity" when I knew they all wanted me dead.
So, I walked out of the Grand Hall before dessert was served.
Not because I was done performing.
Because I was done pretending.
The weight of a hundred stares clung to my skin like ash,too many watching eyes, too many whispers about the bite marks, the throne I claimed without permission, the prophecy they were too cowardly to name out loud. But I didn’t care about their judgment.
I cared that I hadn’t felt heat in my veins all night.
Not once.
Not when the torches flared above.
Not when Daxos brushed his lips against my throat.
Not even when the Council tried to bait me into an outburst.
The Emberborn fire was still gone. Silent.
And I felt like a damn impostor
