The storm broke at dawn.
Rain lashed against the palace windows, thunder rolling like distant war drums. Ivy stood before the tall mirror in her chamber, staring at the glowing mark on her chest. It pulsed faintly beneath her skin, a living reminder of everything she had become in a single night.
Queen.
Blood Queen.
Primordial heir.
None of it felt real.
A soft knock sounded.
“Enter.”
Rowan stepped inside, his presence filling the room with a quiet gravity. He wore ceremonial black, the fabric embroidered with silver runes of loyalty and protection. His hair was damp from the rain, droplets clinging to his lashes.
“The council is assembled,” he said. “They’re waiting for you.”
Her stomach tightened. “For what?”
“For my oath.”
She turned slowly. “Your what?”
His jaw clenched. “
