Elora’s POV
The first time my ass hit Dominic’s chair, I swear I almost bolted right back up.
That carved monstrosity of a throne, cold as a corpse, high-backed like it wanted to swallow me up, wasn’t mine. That was supposed to be Dominic’s. Maybe even Dante’s if you wanna get technical. All that ancestral oak, stained with old blood and centuries of sweat? And yet, here I was, plopped right in the center of it like some kind of fraud.
No Dominic, no Dante, just, well... me.
The chamber felt two miles too big. Banners everywhere, our crest sagging like everyone’s faith in me was just as limp. All those eyes on me from crusty elders to half-feral warriors. The room hummed with their tension. Like they were waiting to watch me trip over my own feet.
Swallowed the urge to gag, squared my
