Throne's of the crown, Embers of the sun
683 Words
Seraphine awoke in silken sheets, her lips still stained from the night before. The scent of myrrh clung to her skin like a second veil, and the wound on her fang throbbed faintly—a cruel reminder that the crown resting above her head was made of thorns. The chamber was quiet, too quiet, and Alaric was gone. Only the pale glow of the morning sun touched the edge of the crimson curtains, casting a light that felt far too soft for the war brewing beneath her bones.
Later that morning, she sat quietly at the long, obsidian breakfast table as Alaric entered, his presence commanding as always. He glanced at her with a sharp gaze, softened only slightly by curiosity.
“Did you sleep?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of darkroot tea.
“Yes,” she replied coolly. “And the baby... I felt it move.”
Alaric’s eyes lit up for a brief moment, his pride barely veiled. “Good. What would you like to eat, Seraphine?”
She scanned the spread before her—firefruit slices, seared skyfish, and goldenbread. “I’ll have the goldenbread and the fruit.”
He nodded, then set his cup down. “I’ll be leaving soon.”
Seraphine looked up. “Where?”
“A tour of the kingdom,” he said simply. “The Moonfire Clans, sun blooms,the Night Flame citadels, and the Starborn at the edge of the skies.”
She stiffened. “Will I be joining you?”
“You're my wife. You carry our child. Our unity must be seen. So yes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So I’m just the vessel now? Not their queen?”
“Not yet,” Alaric replied, unbothered. “Not until your coronation. Or as we call it—Velrathion, the Festival of Flame and Crown.”
“When will Velrathion happen?”
“After our child is born. Then they will see you rise.”
She bit her tongue, the weight of his words pressing like iron. Just the mother. Just the bride. Not yet the queen.
Moments later, Vyreth entered, as if summoned by Seraphine’s silent rage.
“Alaric is leaving soon,” her mother said calmly. “He’ll present you to the fangs. This is your chance.”
Seraphine glanced sideways. “Do you think he’ll visit the old Sun Clan?”
“I doubt it,” Vyreth replied. “Their line ended with fire and betrayal—but not all embers die out.”
Seraphine’s voice dropped. “Do you know anyone who still carries their flame?”
Vyreth’s expression shifted. “I do.”
Before Seraphine could press further, a soft knock interrupted them. Three dragon maidens entered, their gowns embroidered with silver threads.
“We are here to serve you, Your Grace,” one of them said with a graceful bow.
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. “Why do I sense my mother-in-law’s hand in this?”
She stood abruptly. “I want to go to the gardens. I need the scent of something real.”
“As you wish,” the maidens chorused.
As she stepped into the crystalline garden, the perfume of blue crystal blossoms filled her lungs, grounding her in the one place she still felt like herself.
She spoke softly to the quiet life growing within her. “They fear you, little one. They fear me. That’s why they smile with sharpened teeth.”
Then—laughter.
A voice she hadn’t heard in so long it echoed like a dream. “Look at you,” Selyra whispered, stepping from behind the hedge with wide eyes and shaking hands. “You’re glowing. I missed you.”
Seraphine’s breath caught. “I missed you more.”
Selyra knelt beside a little boy—wide-eyed, scales dusted in gold. A tiny dragonling, just like Eren once was.
Seraphine smiled, heart aching. “Is that...?”
“My brother,” Selyra whispered. “We’ve been in hiding. He’s not just anyone. His name is Taevin. He’s the last heir of the Sun Clan.”
Seraphine’s breath hitched.
- Writer
