The grand hall had erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause as I was crowned queen, but the euphoric high was short-lived. As Luther and I descended the dais, hand-in-hand, I could feel the weight of countless crimson gazes boring into me, a mix of begrudging acceptance and open hostility.
Torren, the disgruntled guard who had dared to challenge my ascension, hung back from the throng, his eyes narrowed to slits as he watched our procession. I fought the urge to bare my fangs at him - now was not the time for petty displays of dominance. I was the queen, and I would conduct myself with the grace and poise befitting my station.
Still, I couldn't help but tighten my grip on Luther's hand, drawing strength from his steadfast presence. He must have sensed my unease, for he leaned in,
