Moon-silver lanterns illuminated the Queen’s room, their glow soft yet steady, casting long shadows across the stone table. The lanterns flickered in a rhythm that felt almost alive, as if the magic inside them breathed with the room. The air smelled faintly of parchment, steel, and something older, something like starlight trapped in stone.
Maps of the palace and the surrounding realms were spread across the table, marked with runes and sigils Elara did not recognize. Some pulsed faintly, others shimmered like frost. The room felt like the heart of a storm, quiet but charged, waiting for lightning to strike.
Theron stood beside her, tense and silent, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscles ticking. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, and his shoulders were rigid
