The council chambers were still vibrating with the residue of the day's events—the sharp intake of breath when the lords realized their leverage had been stripped, the scrape of chairs as they scrambled to pledge their fealty to the new Queen, and the low, predatory hum of the Triumvirate watching them like hounds waiting for a signal. But once the heavy oak doors clicked shut, locking the rest of the world away, the grandeur of the room felt like nothing more than cold, hollow stone.
Nyx felt the chill of it clinging to her skin. Her legs were trembling—a tremor she was fighting to hide behind a mask of regal indifference. She walked down the long, red-carpeted corridor, her steps echoing with an unnatural sharpness.
"You didn't eat," Malphas murmured, his voice a low vibration against
