The air in the Drakemoor Council Chamber was thick with ancient magic and disapproval. It was a circular room lined with dark stone and lit by floating blue-white orbs that cast sharp shadows. Torian, still dressed in his mortal suit and cloak, led me to the center of the room. A massive, semi-circular table stood at the front, and I was faced with the twelve most powerful and conservative Lords and Ladies of Aethelgard.
The sight of their king was bad enough for them. The sight of their new mortal queen was an outrage. They were silent, but their cold, judgmental expressions were completely devoid of any welcome.
I drew my shoulders back, my chin lifted, refusing to be intimidated.
A senior councilor, Lord Kaelen, stared at us. His face was a mask of scorn as he addressed Torian. “Y
