A summer storm rolled in unexpectedly.
Rain drummed the edges of the house, as if the sky itself sensed what was to come.
In the shadows of the study, Crown stood—lean, silent, his posture too old for his face.
Orla felt Eliias behind her, tension radiating in every shift of his shoulders.
Stanley stood close, hand resting lightly on her lower back—because sometimes love is the only weapon left.
Crown finally spoke.
“I’m the first one Clara called her Queen.”
Orla’s chest tightened with every word.
“You’re too young.”
“I was meant to be her choice,” he replied. “She died before she could crown me.”
She looked at Elias. He didn’t flinch.
“My father raised me. He filled me with her voice. ‘The world belongs to those who hold fire.’ He sent me to find you.”
Leah stood at the door,
