It was an insult of the highest order.
“How dare she—a child—summon the High King and Queen?” Vaerilith’s voice cracked like a whip through the marble-paneled throne room. Her wrath echoed off the gilded columns, her fists clenched at her sides as she stormed back and forth before the twin thrones. Her white silken robes flared with every step, a stark contrast to the flames smoldering in her pale golden eyes.
She was a vision of elegance—terrifying elegance—with her silver crown sitting sharp against the braided obsidian hair that coiled like a crown of serpents around her head. Magic shimmered faintly at her fingertips, betraying just how close she was to unleashing it.
“We must answer this,” she hissed, pausing to glare down at the scroll that lay unrolled across the arm of her thron
