Then her gaze settled on one figure who hadn't knelt. Who stood despite the pressure, despite the overwhelming certainty that she should prostrate herself before this new sovereign.
Morgana went and hugged her.
And while they embraced, while they celebrated their reunion, Jaenor hung limply in the chains above them.
His skin had cracked like dried clay, revealing darkness beneath that wasn't blood or muscle, but a simple void. His body was failing, having had its essence torn out, nothing remaining but a shell that was rapidly decaying.
His eyes were open but hazed, vision blurred and unfocused.
He stared at nothing, unable to process what had happened, unable to comprehend that his mother, the woman he'd thought dead, the woman he'd mourned, had been alive all along.
He had planned his entire existence and used him as a tool, and was now discarding the broken pieces.
