The throne room of Varynth held its breath.
Light poured in through high stained windows and fell across the polished marble, catching in the gold thread of banners and the carved teeth of wolf heads. Servants and guards stood along the walls with expressions carved tight. Even the hush of the usual palace bustle had retreated, like foot soldiers falling back to let a single, terrible question pass.
All eyes were on the figure before them, in the center of the room, Mia Ashford.
She was not clothed in silk or jewels. She wore the plain skirt and tunic that marked the students of Eclipse Prowess Institute. Her fists were clenched so tight that the knuckles turned white. Her breath came thin and quick, the sound swallowed by the vaulted ceiling. Her name had been carried across hallways and towns and woven into the thin, hot thread of rumor. This was the moment those rumors became words.
