Phoebe's POV
The capital of the Valerium Kingdom didn't smell like victory. It smelled of ash, old stone, and fear.
We had arrived hours ago, the royal carriage cutting through silent streets lined with citizens who kept their heads bowed. They didn't cheer; they didn't jeer. They simply existed in a terrified paralysis, waiting to see if their new conqueror would be a savior or a butcher.
I stood before the full-length mirror in the guest chambers of the Valerium Palace. The reflection staring back at me was unrecognizable from the broken woman sobbing on the balcony just last night.
Perry’s vow—There is no Queen but you—had forged something new in my chest. It hadn't fixed me, not entirely, but it had given me a foundation of steel to build upon. If I couldn't give him an heir, I would give him a Queen he could be proud of. I would be his partner, his shield, and his strength.
