Chapter 9: Throne of Truth, where masks fall, alliances shift, and the fate of the kingdom is finally claimed.
---
Chapter 9: Throne of Truth
The throne room was silent.
No banners waved. No courtiers gossiped. Only the shattered sigils on the marble floor remained, glowing faintly from the battle that had nearly unraveled the palace from within.
Kaelen sat slouched on the edge of the throne, bruised but breathing, his crown held loosely in one hand. Liora stood at his side, her presence no longer soft or uncertain.
She had become something more than a queen.
She had become the reckoning.
The High Council—those who remained—stood before them. Lord Edrin was gone, consumed by the shadow creature that had worn his shape for years. Others bore guilt in their silence.
And the three wives stood to the side.
Maevia—face pale, the weight of her defeat written in the stiffness of her spine.
Sarenya—hands folded in calm prayer, but her eyes flicked between Liora and Kaelen, assessing, calculating.
Nyra—watching with a flicker of wonder, then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
Liora stepped forward. "This kingdom was built on secrets. But it will not survive them."
"You speak as though you rule," Maevia snapped.
"I speak as one who saved it," Liora replied coolly. "While others plotted, I bled. While you feared prophecy, I fulfilled it."
Sarenya stepped forward. "And what would you have us do? Submit? Step aside?"
"No," Kaelen said, rising. "I would have you stand beside us. Not as rivals. As rulers."
Silence.
Then Liora turned to them. "Each of you was chosen for a reason. The king's wives were never meant to be ornaments. You are queens in your own right. But we must change how we reign."
Nyra grinned. "Finally. Something fun."
Sarenya nodded, slowly. "Then let us give the people a court of unity. A new Circle."
Maevia looked between them—rage battling with something else. Exhaustion. Maybe even grief.
"You would forgive me?" she asked Kaelen, her voice bitter.
"No," he said honestly. "But I will not exile you either. You will remain. As witness. And as warning."
Liora added gently, "Even you were part of the balance, Maevia. It's time we build something better—with truth at its center."
And the old throne of Ilyrá cracked—split straight down the middle.
In its place, a circle of seats rose from the stone. No longer one crown. But four.
The king.
The chosen queen.
And two wives who had chosen to rule, not war.
The people outside watched the transformation with awe. Bells rang again, not in alarm—but in celebration.
The spirits whispered through the wind:
The Circle has formed. The fire has bound. A new age begins.