I hadn’t been looking at anyone in particular — just glancing through faces blurred by ceremony — until my eyes met hers.

A warmth stirred in me then, faint but unmistakable, cutting through the biting cold I had long since stopped noticing. Her hair, black as wet ink, was bound in a simple ponytail that trailed down her back. Quiet defiance was traced all over her every moment; she didn’t wish for admiration, only independence.

The thick blue coat she wore did nothing to hide her beauty; if anything, it made it sharper, defined by contrast rather than display. Her beauty wasn’t warm — it was distant, like light refracted through ice. Something meant to be admired, not touched.

Before I could think, I smiled. Before I could breathe, she returned it. The warmth that flooded me wasn’t natural — it was remembered. Fragmented visions shimmered at the edge of thought, like echoes from a life I had once lived and long forgotten.

For a moment, the constant doubt gnawing at my sanity eased, replaced by something frighteningly familiar. I wasn’t imagining it — that soul, that presence, it was hers.

The snow around me seemed to melt, and the Seithr, along with my markings, stirred, pulsing in quiet rhythm with the emotions I refused to name or place. I exhaled — a pale fog in the frozen air — and remembered where I stood.

Time thawed. The ceremony dragged on.

I glanced at the old fossil beside her, Rao. I’d remember it.

Noble after noble lined up, each one eager to offer their tribute — gifts, praises, villas, gold, even magic stones. All in the name of loyalty.

I never cared for them. I could claim anything I wanted with my name alone.

Still, this symbolic display had its uses. Power was not about possession — it was about displaying possession.

While some of these families had clawed their way up from mud and ash, I had begun with a dragon’s heap beneath my feet. Yet as the pile of wealth grew, so did my boredom. The endless line of simpering nobility was sickening. Did we really need that many?

Finally, after the nobodies had exhausted themselves, the real game changers approached — the heads of the Originals. My people.

A faint smirk tugged at my lips.

“The House of Veynne presents its tribute to the crown.” A crisp bow. A single line of respect.

“A fleet of ships,” Edward murmured beside me.

I nodded. Acceptable

“The House of Tarran presents its tribute to the crown.”

“A villa on the outskirts of the city.”

Repetition dulled the air. My patience frayed.

“The House of Rao presents its tribute to the crown.”

That name pulled me back. My eyes drifted past the bowing heads — to her. Reyja Rao. The girl’s presence cut through the haze of monotony like light through snow. Too young, too still — and yet, the markings beneath my skin stirred again.

“A sword,” Edward said softly.

“Stop.”

The hall fell silent.

Every noble froze, even the ones pretending to breathe.

“Bring the sword.”

Edward obeyed, carrying the case toward me. I opened it slowly, letting the tension bleed into every motion.

Steel. Polished, unremarkable. I stared for a long moment before closing it again.

“I have no interest in swords, House Rao.”

I let the words settle.

Then — quietly, deliberately —

“Give me her instead.”

Gasps rippled through the hall. The head of House Rao recovered first.

“Our family accepts the honor.”

“Honor?” I repeated, almost laughing. “Is that what you call it?”

My gaze returned to Reyja. “What say you? Will you marry me?”

The girl froze, eyes flicking toward her parents. The silence stretched — then I cut it with a smile.

“I don’t want to marry those old fossils. This is your choice.”

Her breath hitched. Then, with a bow that trembled only slightly, she said, “Lady Reyja Rao accepts the honor.”

I drew the sword from its case and held it out to her.

“Here. Take it,” I said, placing it in her hands. “Consider it an advance on your dowry.”

Reyja accepted the sword with both hands — its weight steadier in her grasp than I expected. The silence that followed was dense, suffocating. Even the torches seemed to waver, their flames bending toward her as if drawn by something unseen.

Then came the murmurs. First, faint — a ripple across the crowd. Shock, outrage, envy, speculation — all tangled in hushed tones. Words like scandal and favor hissed through the air, too cowardly to be said aloud.

House Rao’s matriarch smiled — a brittle thing, more calculation than joy. Her husband, on the other hand, was struggling to keep his expression neutral, his eyes darting between his daughter and me like a man trying to read the future.

Edward leaned close. “You’ve started a storm.”

“I’m aware.” My voice was calm, but the Seithr beneath my skin stirred again, faintly resonating in time with hers.

Reyja bowed one last time, her eyes briefly meeting mine. There was something behind them — not submission, but recognition. As though some unspoken truth had been quietly exchanged between us.

The herald’s trembling voice broke the tension.

“The Crown accepts the tributes of the Great Houses.”

A weak attempt to move things along. The ceremony resumed its hollow rhythm, nobles bowing and scraping through the motions — but the pulse of the room had changed.

Every glance now carried weight. Every word spoken from that moment forward would ripple outward — through courts, houses, and the fragile web of power I’d spent years weaving.

I leaned back on the throne, watching as the last of the tributes were announced. The ceremony felt smaller now — a formality collapsing beneath its own insignificance.

And yet… as I watched her from the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help but feel it again — that quiet warmth. Not a blaze, not a spark. A memory flickering back to life.

For the first time in years, I let the faintest hint of a real smile linger.