chapter 5

The Crown and the Curse

Elira stared at the crown burning softly in the woman’s hands—flames licking the edges but never consuming it. The heat pulsed with life, but it didn’t burn her skin. Instead, it called to her.

The woman stepped closer. “He’s not dead. Not yet.”

Elira dropped to her knees beside Kael, his blood soaking into the earth beneath them. His chest moved—but barely.

“You can save him,” the woman said, her voice steady. “But it will cost you.”

Elira’s throat tightened. “What cost?”

“Your freedom. Your power. Your future.”

She shook her head. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give.”

Kael groaned weakly, and Elira’s hands flew to his face. “Kael. Stay with me. Don’t you dare give up.”

His lips barely moved. “I’m… here…”

Elira turned back to the mysterious woman, voice breaking. “Tell me what to do.”

The woman extended the crown. “Put it on. Claim the fire. Take the throne.”

Elira hesitated. “But I don’t want power—”

“It’s not about wanting,” the woman said. “It’s about surviving.”

A storm was building behind her eyes. Something ancient. Something unrelenting.

Elira looked back at Kael, whose pulse was fading beneath her fingers.

She reached for the crown.

And the moment her hands touched it, fire exploded around her.

But it didn’t hurt.

It awakened.

Memories not her own rushed through her veins—women crowned in gold and flame, temples in ruins, wolves bowing before queens. She saw herself in all of them. And none of them.

The woman smiled as Elira stood taller, the crown hovering above her head.

“You are the flame reborn,” she said. “Now choose—save the king, or let him die.”

Elira’s chest ached. “Why would I let him die?”

“Because love is the first thing they will use against you.”

The crown lowered.

Touched her head.

The world went white.

Kael’s eyes flew open with a gasp.

He sat up too fast, clutching his side. The wound was gone.

He was alive.

He turned—and froze.

Elira stood at the edge of the hill, wrapped in flames. Not consumed, not harmed—but crowned. The fire pulsed from her skin, lighting the night like a beacon.

And in her eyes… was power.

Raw. Untamed. Terrifying.

“Elira?” he rasped.

She turned.

And her gaze was no longer the same.

She stepped toward him. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

“I would follow you into death.”

Her lip trembled. “Then you’re a fool.”

He rose, wincing slightly. “You saved me.”

“No. The flame did.”

Kael frowned. “What does that mean?”

Before she could answer, the fire around her flickered—then hissed out.

The mysterious woman was gone.

Only smoke remained.

Elira staggered.

Kael caught her.

Her fingers gripped his tunic. “She’s gone.”

“Who was she?”

“I don’t know… a ghost… a goddess… a memory…”

Kael touched her cheek. “You’re burning.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” His eyes searched hers. “Something’s changed.”

She didn’t respond.

Because she didn’t know the answer.

They returned to the ruined fortress just before dawn. Most of the attackers had been driven off by Kael’s warriors, but many had fallen. The keep was blood-soaked, smoking, and broken.

A funeral pyre was already burning in the center courtyard.

Kael stopped in front of it, his hand tightening around Elira’s.

“My people need strength right now,” he said.

Elira nodded. “Then show them that their king still stands.”

He released her hand—and stepped onto the platform beside the pyre.

The surviving warriors gathered around, grim and watchful.

Kael raised his voice. “We have been betrayed. Our blood has been spilled. But we are not broken. Not while I still breathe. And not while she still stands.”

He turned toward Elira and held out his hand.

Slowly, she climbed the steps to stand beside him.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as the crown on her head shimmered, the flames dancing like living things.

“She is not your enemy,” Kael said. “She is your queen.”

A beat of silence.

Then someone knelt.

And then another.

Until the entire court bowed their heads.

Elira’s knees nearly gave out.

Kael caught her waist, steadying her.

“You were born for this,” he whispered.

“No,” she whispered back. “I was made for this. There’s a difference.”

That night, after the bodies had been buried and the survivors fed, Elira stood alone in Kael’s war room.

Maps were scattered across the table. Borders marked in red. Symbols for alliances and betrayals. She traced one with her finger, heart pounding.

They were surrounded on all sides.

“We’ll have to move,” she murmured.

A voice behind her said, “Where?”

Kael.

She didn’t turn. “North. Toward the Temple of Ash.”

“That place is a myth.”

“It’s not.”

He came closer. “You saw it in the fire.”

“I felt it. Like something calling me home.”

He stepped behind her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck. “And what happens when you get there?”

“I find the truth.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “And if the truth burns you alive?”

She closed her eyes. “Then at least I’ll know who I really am.”

Kael turned her gently to face him.

“You’re mine,” he said softly.

She blinked.

“I know you don’t want to be owned. And I don’t want to own you,” he continued. “But when I look at you, Elira… I see the woman I was meant to protect. Even if it kills me.”

She leaned her forehead against his chest. “I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

“But I think I’m more scared of what I’d become if I didn’t choose this.”

He cupped her face. “Then choose me.”

She nodded once.

And then she kissed him.

Fierce. Desperate. Terrified.

Because for the first time, she wanted to believe there could be something more than pain. More than power.

Something that belonged only to them.

Hours later, a rider arrived at the gates.

Bleeding. Barely breathing.

He collapsed at Kael’s feet, whispering one word:

“Rivenfell…”

Kael stiffened. “What happened?”

The soldier choked. “Massacre… bodies… everyone… burned…”

Elira’s blood turned to ice. “Rivenfell? That’s—”

“Where you were born,” Kael finished.

The soldier reached into his pocket—and pulled out a pendant.

Black iron. A symbol of the old gods.

Elira took it with trembling hands.

It was hers.

The one her mother had given her before she was taken.

Carved into the back was a single word in the old tongue.

“Queen.”

Her eyes snapped to Kael. “They knew. They always knew who I was.”

“And they killed to keep it hidden,” he said grimly.

Elira stared down at the pendant—and clenched her fist.

“We’re going to Rivenfell,” she said. “And I don’t care what we have to burn to get there.”

Kael’s gaze met hers.

And he nodded.

But neither of them saw the figure watching from the trees beyond the wall.

Cloaked in shadow. Eyes glowing red.

A voice whispered into the wind.

“She has the crown. Let the curse begin.”