The palace was now glowing with light, yet beneath that brilliance there lingered a strange, chilling coldness. Every golden carving on the walls seemed to mock me. Gurudev, now dressed in royal attire, stood with his head bowed. But the cunning look in his eyes had not changed. I stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at my royal garments. A diamond ring glittered on my hand, and a blue-stone locket hung around my neck. Everything was there—but inside me there was only a deep, crushing fear. “As queen, your first duty will be to sit upon the royal throne, Your Majesty,” Gurudev said. His voice was far more solemn than before. “That throne, forged with the blood of the Moreno lineage, has been thirsty for your touch for decades.” Slowly, I began descending toward the grand hall. With every step I felt as though thousands of suppressed sighs were buried beneath the carpet. At the far end of the hall, upon a raised platform, stood the enormous throne. It was not made
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