"My queen — we — we thought you were dead — ""Liam. Finish your toast.""My — my queen — ""Finish. Your. Toast."I walk into the great hall of Coralspire mid-sentence — unglamoured, blood-scaled, uncrowned — and the kingdom my consort has been preparing to crown his cousin in two days goes silent in a way I have not heard a hall be silent in.The chandelier-jellies stop drifting. They are pulled — gently, against their nature — by the current of my new presence. Their soft bioluminescence catches the new colors of my scales and throws them across the long coral table in a cascade of red and gold and obsidian, and every face at the table — every noble of Alastor, every Consolidation man and woman in their feast-dress, every Reformist who came tonight to perform mourning — every one of them turns.Rose sees me first.She cannot
Magbasa pa