C117 THE BREATHING CROWN

The realm did not breathe.

It watched.

It waited.

The Throne’s crimson and gold runes glowed like the pulse of a creature older than the first flame, older than the kingdoms themselves. And Elara felt all of it… pressing against her skin… her mind… her very soul.

“Elara.”

Damon’s voice.

Soft. Terrified. Barely holding together.

She turned to him—his eyes no longer molten, but storm-dark