For a fleeting, breathless moment, as the ancient words sealed her fate, Dahlia tasted victory on her tongue, a heady, intoxicating relief that washed away her fear, and she laughed—actually laughed—as she watched the Elders leave, her heart swelling with triumphant pride, sneering to herself about how brute force was overrated, about how her father’s brutal strategies were unnecessary when the law itself could be manipulated to win the day.
But fate, as it always does, had other plans.
Barely a few days passed before the shallow facade of her reign was ripped apart. The kingdom, which had briefly quieted under the announcement of a new ruler, erupted once more, fiercer and more bloodthirsty than before, the vultures emboldened by the knowledge that the queen was nothing more than a powe
