Phoenix Queen
The Emissary’s Mask & The Viper’s Son
The Great Hall smelled of old blood and damp stone. The fires had been rekindled, but the warmth felt borrowed, temporary—like a guest in its own house.
I stood at the head of the hall, the high seat restored, though its cushions were torn and the banner behind me was singed at the edges. A ragged symbol of a kingdom that refused to die.
The double doors creaked open. Aldric stepped forward, his voice steady. “Majesty, the emissary from Highreach.”
He entered like a shadow given form. His cloak was deep green, lined with black fur, the crest of Highreach—a crowned serpent—embroidered at his shoulder. His eyes were sharp, cold as river ice, and when he bowed, it was with the practiced grace of a man who’d learned to bend without breaking.
“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice smooth as oiled steel. “I bring greetings from Queen Elara of Highreach—and her promise of aid.”
I studied him. His hands were steady, his posture perfect. But his eyes never left mine, unblinking, searching.
“Aid,” I repeated. “And at what price?”
He smiled, a fox’s smile. “Only that we might stand together against any threat—foreign or domestic. And that your kingdom might remember who its friends are.”