CHAPTER FOUR: THE THRONE OF ASH AND ICE

Nyxshire – The Obsidian Throne Room

Zenaida sat beneath the obsidian spires, the crown resting on her head like a shackle made of starlight and stone.

The coronation was over. The vows spoken. The cheers silenced.

All that remained now was silence.

The Empress of Nyxshire.

The title echoed in her bones, cold and hollow. The throne beneath her felt too wide, too sharp, too ancient. Not hers. Never hers.

She glanced at the nobles before her—rows of strangers masked in velvet and suspicion. Behind their jeweled eyes, they whispered. Always whispered. She could almost hear them…

She’s too strange. Too foreign. Too dangerous.

But Zypher said nothing. He stood beside her, a shadow in midnight robes, unreadable as ever. His hand never brushed hers. His gaze never lingered. Yet his presence loomed like a storm held barely in check.

He had watched her ascend the steps of the throne with a stillness that was almost reverent. But only almost. Deep down, something in him clenched—like a blade twisting slowly in unseen flesh.

She looked like she belonged there. And yet… she didn’t.

There was power in her silence, a quiet war beneath the surface. He saw it—felt it. And it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

In the depths of the throne room, torches flickered blue and silver—enchanted flame fed by magic. And somewhere in the rafters, an unseen raven let out a low, guttural caw.

Zenaida’s fingers curled around the armrests, pale against the dark stone. Her breath frosted the air.

No one noticed.

No one ever did.

Except Zypher.

His eyes flicked to her hands, to the mist gathering around her shoulders. Subtle. Silent. Dangerous. The throne room didn’t chill so easily.

He took a single step closer—but not enough to be seen as concern.

He didn’t yet understand her.

And that made her all the more compelling.

Later that night – Her Chamber

She peeled off the ceremonial gown, her body aching beneath layers of silk and scrutiny. The mirror showed a stranger. Not a girl. Not a queen. Something caught between.

She traced the reflection with a fingertip.

The mirror cracked again.

A faint chill swept across the room, curling around the candles. One by one, the flames sputtered and died—until only moonlight remained.

Zenaida closed her eyes.

“Why me?” she whispered into the quiet.

The silence responded.

But it wasn't empty.

A hum pulsed beneath the floor. The runes near her bed faintly glowed again—like a heartbeat buried beneath stone.

The prophecy had stirred. The realm was shifting. And her presence was no longer just a matter of diplomacy…

It was an omen.

A knock on the door.

Zenaida heard a soft but deep voice call out to her—

“May I enter?”

It was Zypher.

She quickly covered herself in her robe, her voice low but clear enough for him to hear.

“You may enter.”

He stepped into her chamber, his first glance landing on the cracked mirror… then shifting to the one just crowned as his Empress—Zenaida.

His eyes trailed from her head to her toes. Then, silently, he turned away.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

It didn’t sound as convincing as he’d hoped. His tone lacked concern—almost bordering on sarcasm.

With little interest, she responded with a question of her own.

“Is there a problem?”

Struck by her boldness, his gaze returned to her.

“I noticed you at the coronation,” he said, his voice flat. “Don’t misread my intentions, Princess. I was merely asked to check on you. It’s not like I’m actually concerned about your welfare.”

Zenaida let out a soft, knowing chuckle, settling onto her bed.

“I was just coronated in front of you as the Empress of your Empire,” she said, “but still, you refer to me as Princess... I’m doing well, my Lord. Just homesick, that’s all.”

Zypher stood in silence, slightly intrigued by her forwardness. He allowed his eyes to briefly linger—on her pale skin, then her eyes.

A smirk, almost imperceptible, touched his lips.

He turned to leave.

“Fine,” he said. “Take care of yourself… Empress of Nyxshire.”

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