The chamber did not roar.
It pulsed.
With breathless silence. With sharpened smiles. With noble mouths ready to devour or kneel.
Elara stood in the center of it all, not with a sword—
But something sharper.
Her voice.
---
"Shall we begin?" she said to the council.
To the nobles.
To the liars in lace.
To Serina.
"You summoned him to prove a lie."
"But I have come to present the truth."
She held up the scroll.
The real seal of the Southern Isles.
The bloodline Cladus never claimed.
And the letter Serina thought she had destroyed.
---
A shuffle. A murmur. A ripple of panic beneath powdered dignity.
And then the voice of Lady Serina, calm as cyanide.
"You stole private records?"
"No," Elara replied, smiling.
"I reclaimed what was mine. As the heir of Valenhart, and protector of the House sworn to the Isles, I merely… followed the trail you left behind."
Serina's jaw twitched.
"That paper means nothing."
Elara's smile sharpened.
"Then burn it. I dare you."
---
Cladus did not speak.
But the way he looked at her —
That slight drop in his shoulders —
That silent inhale —
It was the loudest thank-you he'd ever breathed.
The Chancellor stood, voice unsteady.
"Lady Serina. Do you deny forging correspondence under your sister's name?"
"I deny nothing," she said coolly.
"Because I owe this court nothing."
Gasps.
Serina turned to Elara.
"You think this is your win?"
"You haven't seen how deep this game goes."
"Then show me," Elara whispered.
"Make your move."
---
And Serina smiled.
"I already did."
A servant burst into the chamber, breathless.
"Your Graces—there's been an explosion at the docks."
Elara turned sharply.
"What?"
"The shipment from the Isles. It's gone."
Gone.
Just like that.
The trade alliance she'd just invoked.
The proof of her authority.
Burned.
---
The board tilted.
Just slightly.
And Serina curtsied.
"Careful, sister. Queens fall harder when they've tasted power."