Chapter 15. The Queen’s Mercy

The Hall still trembled with the echo of her name.

Seraya stood in the center of the cracked stone floor, her blade still lodged in the Council’s heart. Light pulsed from the mark on her chest in slow waves, like a heartbeat. Like the mountain itself was exhaling after years of holding its breath.

Around her, silence.

The Elders remained kneeling—not out of reverence, but because they couldn’t rise. The roots that had erupted from beneath the floor held them in place, coiled around their limbs, tethering them to the consequences they thought they’d never face.

Seraya breathed slowly, evenly.

Alaric stood at her back, not touching, but there. Solid. Still. But not calm.

She felt it in the bond.

He didn’t speak until the roots stopped growing.