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The room resembled the throne room where the opening ceremony had been held but was even more striking and grandiose.
Stone rows of seats flanked the hall like in an ancient amphitheater, rising up towards a vaulted ceiling, every one occupied by Siabra. There were literally thousands of them, their eyes all fixed on me.
Across the room in front of me, the Queen Regent stood on a dais. Her dark beauty was shrouded in an aura of cold fury as her eyes met mine.
Behind her lay the Umbral Throne, transported to this new location. Hewn from the depths of dark volcanic rock, its imposing form radiated foreboding power. Jagged contours like the serrated teeth of a predator bordered its edges where glittering crimson rubies pulsated with unsettling energy.
The throne's dark and lethal beauty chilled me as I imagined Draven seated there as emperor.
Below Sephone's feet, lava coursed under an enchanted glass floor, casting an eerie red glow over the chamber. Pillars carved from black marble veined with gold lined the hall. Above us, towering stalagmites hung from the ceiling, jagged and daunting. Red crystals embedded in the rocky spires pulsed with light, shadowing the crowd in dark hues.
The juxtaposition of grandeur and darkness did not escape me as I half-slid, half-fell from Nightclaw's back, then turned around to help Lyrastra down.
The semi-silence morphed into a sudden burst of sound as the crowd watched one of their own helped down from the battlecat, Lyrastra’s missing limb evident to all.
She let out a moan of pain and fell into my arms.
Instantly, Crescent and Gawain were there beside me, emerging out of the crowd. Gawain scooped up Lyrastra, hoisting her effortlessly into his strong arms. I had only time to glimpse the look of questioning horror on Crescent's face before the red-haired man swept her away.
Across the room, something was happening. Tall doors at the opposite side of the chamber behind the dais had opened.
My attention was captivated by the figure materializing before my eyes.
Time seemed to slow as Kairos Draven Venator, the Prince of Claws, strode into the throne room.
He was clad in a uniform of lustrous black linen. The fabric clung to his muscular form, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the power coiled within. His black hair had been slicked back with precision, highlighting the hard angular planes of his face. The familiar silver ring glinted against its bronze-hued setting in his pointed left ear.
There was something embroidered along the collar of his jacket. Symbols of some sort. As he came closer, I caught sight of a red rose on a backdrop of dancing flames and caught my breath.
The emerald shards of his eyes pierced mine, then swept through the crowd, penetrating and intense.
A shiver ran down my spine. Gone was the warmth I was used to seeing in Draven's face as he looked at me. It had been replaced by an enigmatic coldness that nearly matched Sephone's.
A stranger stood before me wearing the visage of a man I thought I knew.
The flickering flames and roses embroidered on Draven’s jacket seemed to echo the riddle he had suddenly become. Why had he chosen such a crest for his reign?
With every calculated step he took across the room, he exuded a palpable sense of power and mastery.
Trepidation stirred within me.
How was any of this possible? He had been practically comatose when I had left that morning.
Now he was the picture of health and strength, his presence more formidable than ever been before.
My heart nearly stopped as I realized this was truer than I had thought.
The small horns on his head had grown back.
In the span of hours, they were fully formed and whole. There was no trace of the bloody stumps they had replaced.
A sickening rage filled my throat. How had he done this? Why?
I turned away, reaching up to grasp the golden crown that hung from Nightclaw’s pommel. Clutching it in my hand, I faced the room again and tossed it onto the floor.
The Siabra crown fell with a loud clatter, then tumbled across the lava-illuminated glass and came to a halt at the base of the dais.
“I believe this is yours, Prince Kairos,” I said loudly, striving to be heard over the murmuring of the crowd.
