Page 75 of Crowned

The murmurs around the room fall into silence as Vance steps forward. His voice breaks the stillness, calm, deliberate.

“Malia is the rightful heir to the throne. The triplets confirm it – she carries the royal bloodline. The power that runs through her veins is undeniable. It is time for us to acknowledge what has always been true.”

The words echo in the chamber, settling over the Council like a declaration of war.

I hold my breath, resisting the urge to shrink back under their gaze. I try to meet each pair of eyes with confidence, but all I feel is the crushing enormity of what is being placed upon me.

A rustle of movement draws my attention. The healer rises. A woman who has been here longer than I can remember, whose wisdom carries the weight of decades. Her silver hair gleams in the firelight as she steps into the centre of the room, her footsteps slow and measured, her authority needing no announcement.

“The triplets have confirmed the royal bloodline,” she says, her voice soft but unyielding. “The magic, the power – it is written in Malia’s lineage. She is the heir to the throne, as was always meant to be.”

Her words land with an air of finality, but they are not met with immediate acceptance. Instead, a sharp voice cuts through the quiet.

“Blood is not enough.”

I shift my gaze to the speaker – Elder Rhys, a broad-shouldered man with silver threading his beard, his sharp eyes assessing me like I am a puzzle yet to be solved.

“Power alone does not make a queen,” he continues, folding his hands over the table. “Wisdom. Strategy. Strength. Leadership. These are what define a ruler.” He turns his gaze to Vance, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, Commander, has she proved herself capable of leading a kingdom?”

Vance’s shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t hesitate. “She has led us in battle,” he replies evenly. “She has fought for this kingdom when others doubted her. She has trained beside us, bled beside us. She has earned her place.”

Rhys exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “Fighting a battle and ruling a kingdom are two different things.”

“And yet both require a willingness to sacrifice,” Vance counters.

A woman seated further down the table – Elder Elora, a known traditionalist – leans forward, her brows furrowed in concern. “It is not her willingness that is in question, but her preparedness.” She turns to me now, her sharp gaze pinning me in place. “Malia, do you believe you are ready to rule?”

The question strikes me like a blade.

Do I believe I am ready?

I open my mouth, but the words hesitate on my tongue. They expect certainty, confidence. They expect the answer their queen would have given without pause.

I am her named heir, but I am not her.

I swallow, forcing my voice to remain steady. “No ruler is truly ready until they bear the weight of the crown.” I let my gaze sweep across the Council, my heart pounding. “But I will not turn away from the duty that is mine.”

A murmur ripples through the room. Some nod in approval. Others remain impassive.

Elder Rhys leans back in his chair, unimpressed. “Words. And yet we have little time for promises and potential. The battle approaches. We need a leader, not a lesson in destiny.”

“Then who would you have lead?” Vance challenges, his voice edged with steel.

Rhys’s gaze flickers toward a figure seated at the far end of the table, one I have been avoiding looking at for the entirety of this meeting.

“Elder Dorian has trained for this since birth,” Rhys says smoothly. “Once the queen disappeared with no known heir, we knew we needed to take matters into our own hands. He understands courtly rule, diplomacy. He has the trust of the Council.”

Dorian does not speak. He does not need to. His very presence is a challenge, a reminder that there has always been another option.

Vance scoffs. “Dorian does not carry the gift.”

“Neither did many rulers before him,” Rhys counters. “Strength in leadership does not come from magic alone.”

My pulse pounds in my throat. This is the moment. The turning point.

I push back my chair and rise, my hands pressing into the table as I meet Rhys’s gaze head-on. “You question my ability to lead. Fine. But do not stand here and suggest that Dorian – a man who has never stood on a battlefield, never fought for this kingdom, neverdiedfor this kingdom – would be a better ruler, simply because he is familiar with court politics.”

A flicker of something – approval? – passes through Elder Elora’s expression.

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