Page 79 of Three Scorched Kingdoms

“You’re the ones making them suffer,” I reply, my voice low but firm. “You’ve lied to them, manipulated them, all to satisfyyour own desire for power. And now you think you can just sweep everything under the rug with a forced marriage and a puppet king?”

Esma’s eyes flash with anger. “I wouldn’t have had to force you if Aries had just chosen me like he was supposed to the day we met. Porthew assured me he’d grown desperate enough?—”

She stops, her face flushing as she realizes what she’s just admitted.

The rest of the room is silent, but I note most of the faces of the other council members hold no surprise at her confession of scheming.

Myantha is the only one whose face is pale and eyes are wide as she stares at Esma. “You really set all this in motion,” she breathes. Esma doesn’t answer. Myantha glances at Porthew then Thorne. “All of you did this and forced me right along with it.”

“Don’t act like such a saint,” Esma snaps at her.

Leo leans forward, his expression stony. “You’re admitting that you’ve taken the crown for yourselves, then. That this was your plan all along—to use us as pawns while you rule in secret.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, but Esma remains defiant. “We’ve done what was necessary,” she repeats, but there’s a hint of desperation in her voice now. “The crown belongs to those who can wield it properly, who understand the complexities of ruling a kingdom.”

“And who would that be?” I ask, letting the challenge ring clear. “You? The council? Or the people who actually live and breathe Astronia every day?”

Esma scoffs. “The people are imbeciles. They don’t understand what it takes to run a kingdom.”

Leo shakes his head, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

Esma opens her mouth to respond, but something in the room shifts. The light seems to shimmer around the edges, and I see the flicker of recognition in her eyes a split second before the illusion breaks.

The room, once seemingly empty save for the council and us, is suddenly full of people. Astronians—townspeople, soldiers, nobles—who have been silently watching, listening to every word. Gasps ripple through the crowd as they realize what they’ve heard, the betrayal laid bare before them.

Esma pales, her eyes widening in horror as she takes in the crowd. The other council members are frozen in shock, their arrogance crumbling in the face of the truth. The people of Astronia have heard everything.

Paige steps forward, the faint glow of her magic still clinging to her as the glamour fades completely. She meets Esma’s gaze, and for the first time, I see real fear in Esma’s eyes.

“As you said, the people of Astronia are the ones who decide who wears the crown,” Paige says, her voice strong, carrying through the room. “And they’ve heard the truth.”

Esma stares at her, speechless, as the murmurs in the crowd grow louder, anger and disbelief mixing into a rising tide. “We can explain,” Esma begins.

“Don’t bother,” a soldier calls out.

“We’ve heard more than enough,” a woman says from somewhere in the back.

“But—” Esma sputters.

“Rule Forty-seven-dash-six of the Agreement,” Leo cuts in.

He pushes forward, holding up a copy of the document he’s pulled from his jacket.

The room hushes as he reads from it. “If any member of the council, appointed by the king, is found to have committed crimes against the crown, they shall be removed and imprisonedimmediately. A trial of their peers will be held to determine a sentence.”

Esma squeaks, and her face flushes red. The other council members exchange panicked glances, but it’s too late. The illusion has shattered, and with it, their grip on power.

“What about the rest of us?” Myantha calls.

Thorne and Porthew cast me wary looks, but I ignore them. “The law states you must have the favor of the people if not the crown,” I say, my voice cutting through the noise. “They trusted you, and you betrayed them. But now, the truth is out. And the people will decide who their true leaders are.”

Myantha’s shoulders droop, but she doesn’t argue.

The crowd erupts, voices calling for justice, for accountability.

I watch as Esma’s composure cracks completely, her facade of control crumbling. Without another word, Paige walks calmly over to where the crown rests on the table—a symbol of everything the council tried to steal. She picks it up, the golden metal gleaming in the light, and the room falls into a hushed silence as she turns toward Queen Dorthea.

My mother, who has been watching silently along with the rest of the crowd, steps forward, her gaze steady and full of quiet strength. Paige meets her eyes. Then, with deliberate care, she places the crown back on Dorthea’s head, restoring her to her rightful place.

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