One minute later, the throne hall looked like it hadn't just been the scene of a cosmic-level exorcism and a soul-cracking revelation. The marble was spotless.
The shattered platform—where Parker had once sent Robert's body into the stone with the kind of rage that rewrites family trees—had been rebuilt, restored in full regal elegance with nothing more than a lazy flick of Helena's hand. That was the thing about being powerful—you didn't clean up messes, you erased them from history.
The only thing that hadn't reset was the weight in the air.
Because thanks to Nyxavere—his nearly omniscient, casually overpowered daughter who made miracles look like parlor tricks—the truth was out.
