The word Majesty rang in her skull long after it was spoken.
Aurelia stumbled back, rain-soaked hair clinging to her face as the guards dropped to one knee before him.
Her gaze darted from their bowed heads to Malion's still form — his cloak fluttering in the wind, his expression carved in stone.
He didn't look at her.
Not the man who had laughed quietly by the river. Not the man who had shielded her in the storm.
This was someone else entirely.
The King of Nyxeria.
Her mind refused it, but her heart already knew.
"Your Majesty," one of the soldiers said, his head still bowed. "Forgive our delay. The assassins—"
"Are dead," Malion said coolly. "Leave the rest to the hounds."
The man hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sire."
Malion finally turned, silver eyes locking on Aurelia.
The faintest curve touched his mouth — not quite a smile, not quite cruelty. "Seems playtime is over."
Aurelia could only shake her head. Her voice came out small, strangled. "You… you're the king?"
