CHAPTER 82: FUTURE EMPRESS

Soren was waiting for her when she stepped out.

He stood straight-backed and still, the morning light drawing silver along the edge of his coat.

His posture was impeccable, every inch the diplomat, precise, elegant, self-contained, but the corner of his mouth tilted upward when he saw her. That familiar smirk, that infuriating, practiced charm that somehow still managed to look sincere.

He bowed slightly when she emerged, a glint of humor softening his poise.

His hand was extended, gloved, steady, the kind of gesture that could have belonged to a prince or a soldier or something in between.

Eris paused. Her expression didn’t change, but the smallest flicker of amusement crossed her eyes as he spoke.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice threaded with that effortless charm he carried like a weapon.

She rolled her eyes, but the motion felt softer than she meant it to. "You never tire of this, do you?"

"Not when you keep giving me reasons to."

He said it with that tone, playful, dangerous in its ease and she found herself taking his hand before she could think too hard about it.

His palm was cool, steady. Hers trembled faintly.

"Shall we?" he asked.

They walked together through the halls of Solmire, the corridors whispering around them like an old secret.

The walls hadn’t changed. The same marble, the same tapestries, the same faint scent of polished brass and lilies. Every footstep echoed off history. It was in these very halls that Eris had learned to speak, to command, to destroy. The marble had known her laughter as a child, her rage as a queen, her silence as a fallen monarch. Now it watched her leave.

She had grown up here. She had died here once, too.

And as they turned a corner, for just a moment, she saw her,

her younger self.

The girl stood at the edge of the hall, in that pale gown she used to wear, watching her walk past. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes were full of sorrow. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

The weight in her chest tightened.

That was the ghost of what she used to be, innocent, desperate to be loved, doomed to burn. She wondered if that girl recognized her now, this new version of herself, walking away with steady steps and a stranger’s hand.

Exhaustion crept in then, quiet, patient. Her body ached. The seal pulsed. But she forced her chin higher.

Not here. Not yet.

Beside her, Soren was silent. But she felt his gaze flicker to her every now and then, as if he could feel the fatigue bleeding through her posture. He didn’t ask. He didn’t press.

That was one thing she’d come to admire about him, his ability to know when silence was mercy.

"Have you said your goodbyes to your friend?" she asked finally, her voice steadier than she felt.

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "I sent a message."

There was a pause, a flicker of something in his eyes, amusement, maybe. Or anger. It was hard to tell with him.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She caught it but chose not to ask. Some questions were better left untouched.

They reached the outer gates where dawn bled across the horizon, and the air was crisp, almost sharp. The faint scent of the morning mist clung to the wind.

Ahead, the courtyard unfolded like a stage prepared for an ending.

Their escort was already assembled, the Winter Knights assembled in their ranks, the diplomats, the attendants chosen to accompany the Empress of the North back to her empire.

Their armor gleamed silver in the pale light, banners of deep blue fluttering behind them. Horses pawed at the cobblestones, steam rising from their nostrils.

And then they saw her.

The noise of preparation, clanking metal, low conversation, the rustle of parchment, fell away, one sound at a time, until silence stood absolute.

Dozens of eyes turned toward her.

And as always, she saw it there.

The fear.

They tried to mask it, some better than others but it was there all the same.

A flicker in the eyes, a shift in stance, the quiet intake of breath.

They feared her still.

And she couldn’t even blame them.

She had earned their fear long ago.

This silence was the price of her reign, the tax for obedience.

She’d expected it. She told herself she didn’t mind.

But as the air grew heavy, as the weight of their gazes pressed against her skin, she realized she hated it.

She hated that her presence always ended in silence.

She hated that every step she took reminded them of their scars.

So she did what she always did.

She pretended not to notice.

She lifted her chin, adjusted the fur along her cloak, and stepped forward, the heels of her boots clicking against the stone like a metronome marking the end of an era.

The sound echoed through the courtyard, sharp, final.

And then—

It began with a single sound, the clean, resonant clang of metal striking marble.

Then another. And another.

Within seconds, the courtyard was alive with motion. Shields dipped. Spears lowered. The air rippled with the sound of armor bending, of blades being drawn in salute.

The ranks of the Winter Knights moved as one body, disciplined, reverent.

They knelt.

A ripple of movement spread outward, swift and certain, until even the diplomats and attendants followed suit, sinking to one knee, heads bowed.

The ground itself seemed to hum with their collective surrender.

She stopped.

When she looked, the entire assembly had lowered themselves.

Every knight, every attendant, every diplomat.

Kneeling.

Their heads bowed, their swords angled to the ground, voices rising together in a single, solemn cry that seemed to shake the dawn itself,

"Glory to the Future Empress of the North!"

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

And even the ghost inside her, that cold observer who’d survived too many lifetimes, fell silent in awe.

Because it wasn’t fear in their voices this time.

It was reverence.

It was recognition.

The air itself seemed to change, thicker, brighter, alive with something holy and terrible. The banners caught the wind and flared behind her, the fur of her cloak lifting like it remembered what it meant to rule.

The morning light spilled over everything, over marble, over armor, over her.

And for the first time in a very, very long while, she didn’t feel like a monster pretending to be human.

She felt like what she was always meant to be.

An ruler reborn from ruin.