The throne room of the House of Mors looked less like a chamber of governance and more like a mausoleum sculpted into majesty. Every surface—stone, gold, obsidian, black limestone—seemed designed to remind those who entered: Death ruled here. And it ruled absolutely.
As Jake and Liora stepped forward, whispers slithered through the assembly.
"She returned…"
"…The runaway princess…"
"…Disgraceful…"
"…He always spoiled her…"
"…No wonder she fled—no discipline…"
"…Imagine defying the King of Death—"
Jake stiffened. Liora walked forward with her chin up, but he could see it—the faint twitch in her jaw, the slight tremble in her fingers, the way she didn't look at anyone except the floor.
He didn't know what was worse: The way the council judged her, or the way she expected it.
He felt painfully, violently out of place. Just a boy in a hoodie and worn shoes, standing among a dynasty built on centuries of ritual and blood. He didn't belong here. And he knew it.
The murmurs died the moment King Alim Al-Samawi raised one hand. His voice rolled through the chamber like a slow, inevitable tide.
"Begin."
A councillor stepped forward, mask gleaming with gold tears. "Your Majesty, your daughter Hafsa returns after absconding from her duties for three years. She arrives with an outsider of unknown Arcana and asks for clemency."
Jake flinched at the cold phrasing. Liora didn't.
The councillor continued, tone dripping with disdain. "We recommend that the outsider be expelled at once, for the security of—"
"I did not ask for your recommendation," Alim said calmly.
The room froze.
Liora stepped forward, voice steady but soft. "Father. I request asylum for Jake Faust. He is being hunted by the Hidden Order. He—"
"No."
The word fell like a blade.
Liora blinked, startled. "Father—please—"
"No." Alim's purple eyes held hers with a weight that silenced entire armies. "Not here. Not now."
Liora's breath caught. She stepped back, fists clenched, forced to swallow her protest.
The council nodded smugly.
Another elder spoke. "Your Majesty, this outsider has no standing, no lineage, no offering of allegiance. His case is… thin."
"Hollow," another corrected.
"Barely worth raising in court."
Jake lowered his head, cheeks burning with shame. He felt small again.
King Alim drummed his fingers once on the throne's arm. "Proceed."
The council listed grievances, procedures, traditions, a thousand reasons why Jake should be removed, detained, or ignored entirely.
Through it all, Liora stood beside him—not touching, but close enough that he felt her presence like a heartbeat. She said nothing. Could say nothing.
After what felt like an hour, the king lifted his hand again.
"This session is adjourned," he declared. "No verdict rendered. No action taken."
Jake's chest tightened. It wasn't a victory. It was nothing.
The court bowed and dispersed, whispers filling the cracks between the stones again.
But before Jake could speak to Liora, royal guards approached her. "Princess Hafsa. The King and Queen request your presence."
Hafsa. Not Liora.
The name hit Jake like a slap.
He watched her be led away—watched the door close behind her—and felt the pit inside him deepen. The silence of the vast, cold room was absolute now, the gilded masks of the councillors seeming to stare judgmentally from the shadows. He was utterly, dangerously alone.
The private royal chamber was warmer, smaller, and strangely softer than the throne room. Cushions. Incense. A low table scattered with scrolls and dried herbs.
Liora stepped inside.
Her mother rose first. And the moment their eyes met, the Queen of Mors broke.
Her golden irises shimmered, and her white hair spilt forward as she rushed across the room, grasping Liora's face in trembling hands.
"My little moon," she whispered, voice choking. "My little moon, you're here, you're alive—"
Liora froze for a heartbeat. Then her facade shattered, and she collapsed into her mother's arms. Tears spilt—quiet, desperate, three years overdue.
"I'm sorry," Liora sobbed into her mother's shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you—"
"You didn't," her mother whispered fiercely. "You were hurting. I saw it. I should have protected you. I should have—"
"No," Liora cried. "You always tried. It was me. I—"
The Queen pulled her closer, shaking her head.
Alim watched them silently. The way his eyes softened—the way his shoulders eased—said everything.
When Liora finally pulled back, wiping her eyes, she turned to her father. "I need to explain why I left," she said quietly. "You will." He gestured for her to sit. "And why did you return?"
She swallowed, nodding. "And… I need to tell you about Jake."
Alim's gaze sharpened. "Speak."
She told them everything. How she fled. How she lived as Liora Kaine. How she enrolled under the Order. How she rebelled. How she found Jake. How she saved him. How she dragged him into a war he never asked for.
By the end, her mother covered her mouth, tears in her eyes.
Alim closed his eyes and breathed slowly—the way a man does when holding his fury in a tight fist.
"So," he said at last. "You brought a hunted boy into my house."
"Yes," Liora whispered. "Because I couldn't let him die."
A long silence.
"He is not of our blood," Alim said quietly. "Not of our path."
"But—"
"And the council will not protect him."
Liora's heart clenched. "Father, please—"
"But."
She froze.
Alim finally looked at her—not as a king, but as a father. "You brought him here. You saved him. And you have never before asked me to spare anyone."
He paused.
"So I will consider it."
Liora's breath broke out in a sob—half relief, half fear, half disbelief.
Her mother placed a hand over Liora's heart. "We will not condemn a child for stumbling into our shadows," the queen whispered.
Liora exhaled shakily.
Then—
A frantic knock slammed against the chamber door.
A retainer burst in, face pale, eyes wide with terror, the chamber's regulated air suddenly smelling of ozone and raw, untamed magic.
Alim stood at once. "What is it?"
The queen's expression darkened. "What kind of incident?" she demanded.
The retainer's hands shook. "Something is wrong with the boundary wards—Something breached them—And—" He hesitated, voice trembling. "—and it's heading toward the guest quarters."
Liora's blood ran cold.
Jake.