The teleportation was not graceful.
It should have been.
There were queens present, powerful demons, ancient matriarchs, one former prisoner turned acting sovereign, and enough political weight in the circle to flatten a lesser hall. It should have looked majestic. Dignified. The sort of arrival that poets would later embroider into history.
Instead, the moment the golden-black teleportation fire vanished, they landed in the middle of absolute chaos.
The Celestian castle was boiling.
Not literally, though Lara looked like she might be considering helping it along.
Servants hurried through the corridors with pale faces and trembling hands. Guards stood at every intersection, but half of them looked uncertain who they were guarding against.
Nobles clustered in small, tense knots beneath the tall white arches, whispering too loudly, their fine clothes unable to hide their fear. Somewhere far off, someone was crying.
Somewhere closer, someone was shouting that the queen could not possibly be guilty, while another voice snapped back that the evidence had been shown before witnesses from three realms.
The castle smelled wrong.
Sarisa noticed that first.
The scent was usually roses, cold stone, polished silver, and incense. Today it smelled of panic. Sweat hidden under perfume. Magic overused in protective wards. Fear tucked into every corner like dust nobody had time to sweep.
Sarisa stood very still after the teleportation, one hand still in Lara's.
Her home looked like a place that no longer knew who owned it.
"Charming," Malvoria said, glancing around. "The palace has entered its nervous breakdown era."
"Malvoria," Elysia murmured.
"What? It's accurate."
Raveth looked almost entertained. "I give it six minutes before someone faints."
Veylira's eyes swept over the corridor, calm and exacting. "Four."
Sarisa should have laughed.
She did not.
Her stomach had tightened the moment the white walls came back into view. This corridor had been part of her childhood.
She had walked here as a little girl in ceremonial shoes that pinched her feet. She had practiced greetings beneath those arched windows. She had once hidden behind that exact pillar while trying to avoid a music tutor.
Now guards flinched when they saw her.
One dropped to his knee.
Then another.
The motion spread clumsily, almost by accident, down the corridor.
"Your Highness," someone whispered.
Sarisa almost corrected them.
Highness was no longer enough, apparently.
The thought made her chest feel too small.
Lara's thumb brushed over the back of her hand. Small. Hidden. Steady.
Sarisa breathed.
A senior steward came hurrying toward them, robes slightly crooked, face pale enough to look ghost-touched.
"Princess Sarisa. Thank the heavens. The crowd outside has been waiting since dawn. The council insists you must address them immediately."
Sarisa blinked. "The crowd?"
The steward swallowed. "Yes, Your Highness. The people gathered after news spread of the queen's detention. There are… many."
"How many?" Lara asked.
The steward looked at Lara and clearly considered lying before remembering who was standing beside her. "The main courtyard is full. The lower steps as well. More are arriving."
Malvoria's gaze sharpened. "Are they armed?"
"Some," the steward admitted, voice shrinking. "Mostly ceremonial blades. A few staffs. No siege weapons."
"Comforting," Raveth said.
Elysia stepped closer to Sarisa, her voice gentle but clear. "They need to see you."
Sarisa looked toward the far end of the corridor, where sunlight poured through tall windows and the distant roar of voices rose like stormwater.
She had thought she would have a moment.
Of course she had thought that. Foolish, really. Power never waited politely for women to be ready. It burst through doors, dragged them to balconies, and demanded a voice before their hands had stopped shaking.
"The royal balcony," Veylira said. "That is where they expect you."
The steward nodded quickly. "Yes. Downstairs, in the main courtyard, the crowd can see and hear from there. The council suggested a brief reassurance first, then the closed meeting."
Sarisa laughed once, breathless. "A brief reassurance. How elegant."
Lara turned toward her. "You don't have to do it alone."
"I know."
"No." Lara stepped closer, blocking the corridor from her view for one second, forcing Sarisa's eyes to meet hers.
"Listen to me. Not as a pretty line. Not as comfort. I will stand behind you. If they shout, I'll be there. If they accuse you, I'll be there. If anyone tries anything…"
"You'll behave," Sarisa said softly.
Lara's mouth twitched. "Mostly."
"Lara."
"I will behave with intense emotional difficulty."
That did it. A small smile escaped Sarisa, fragile but real.
Malvoria clapped her hands once. "Lovely. Romance accomplished. Now let us go show a crowd that their new acting sovereign has a spine and very dangerous in-laws."
"I am not your in-law," Veylira said mildly.
"You are everyone's in-law when convenient."
"Absolutely not."
Raveth smirked. "I accept being a dangerous in-law."
Elysia sighed, but there was warmth in her eyes. "Sarisa?"
Sarisa looked down at herself.
Ivory and gold dress. Burgundy cloak. Mating mark visible at her throat. Lara's hand still holding hers. Her mother's castle beneath her feet. Her people outside, angry and frightened and waiting.
She nodded.
"Take me to the balcony."
The walk felt endless.
Every corridor they crossed seemed fuller than the last. Nobles bowed, some sincerely, others because instinct had dragged their bodies down before their politics caught up.
Servants stared with tear-bright eyes. Guards saluted too quickly. Once, Sarisa caught sight of a portrait of her mother hanging between two columns, serene and silver-clad, and nearly stopped.
Lara saw her looking.
"We can burn it later," she murmured.
Sarisa's lips twitched despite herself. "That is not policy."
"It can be your first reform."
"Tempting."
They reached the doors to the royal balcony.
Two guards stood there, stiff with terror.
The older one bowed low. "Your Highness. The crowd is… unsettled."
The sound from outside was no longer distant. It pressed through the doors like a living creature. Voices layered over voices.
Anger. Confusion. Fear. Chants that rose and broke before becoming unified. The courtyard below was not simply full. It was furious.
Sarisa's pulse climbed.
She could do this.
She had chained her mother.
She could speak to her people.
Probably.
Lara leaned down, her voice low at Sarisa's ear. "Breathe."
Sarisa inhaled.
Exhaled.
Then she released Lara's hand.
For one second Lara looked like she hated that, but she understood.
Sarisa needed to step out as herself.
Not carried. Not hidden. Not shielded.
Beside her, yes.
But visible.
She lifted her chin. "Open the doors."
The guards obeyed.
Sunlight struck first, bright and merciless.
Then sound.
The roar of the crowd surged up from the courtyard as Sarisa stepped onto the royal balcony.
It was enormous.
The entire courtyard below was packed shoulder to shoulder with Celestians. Nobles near the front, common citizens filling the steps and spilling into the lower garden paths beyond.
White banners hung limp in the morning air. Guards lined the edges, tense and outnumbered. Faces turned upward by the hundreds, then thousands. Pale hair, silver robes, work clothes, priest veils, artisan aprons, children held in parents' arms.
They saw her.
The noise changed.
Not quiet.
A wave moved through them: recognition, shock, anger, relief.
Then someone shouted, "Where is the queen?"
Another voice cried, "Is it true?"
A third, sharper and louder: "Did demons take the throne?"
The crowd surged with the question.
Lara stepped onto the balcony behind Sarisa.
The reaction was immediate.
Gasps. Shouts. Hands pointing.
The demon woman, the exile, the scandal, the one their queen had blamed and chained and cast out. Standing beside Sarisa now, black-clad and fierce, the mating bond marked openly on Sarisa's throat.
The crowd saw that too.
The roar sharpened.
Sarisa felt the fear trying to climb her spine.
Then she remembered Aliyah's voice.
You win.
She remembered Lara's hands in hers.
Sarisa stepped to the edge of the balcony and raised one hand.
The chains of her magic flickered faintly around her wrist, silver and bright.
Not threatening.
Commanding.
Slowly, unevenly, the crowd began to quiet.
Sarisa looked down at her people.
Her frightened, furious, beautiful, narrow world.