Chapter 25 · The Throne's Choice

"Leave Rafe behind, and the throne is yours." The black-robed chancellor pressed two fingers toward the cut in my palm. "Stay with him, and the Directorate will bury you both under this fortress."

Rafe caught my wrist before the chancellor could touch me.

"Take your fingers off her."

The chancellor smiled. "You still think you have authority here, exile?"

"No." Rafe yanked me against his side. His shoulder hit mine, hard and hot through my thin coat. "I know exactly how little authority I have. That's why I'm still alive."

The black throne waited at the far end of the chamber.

One slab of stone. No cushions. No crown. Six narrow arms rose behind it like hooked claws.

Black veins crawled across the floor toward its feet.

I'd seen those same marks on the Directorate soldiers upstairs. They'd dropped to one knee at the same time, clutching their burning chests.

Every one of them had shouted my first-life name.

Aurelia.

The sound still scraped through my skull.

The chancellor turned his pale eyes on me. "The throne recognizes royal blood. Not a deserter's brand. Not a war criminal's mark. Yours."

Rafe's grip tightened. "Don't listen to him.