CHAPTER 43: A Throne of Flames and Secrets

The air in Eira’s chamber shifted, heavy with something unseen.

A presence—ancient, watching, waiting.

Nyx’s ears twitched before Eira even noticed. The wolf stood alert, his glowing blue eyes narrowing as the warmth in the room grew stronger.

Then—Ignis arrived.

The phoenix materialized, its form weaving between flame and solid flesh, golden embers flickering as it perched near Eira.

Its eyes burned like molten fire, wisdom and power flickering beneath the surface.

“Ember’s power—” Ignis spoke, its voice ringing through the air, “is tethered to you now. Until she learns to call it back, you hold it.”

Eira’s pulse quickened, a strange mix of resentment and understanding twisting inside her.

She knew Ember.

She knew what she had done.

Samatha was gone because of her.

And now, she would take her place.

She would claim her vengeance.

She would marry her betrothed, stepping into the role Ember had abandoned.

Her lips curled into a cold smile. “I understand.”

Then, she turned to Ignis, curiosity flickering in her gaze. “And you—are you part of me now? Since I wield the Fireborn’s power?”

Ignis hesitated, something unreadable in its expression. “…Yes.”

Eira’s brows furrowed. Something felt off.

But she didn’t question it—not yet.

“What is your name?”

The phoenix tilted its head, the firelight casting a glow across its feathers.

“Ignis.”

Eira nodded. “Then, Ignis—you shall accompany me to dinner.”

She turned sharply toward Nyx, her stance firm. “Stay out of sight.”

Nyx stiffened, his ears flicking back slightly.

“I don’t want them wondering why I have a Frost Wolf. Not until the truth comes out. Understand?”

Nyx hesitated.

Something in him recoiled at being hidden, at being discarded for the sake of this game of deception.

But he nodded.

For now, he would obey.

Eira turned to her wardrobe, pulling a gown that shimmered like deep crimson flame, draping along her frame with elegant purpose.

She let out a slow breath, smoothing her hands over the fabric.

She was ready.

Tonight, she would meet Liam.

And the battle for truth and control would begin.

Eira entered the grand dining hall, her steps steady, her expression composed—a perfect mask.

The air was thick with quiet tension, the golden glow of candlelight reflecting off polished silver, the scent of roasted spices curling through the space.

Prince Liam sat waiting, his gaze sharp, unreadable.

Eira took her seat across from him, her posture regal, every movement deliberate.

She would control this evening.

They spoke in pleasantries at first—traditions, expectations, the kingdom.

Then, Liam set down his goblet.

His eyes held something calculating, something expectant.

"Show me your power."

Eira’s pulse remained steady, though a quiet storm brewed beneath her skin.

She had been waiting for this moment.

With careful deliberation, she lifted her palm, summoning the fire she had barely learned to tame.

A flicker of flame rose from her fingertips, swirling in a controlled display—elegant, effortless.

But before she could withdraw it, the energy shifted—and Ignis emerged, the phoenix’s golden form flickering into existence beside her.

Liam’s eyes narrowed, studying the creature.

"Is this the Fireborn’s power?"

Ignis tilted its head, firelight dancing across its feathers.

"Yes."

Because the power did belong to the Fireborn—even if Eira was not her.

Eira kept her expression serene, concealing the weight of the truth beneath careful control.

Liam studied her, as if sensing something beneath the surface.

But he said nothing.

And Eira refused to give anything away.

She would play this role.

She would command this fate.

Liam leaned forward, studying Eira with keen intensity.

She had wielded fire effortlessly.

She had controlled it with precision.

But something about her still felt off.

He drummed his fingers lightly against the table, his gaze unwavering.

"You control it well," he said slowly, measuring each word. "Too well for someone who has never trained within Jewara’s walls."

Eira held her composure, offering him a cool, effortless smile. "Talent isn’t always born in the same place, Prince Liam."

Liam tilted his head, as if weighing her response.

Then—he reached toward the flame still lingering in the air.

His own fire flickered against his palm, merging with hers, testing the energy within it.

He expected the warmth of the Fireborn—ancient, powerful, undeniable.

But something shifted.

The flame fluctuated, wild for half a breath—then, it stabilized.

Liam’s eyes narrowed.

It was the Fireborn’s magic.

But there was something else within it.

Something unfamiliar.

Something unnatural.

He pulled back, his expression unreadable, masking the storm gathering beneath his surface.

"Fireborn," he said, voice steady, though his suspicions had sharpened. "You do not hesitate. I respect that."

Eira offered nothing more than a small nod, keeping her mask firmly in place.

But she could feel it.

Liam wasn’t convinced.

Eira lifted her goblet, tilting it slightly as she studied Liam over the rim.

The dinner had been smooth so far—controlled, effortless, deceptive.

But she could feel it.

Liam was still testing her, still searching for answers beneath her mask.

She set the goblet down with quiet precision and met his gaze with a serene smile.

"You may call me Ember."

Liam’s fingers curled slightly against the table—a brief pause, a quiet shift in the air.

"Ember," he repeated, as if weighing the name against the woman before him.

Eira held her composure, offering nothing beyond calm acceptance.

She had played her part perfectly.

And he still was not convinced.

Just as the tension in the room settled into silence, the doors to the dining hall swung open with quiet authority.

Eira turned, her expression calm, her posture unwavering—but the storm within her remained.

Standing before her, regal and composed, were the King and Queen of Jewara.

Their presence commanded attention, their robes embroidered with golden flames, their gazes steady as they stepped forward.

The queen spoke first, her voice smooth, assessing.

“Fireborn, welcome to Jewara.”

The words were simple, expected—yet Eira felt the weight of them pressing upon her, solidifying the deception she had chosen to wield.

She inclined her head in a respectful nod, keeping her expression serene.

“It is an honor.”

The king studied her with quiet calculation, his sharp eyes lingering on her reddish-blue hair, her fire-red gaze—the proof they needed that she was the heir of prophecy.

Liam sat in silence, watching carefully.

The queen smiled, though there was something measured behind it.

“You have come at last. The kingdom awaits you.”

Eira met her gaze, holding the moment.

She was here.

She was the Fireborn.

At least—for now.

The queen’s smile remained, but there was something deliberate behind it—something measured.

“You will need time to adjust, Fireborn,” she said smoothly, her tone both welcoming and commanding. “Jewara is your home now. You must learn its ways, its traditions, its expectations.”

Eira inclined her head, maintaining a regal composure despite the unease curling in her chest.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

The king leaned forward slightly, his gaze keen, his presence unshakable.

“Training will begin tomorrow.”

Eira hesitated for half a breath, though she did not allow it to show.

“Training?”

The queen tilted her head slightly, as if amused by the question.

“You are the Fireborn. You must be prepared.”

Liam remained silent, watching Eira as if waiting to see how she would respond.

Eira nodded, keeping her expression smooth, unreadable. “I look forward to it.”

Inside, uncertainty twisted beneath her skin.

Training for a power that was never truly hers.

A role she had never expected to take.

But she had chosen this path.