Chapter 275: Stained Glass

One hundred years passed since my human heart stopped beating on the white marble floor.

I remember the dark void. I remember the cold silence of death. The mortal shell failed under the crushing weight of the four crowns. I fell into the abyss. But the abyss could not keep me. The magic refused to let me die.

The golden sun, the pure light, the cold shadow, and the chaotic fire detonated inside my chest. The ancient power hijacked my dead veins. It restarted my pulse. It burned the fragile human weakness from my bones and replaced it with eternal, divine steel.

I woke up. I became the immortal God-Queen of Aetherion.

I sit on the high throne today. The great hall shines bright in the midday sun. The new stained-glass windows cast colorful patterns across the clean stone floor. The room hums with noise.

The continent is at peace.

Theron Nightvale stands in the center of the aisle. The vampire noble wears a tailored black coat. He holds a scroll of parchment. Cassara Moonveil stands beside him. The werewolf priestess wears a simple white tunic. They do not argue. They do not bare their teeth. They discuss the grain trade between the eastern rim and the southern forests.

Malrik Duskfang leans against a marble pillar near the doors. The beast clan warlord laughs at a joke told by an angel commander.

The ancient hatred is gone. The blood debts are erased. The factions live together. They build roads. They share the harvest. They fear the Black Crown, but they love the prosperity it brings.

I wear a gown of dark crimson silk. I leave the heavy iron crown on a velvet cushion beside my seat. The people do not need the iron to know who rules them.

My four kings stand on the dais.

They do not age. The blood-exchange and the mating bite locked their mortal bodies in time with my eternal magic. They look exactly as they did on the day of the coronation.

Vasilis wears dark leather armor. He watches the crowd with the fierce, protective gaze of a Commander. Ignatius wears a sharp black suit. The Spymaster calculates the shifting alliances in the room with a mere glance. Orson wears a fine charcoal shirt. The Master of Coin flips a gold piece between his knuckles, looking bored with the peace. Isidore wears pure white linen. The Chief Justice stands tall, radiating a quiet, unyielding authority.

Theron finishes his report. He rolls the parchment. He bows his head.

"The trade routes remain secure, Queen Victoria," Theron states.

"Store the surplus grain in the northern keeps," I command. "Winter approaches. The beast clans need the reserves."

Cassara places her hand over her heart and bows. "The packs thank you, Queen."

I raise my hand. "The court is closed."

The guards open the massive timber doors. The nobles and warlords file out of the hall. The room empties. The heavy doors shut with a resounding click.

I let out a long breath. I lean back against the marble seat.

Orson climbs the steps. He stops beside my chair. He catches his gold coin and shoves it into his pocket.

"One hundred years," Orson complains. He offers a crooked, wicked smirk. "And they still argue about wheat and wagons. I miss the fire. I miss the chaos. Peace is a tedious game."

"You love the peace, demon," I counter. I reach out and grab the collar of his silk shirt. I pull him down. I press a hard kiss to his mouth. "You complain to hear your own voice."

Orson laughs against my lips. "I love the gold. The peace brings the gold."

Vasilis steps up to my other side. The massive wolf rests his calloused hand on my shoulder. His thumb brushes the jagged white scar on my neck. The permanent mating bite.

"The perimeter patrols report zero threats," Vasilis grunts. "The deep earth walkers stay in their tunnels. Nymeria honors the treaty."

"Because she knows I will flood her caves," I answer. I lean my cheek against his thick arm. "You trained the guards well, Commander. The capital is a fortress."

Ignatius steps out of the shadows near the pillars. He walks up the marble stairs. He stops in front of me. His rust-red eyes burn with a dark, knowing heat.

"The realm is quiet," the Vampire King murmurs. He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. "The Queen deserves rest. The day belongs to the angel."

Isidore climbs the dais.

He stops at the edge of the throne. His silver eyes hold a bright, burning devotion. The red scar on his cheek remains a testament to his sacrifice. He offered his wings to save me. He spent the last century walking on the dirt by my side.

He holds out his hand.

"The sun sets," Isidore says. "The sky waits."

I smile. I place my hand in his.

I stand up. I leave the throne. Vasilis, Ignatius, and Orson watch us go. They share the bond. They share the love. They possess zero jealousy. We are a closed circle.

Isidore leads me out of the great hall. We walk down the long, winding corridors. We climb the narrow spiral stairs of the highest tower. We reach the open balcony.

The evening air bites my skin. The sky shifts from blue to a bruised, dark purple. The first stars blink into existence. The capital city spreads out below us, glowing with thousands of warm orange torches.

Isidore steps to the edge of the stone parapet. He looks down at the massive drop.

"You miss the clouds," I whisper. I step up behind him. I wrap my arms around his waist. I press my chest against his broad back.

"I do not miss the empty heavens," Isidore answers. He turns around to face me. "I miss the flight. I miss the wind."

"Then we fly."

We soar higher. The air grows thin and freezing cold. The demon fire in my veins flares, keeping my blood hot. We reach the upper atmosphere. The stars burn with brilliant, harsh clarity. We are alone in the vast, endless sky.

Isidore stops. He hovers in the freezing air.

He channels the celestial magic from his wings. He pushes the light downward. The energy solidifies, forming a wide, glowing platform of pure white magic in the empty sky.