Chapter 272 White Dust

Chapter 272 White Dust
I turned my back on the clerics. I walked toward the dais.

The dark steel plates of my bodice felt heavy, but my steps remained steady. I reached the bottom of the white marble stairs. I climbed the steps, my black silk cape dragging over the stone.

I reached the top. I turned around.

The massive hall stared at me. Thousands of eyes watched the human woman who destroyed a nightmare in a fraction of a second. They saw the priests cowering in the dirt.

I sat down on the high seat of Aetherion.

The cold marble accepted my weight. The Citadel hummed in response, a deep vibration running through the floorboards. I wore the crown. I held the realm. The seat belonged to me.

Theron Nightvale stepped out of the crowd.

The vampire noble walked into the center of the wide aisle. He wore a fresh black coat. His missing left hand remained wrapped in dark silk. He looked at the pile of white dust. He looked at the cowering priests. He looked up at my throne.

"The trial is complete," Theron announced. His smooth voice carried a heavy, undeniable awe. "The Queen protects the court. The old laws burn."

Theron dropped to one knee. He bowed his head.

"All hail Victoria de Lamarre," Theron shouted. "God-Queen of Aetherion!"

Cassara Moonveil stepped forward. The werewolf priestess dropped to one knee. "All hail the Queen!"

Lucivar Drakhar slammed his heavy iron chain against the floor and knelt. Azarion Solcrest drove his spear into the stone and bowed his head.

The entire hall moved. Thousands of soldiers, warlords, and nobles dropped to the floor. The sound of armor hitting stone echoed like a deafening thunderclap. Every living creature in the Citadel surrendered to my rule.

I looked down at the sea of kneeling warriors.

Four men remained standing.

Vasilis. Ignatius. Orson. Isidore.

They stood at the base of the dais. They were the deadliest monsters in the history of the continent. The feral Alpha who tore entire armies apart. The calculating Vampire King who orchestrated centuries of slaughter. The Demon Prince who burned thriving cities to ash. The Angel who waged a holy war across the sky.

They looked at me sitting on the throne.

They did not bow out of fear. They did not kneel because my magic forced their muscles down.

They reached the top of the dais. They stood in a half-circle before my throne.

Vasilis dropped to his knees. The massive wolf lowered his head. He reached out and took my right hand. His calloused fingers gripped mine. He pressed a warm, reverent kiss to the back of my knuckles.

"My Queen," Vasilis murmured.

Ignatius knelt beside the wolf. The tactician took my left hand. He bowed his dark head, offering the highest respect of the Night Court. His cool lips brushed my skin.

"My Queen," Ignatius whispered.

Orson dropped to his knees next to the vampire. He leaned forward and kissed the inside of my left wrist, resting his forehead against my arm.

"My Queen," Orson said.

Isidore knelt next to Vasilis. The fallen angel took my right hand from the wolf. He pressed his mouth against my palm, offering a holy worship.

"My Queen," Isidore breathed.

The entire world watched. The faction leaders saw the truth. These men were not my prisoners. They were not fragile humans needing my protection. They were my Consorts. They willingly submitted their lives to my throne.

Tears stung my eyes. I blinked them away. I sat tall.

I felt their mortal heartbeats through my fingertips. I felt the heat of their skin. I loved them. I loved the dirt and the blood and the scars they gave me. I loved the devotion they proved every single day.

"Rise," I commanded softly.

They did not move.

Their lips remained pressed against my skin.

A sudden, sharp heat erupted in my chest.

I gasped. The golden spark, the celestial light, the cold shadow, and the demon fire did not settle. The four magic sources ignited, burning hot inside my veins.

The heat rushed down my arms. It hit the exact points of contact where the four men touched my skin.

Vasilis let out a harsh groan. His grip tightened on my hand.

Ignatius closed his eyes tight, wincing against a sudden surge of pain.

The magic did not recognize the political ceremony. The magic recognized the blood. The crowns recognized the total submission.

A massive, glowing circle of ancient runes appeared on the white marble floor beneath the throne. The runes pulsed with blinding light, locking the five of us inside a barrier of pure, concentrated energy.

The crowd gasped. The front row of nobles scrambled backward, terrified by the sudden display of raw power.

"What is happening?" Orson gritted his teeth. The demon prince stared at the glowing runes forming around his knees.

I tried to pull my hands away. I could not break their grip. The magic fused our skin together. The heat in my chest turned into a roaring, uncontrollable inferno.

Isidore raised his head. His silver eyes were wide. The celestial magic I pushed into his skin last night flared to life, matching the brilliant glow of the runes on the floor.

"The Consort's Rite," Isidore choked out, his voice strained. "The public claim was the trigger. The sparks demand the seal."

My blood boiled. A deep, primal hunger tore through my stomach, erasing logic and reason. The magic required the final, permanent binding. It required the flesh. And it required it right now, on the floor of the throne room.

The glowing barrier intensified, sealing the dais from the rest of the hall. We were trapped inside the circle of light.

Vasilis lifted his head. His amber eyes shifted, turning a burning, liquid gold. The feral beast recognized the call of the mate.

I breathed.

The wolf lunged.