The Coronation Feast followed by the ritual of crowning of the queen completed.
The dinner is set in the room next to throne room for the feast.
Long tables laden with blackwood dishes and silver goblets stretched down the hall. Platters of infernal fruits, roasted beasts, and spiced blood wine gleamed under the chandeliers. All the delicacies of the demon kingdom and foreign region is set on the table to suit everyone taste and appetite. Musicians hidden in the shadows played haunting melodies, their notes stitched from sorrow and triumph.
Velrith sat at the head of it all.
Crowned. Cloaked in her power. The ceremonial demon paint still shimmered faintly across her skin, pulsing to the beat of her heart.
But she did not touch the food.
Not yet.
Her golden gaze scanned the room, weighing every face.
Every ally.
Every threat.
Every pawn.
The Great Houses had come, each sending emissaries or lords to kneel before the new queen:
House Tharnis, the warlords of the Ashen Wastes ruthless and loyal to bloodlines, but slow to forgive past slights. Prideful and arrogant obsessed with fame and power they have amassed both by political marriages and acquiring lands with force or debt traps. Their Matron, Lady Sireth, raised her goblet toward Velrith, a silent acknowledgment that could turn to steel if offended.
House Morvane, masters of the arcane arts secretive and ambitious. Their land rich in artistic and innovative tactics both in literature, arts and warcraft. Archmage Eldain sat quietly, robes glittering with constellations. His eyes never left Velrith's form, calculating, measuring.
House Caerthis, the Beast-blooded warrior clans loyal to strength above all. Known for sadistic ways of breaking the will of their enemies and inflicting fear in the hearts of their enemies. Kraves's kin. A handful of their elders feasted noisily, oblivious to court etiquette, but Velrith knew better: they watched with primal intelligence.
The Silent Order, cloaked monks from beyond the Broken Valleys, whispered to have made pacts with things deeper and darker than any demon. Known to master the magic of forbidden. Their presence was unsettling, their faces hidden behind bone-white masks.
And then there were the envoys from the Shadow Markets, the Iron Cities, and even the outer rings of the Under veil, realms where demons and mortals sometimes bargained under careful treaties.
Each bore gifts.
Each wore smiles like knives.
Velrith's fingers drummed lightly on the armrest as she studied them.
Who would serve? Who would betray? Who would need reminding of why demons bowed to kings and queens?
Her heart burned with a strange hunger not for food, but for knowledge, for mastery.
And somewhere beneath it, Velira stirred.
"Weakness hides behind sweet wine and sweeter lies," her inner voice whispered. "Do you see them, little queen? How they flock, how they preen? Each with a dagger hidden behind velvet."
Velrith inhaled slowly, steadying herself.
She could feel it already.
The shifting alliances.
The desperate plays for favor.
The thinly veiled fear.
It was intoxicating.
And dangerous.
Kraves approached first, towering and grinning lazily as he knelt before her throne.
"My queen," he said, voice rough with mock affection. "You wear the blood and bone better than any before you."
Velrith allowed herself a slight smile.
She had no illusions about Kraves. His loyalty was earned by power alone. As long as she remained stronger, he would serve. If she faltered, he would tear her apart without hesitation.
Good.
She would give him no reason to doubt her strength.
Still kraves has his hidden motives she can sense it.
she needs knowledge of kraves his secret his past to determine his strength and weakness to use it against him when he becomes the threat.
She hope clementine has all the answers she needed.
Just as she was thinking Lady Sireth of House Tharnis, bowing low, her ash-gray armor gleaming.
"Our blades are yours, Queen Velrith," she said formally. "So long as your rule is just."
Velrith met her eyes.
"And who defines justice, Lady Sireth?" she asked softly.
The old warlord smiled thinly. "Whoever wears the crown."
An acceptable answer.
For now.
One by one, the others paid their respects some warm, some cautious, some laced with threats so subtle they could only be heard in the spaces between words.
Later, a small delegation approached her throne. Not nobles. Not warriors.
But priests.
Clad in stark robes of black and white, etched with chains and wings, they bore no weapons only the sigils of the old truce.
Their leader, a tall woman with sunken eyes and a silver brand across her throat, stepped forward.
"Blessed Queen Velrith," she said with deliberate care, "the High Church offers its recognition of your ascension."
Velrith inclined her head.
"I was under the impression the Church's 'recognition' was reserved for their own bloodlines."
The priestess did not smile.
"Bloodlines change. Kingdoms change. What does not change… is the Church's interest in balance."
Velrith's eyes flicked toward Clementine across the room. Then back.
"So you've come to ensure I don't tip the scale."
"We've come to observe."
The word coiled like a leash.
Velrith nodded slowly.
"Observe, then. But know this my reign is not a sermon. It's a blade."
The priestess bowed. "We understand. And we will pray you never have to draw it."
By the time the feast was in full swing, Velrith sat back and allowed the music and chatter to swirl around her.
But she remained alert.
Watching.
Listening.
She was no longer a girl waiting for approval.
She was a queen, and the game had already begun.
At the far end of the hall, Clementine leaned against a pillar, arms folded, observing just as sharply.
When their eyes met across the room, Clementine gave her a small, knowing nod.
The message was clear:
"You're not alone."
And neither were her enemies.
Tomorrow, new laws would be declared.
Tomorrow, new alliances would be forged or broken.
But tonight?
Tonight was for watching.
And remembering.
Because Velrith knew:
The first mistake a queen could make was to celebrate too soon.
And she would not be that queen.
Not now.
Not ever.