CHAPTER SEVEN: THE KING'S FLAME (Part four)
Timishu didn't move.
Didn't blink.
But Zephryn could feel it now—
a tension around her like drawn thread.
Not anger.
Not defense.
Restraint.
Like if she moved too quickly, the whole chamber might fracture.
Vaelen descended the steps of the throne slowly.
His voice softened—not out of mercy, but strategy.
"I don't forget her name. I remember it more clearly than anyone."
Zephryn's gaze didn't break.
"You remember her death. That's not the same."
Timishu's eyes flicked toward Vaelen now.
She didn't stop him.
But she didn't defend him either.
Vaelen continued.
"You don't know what she gave up—what she risked to keep you here."
"I know what she lost," Zephryn said.
The king hesitated.
Only for a second.
But Zephryn saw it.
Felt it.
Pushed it.
"You buried her without a marker," he said.
"You silenced her name in public records.
You called her flame dangerous.
And now you want to claim it back because I'm still standing in it?"
The silence that followed wasn't still.
It hummed.
Not from Zephryn.
Not from Bubbalor.
Not from any visible glyph.
It came from the floor itself.
A low resonance tremor.
As if the throne room itself had heard something true for the first time in years.
Timishu stepped forward one more pace.
She said nothing.
But her eyes—her eyes were on Zephryn now.
Watching not as a ruler.
But as someone who had been waiting.