Thrones of Fire and Ti

The palace corridors were colder than the market streets Mira had grown used to, yet she walked them with a confidence that surprised even herself. Her skirts swept softly across marble floors, carrying the faint scent of lavender and lilac from the festival, and whispers followed her wherever she went. “Who is she?” a courtier asked another, eyes narrowed, lips tight with disbelief. “She was a flower seller,” came the curt reply, delivered like a warning. “And now… the prince walks with her as if she were a queen.” Mira felt none of the fear that her modest upbringing might have once dictated. She had learned long ago that courage was not the absence of fear but the willingness to move forward despite it. Her hand found Elian’s, and his fingers closed around hers with quiet reassurance. The couple entered the council chamber, where advisors and nobles had already gathered. Some bowed with proper form, but their eyes betrayed skepticism. Elian cleared his throat. “Tonight, my companion is Mira,” he announced simply. “She is the woman I love, and she will remain by my side.” A ripple of murmurs spread through the chamber. A few lords exchanged sharp glances, murmuring beneath their breath. “And what of her station?” one of the older, silver-haired councilors asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and veiled insult. “She has no title, nor noble lineage,” another added. “How can she… influence matters of the crown?” Mira’s gaze lifted. She did not falter. “I have no claim to your power,” she said steadily. “But I know loyalty, honesty, and the lives of the people you all serve. Those, I hope, will count for something.” Silence fell. Her words were simple, unadorned—but sharp enough to pierce the pretense of authority. Even the most haughty of nobles could not deny their truth. Elian reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “She is already part of this kingdom,” he said softly, though loud enough for all to hear. “And anyone who cannot accept that is free to question their own allegiance.” The council exchanged tense looks. No one dared challenge the prince outright, not tonight. Mira’s presence had shifted the balance of power—not through title, not through birthright, but through strength, grace, and unflinching resolve. Over the following days, Mira adapted to palace life with astonishing speed. She learned the schedules of ministers and advisors, the subtleties of formal dining, the way courtiers measured each word and glance. Yet she never lost her essence. She carried bouquets into council meetings, not as ornamentation but as reminders of life beyond politics. She visited the kitchens, listening to the complaints and suggestions of cooks and servants, treating their words with respect. Through it all, Elian watched with a mixture of awe and unease. He had loved many before, but none had unsettled him so completely. Mira’s strength did not threaten him; it demanded that he rise to meet it. Then came the challenge that tested them both. A letter arrived, sealed with a foreign crest: the emblem of a neighboring kingdom, long envious of Elian’s reforms and the prosperity of his lands. Its message was blunt: “You have elevated a commoner above her station. Let her step aside, or face consequences beyond your walls. The first warning has been delivered.” Elian’s jaw tightened as he read the words aloud to Mira. “They want to intimidate you,” he said. She met his gaze, unflinching. “Then they will find that threats do not sway me. And neither will they sway you.” But the next morning, the first sign of intrusion appeared. A shipment of rare herbs intended for the palace gardens was found destroyed, dumped in the river. Then a carriage carrying important messages was intercepted and left abandoned on the northern road. Each incident was precise, calculated to send a message without sparking open war. Elian’s council demanded retaliation. “Strike first!” one general urged. “Show them the cost of

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