The crown had barely touched her head when her skin began to turn gray.

The grand hall was converted into an impromptu tribunal before the sun had even begun its descent toward the western horizon. The stained-glass windows cast long, bleeding streaks of crimson and violet across the floor where the nobles stood in tense silence.

King Aldric sat upon the high throne, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked older, the weight of his gullibility pressing down on his shoulders like lead.

In the center of the room, unbound but heavily guarded, stood Selene. She refused to kneel. Her chin remained tilted upward, a mask of cold defiance hiding the panic fluttering in her chest.

"Selene of Aurelion," King Aldric spoke, his voice echoing hollowly off the stone walls. "You stand accused of high treason, the falsification of royal lineage, and the attempted murder of your mother and sister through malicious manipulation of state law. How do you plead?"

"I plead that I am the only one with the strength to save this kingdom!" Selene shouted, stepping forward. "Look at the history books, Father! Kingdoms fall when weak rulers sit on the throne! Elara is too soft, too merciful! When the northern tribes march on our borders next winter, she will trade our sovereignty for peace!"

"The northern tribes have already sent envoys offering a treaty," Elara stepped forward from the shadows of the dais, the magnificent multicolored bird resting quietly on her shoulder like a living epaulet. "A treaty that you intercepted and burned three moons ago, Selene. You wanted war because war gives tyrants an excuse to bleed their own people."