The throne room of Basharr Palace took Violet’s breath away. The cracks from the fight between Eden and his assassin hadn’t reached the throne room, leaving it intact with molten light. Waves of darkness began at the corners of the floor, reaching for the obsidian throne in threads of silken night. Golden rays and blackness melted together turning the chamber into a cauldron.
Violet stood behind Eden’s obsidian throne paired with the cream throne Raegan graced. The two royals held court once a week to speak with their nobles and show their power. Eden had explained to Violet that he started the tradition after Petros’ father was imprisoned. He’d been fourteen, on the precipice of losing his kingdom and his neck. This was how he’d reeled things back in: entombing the palace in cloud and fog every week for a permanent state of storm.
“Open the windows,” Eden commanded.
Two guards dragged the glass open. Chill mountain air rushed in.