Her heart sped up, beating out of her ribcage all over again when she saw Jaren’s fathers staring, unblinkingly, at one another, silently communicating in a way only mates could do.

She couldn’t see Jaeros’s eyes, but Dedryn’s—which had been hard as stone all morning—had softened, the amber color warm and inviting as his lips tipped up in the barest hint of a sad smile.

But before she could ask if everything was all right, or even turn to see if Jaren had noticed the moment, Jaeros broke their gaze to speak to her.

“Before we go in, Veralie,” he said, still using the common tongue for her, “I know you struggle to keep up with Thyabathi, and there is no shame in that. But even so, make sure you use it in there.”

Not waiting for her to respond to his warning, he turned away and they both strove forward beneath the arch.

* * *

Jaren’s fathers walked in side by side in front of her, almost as if shielding her until the last possible second, and she wondered just how much of her nerves were painted on her forehead for them to feel the need to do that.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, and forced herself to release Jaren’s hand. As much as she wanted the comfort of his skin against hers, she needed to stand on her own.

Because she wasn’t just Vera anymore, nor was she just Jaren Barilias’s aitanta. She was the Nlem snadzend, the Daughter to the Throne. And she was strong enough to stand on her own.

Seeming to agree, or to at least understand, he didn’t fight her for once. He just placed his right hand on the pommel of his dagger and grazed his other along her spine, ushering her forward.

Walking into the throne room, she’d fully expected to feel the same weight and oppression she had when she’d walked into Emperor Matheris’s. The intimidating stone throne, the pristine floor-to-ceiling windows, the feeling of not being good enough to be there.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

The room was surprisingly bare of almost everything, unlike the rest of the palace she’d passed through. There were no banners on the walls, no crests or greenery adorning the windows, no carpets leading to a dais. In fact, there was no dais at all.

The room was a decent size, but small in comparison to Emperor Matheris’s. Rather than gray stone, it had a tan, tiled floor, and a single, empty throne sat at the end of the room. It was a deep, blood red, matching the runner that had led into the room.

The cushioned back was curved, and the armrests appeared to be made from the same yellowed gold she’d seen on the sconces. They swirled under, giving the throne a softer, more feminine appearance.

Given that the only three other occupants in the room stood off to the side of it, it was safe to assume it was the late Queen Vaneara’s seat. Did King Vesstan ever use it, or was it set to be empty until…she took it?