The castle seemed quieter now, the last echoes of the funeral rites fading into the heavy night.
Sebastian leaned against a stone pillar just outside the great hall, arms folded, black cloak draped heavily over his shoulders. His expression was unreadable, but beneath the surface, tension coiled through him like a blade pressed against skin.
He hadn't imagined the figure.
Of that he was certain.
But whatever it was — demon, spirit, or something in between — he could not afford to chase shadows tonight.
Not with the entire future of the kingdom pressing down on his shoulders.
A footstep sounded behind him.
Kael.
"The council has decided," Kael said in a low voice, "Your coronation will be in two days' time."
Sebastian didn't move, but Kael saw his jaw tighten slightly.
"They also expect you at the council chamber tomorrow morning," Kael added, almost grimacing. "Bright and early."
For a long moment, Sebastian said nothing. Then:
"Let them expect."
Kael smirked under his breath.
There it was — the fire, the raw edge that made Sebastian both feared and respected.
At the council meeting the next day, the air inside the marble chamber was thick with formality and false pleasantries.
The elders, draped in their finest robes, sat in a semi-circle around the raised throne, whispering and murmuring amongst themselves like old crows.
When Sebastian entered, silence fell so sharply it felt like a blade slicing through the room.
He wore black still — no crown yet, no golden embroidery — just a plain tunic and a sword belted at his side.
He needed no ornaments to remind them who he was.
The oldest councilor, a man with a silver beard and sharp eyes, dared to rise.
"Your Highness," he said, with a voice too oily for Sebastian's liking. "We were wondering if perhaps you would consider—"
Sebastian's cold gaze pinned him where he stood.
The man faltered. Sweat gleamed at his temples.
"You were wondering," Sebastian said, voice low, "if you still hold sway in a kingdom you failed to defend while my father rotted on the throne."
The man sat down immediately.
No one else dared rise after that.
Questions died in throats. Challenges were swallowed.
Sebastian ruled the room without raising his voice, without drawing his sword — only the sheer, lethal certainty of his presence.
This was not a king who would be bullied.
This was a king born of fire and loss — and no one in that room dared forget it.
---
Meanwhile...
Freya stood quietly at the arched balcony of the eastern corridor, the cold stone pressing against her hands as she leaned over the edge.
The castle stretched before her — endless towers and courtyards, moonlight kissing the edges of the black banners still draped for mourning.
She hadn't had a proper look before.
Now, with the halls emptier, she finally wandered. Quietly, carefully.
The weight of the place settled around her — so grand, yet so suffocating.
"I need to leave," Freya murmured aloud to herself.
There was nothing tying her here. Miami was gone. The funeral rites were done. The nobles and royals had nothing to do with her.
Her heart clenched at the thought of home — even if it was a small, lonely cottage now.
As she turned to head back to her room, she nearly collided with Kael.
He blinked at her. "Out for some fresh air?"
Freya hesitated for a moment.
Then, squaring her shoulders, she spoke — calm but firm.
"I would like to leave tomorrow. If that's possible. I have no business here."
Kael studied her for a beat longer than necessary.
He smiled slightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll speak to the king."
Freya nodded once in gratitude and turned away, missing the look Kael sent after her — a mixture of respect and... something else.
Far away, beneath the cold moon, the black banners whispered like restless ghosts in the night.