Elysia had been many things in her life—heir, fugitive, wife, mother. But sitting on a throne beside a demon queen with a two-month-old firebaby in her arms while nobles showered them with gifts?
That was new.
And a little overwhelming.
The thrones had been polished until they glead, black stone veined with deep red, carved into sharp curves and crowned with the Daemara crest.
Malvoria’s seat was slightly taller, but Elysia had added an extra velvet cushion to hers out of pure pettiness.
Now they sat together like matching chaos and calm, Elysia cradling Kaelith in her arms while nobles queued up like hopeful supplicants bearing offerings for a goddess.
Kaelith, dressed in her rune-embroidered gown and baby circlet, looked entirely unbothered.
Malvoria looked like she was preparing for war.
"It’s just gifts," Elysia murmured to her wife.
"It’s strategic bribery," Malvoria hissed back. "Every noble here is going to try to impress her before she can talk. Watch—the Westfire Guild will bring a tiny flaming chariot. Or worse—baby armor."
"I want baby armor."
"You are not helping."
Kaelith gurgled and patted Elysia’s chest like she was ready to judge every gift personally.
Veylira stood to the side of the dais like a black-gloved judge overseeing an execution, face calm but eyes sharp. Raveth lounged behind her, arms crossed, clearly amused by everything.
Thalor was already drunk.
And Lara—
Lara was pretending to be part of the decorative pillars.
"First gift!" the herald called, his voice magically amplified. "From Lady Yvaria of the Glimring Depths."
A tall demoness with coral-colored horns and a dress made of woven sea-silk approached, holding a shimring velvet box. She bowed low, then lifted the box toward Elysia.
"For your daughter, a sleep crystal harvested from the Dreaming Shoals. It will sing lullabies when held close to her heart."
Elysia smiled, accepting it carefully. "That’s lovely. Thank you."
Malvoria gave the woman a nod that translated to you may live.
Next.
"Baron Tyvar of Emberreach."
A short, round man with gleaming tusks shuffled forward, grinning proudly. "A custom-forged baby rattle that doubles as a firestarter!"
Kaelith snatched it the mont it touched her fingers.
"Gods," Elysia whispered. "She loves it."
"She shouldn’t love it," Malvoria muttered.
"She’s yours."
They moved quickly after that.
A court mage offered a mini weather ward "so the princess never endures a bad hair day." A noblewoman gifted enchanted booties that adjusted size as Kaelith grew. One overeager young lord presented a demonic plushie that scread when hugged.
Kaelith loved that one.
By the tenth gift, the pile at their feet was starting to resemble a very specific kind of hoard—a royal baby’s dragon stash.
There were magical trinkets, tiny enchanted weapons (Malvoria confiscated those imdiately), potion kits "for curiosity," and at least three musical instrunts Kaelith would not be allowed to touch until she stopped trying to eat everything.
"Oh look," Malvoria muttered darkly as the next guest approached. "It’s the House of Frostbane."
"Didn’t you exile one of their uncles?" Elysia asked mildly.
"I did."
"Are we still accepting their gift?"
"Kaelith isn’t responsible for my enemies’ stupidity."
The Frostbane envoy, a tall demon with diamond-pale skin and an expression of eternal suffering, bowed stiffly and held out a scroll. "A title deed. One frozen lake estate, north of the Winter Fangs, for the princess’s future retreat."
Elysia blinked. "A whole estate?"
Malvoria snatched the scroll, unrolling it. "It cos with servants. And a crypt. Of course it does."
"Kaelith loves lakes," Elysia lied sweetly.
"She’s never seen one."
"She will."
Kaelith yawned dramatically and waved the screaming plushie in triumph.
The nobles kept coming.
By the ti the Celestian delegation approached, Malvoria was gripping her throne’s armrest hard enough to leave claw marks. Serisa stepped forward in her shimring robes, calm as moonlight, and bowed with perfect precision.
Elysia felt Lara holding her breath sowhere behind them.
"For Kaelith," Serisa said, holding out a glass sphere filled with floating starlight, "a Celestial dreamlight. It will protect her sleep and reflect her soul’s potential."
Elysia accepted it with careful hands. "It’s beautiful."
Malvoria gave Serisa a stiff nod.
Serisa’s eyes flicked to Kaelith—just a beat longer than formal courtesy—and then she turned and walked away.
Lara exhaled like she’d been underwater for six years.
"Almost done," Elysia whispered to Kaelith. "Just a few more, and then you can nap in a sea of riches."
The final nobles presented enchanted books, protective charms, and a riddle box that Elysia knew Kaelith would try to destroy within a week.
Then—
"Final gift," the herald announced.
Malvoria shifted beside her.
Elysia looked over, just as her wife stood and pulled sothing from the folds of her cloak.
A blade.
Small. Perfect. Forged in blacksteel and wrapped in deep red velvet, its hilt was etched with protective runes and silver markings shaped like falling stars. It glead softly, humming with the energy of ancient oath magic.
The ceremonial naming blade.
Malvoria turned toward her, expression unusually solemn.
"I had it made in the old way," she said quietly, just for Elysia. "Forged at the Daemaran forge, with ancestral steel and the fire from our family’s sacred hearth. The smith only shaped it. I laid the runes myself."
Elysia felt her breath catch.
"Then you should give it to her."
Malvoria shook her head. "No. You should. She’s our daughter. But you—you’re her light. Her balance. This blade is strength... but let it be you who places it in her hands."
Elysia reached out, hands steady, and took the blade.
It was heavier than it looked.
Alive with aning.
She stood slowly, heart racing, and held the naming blade above the cradle where Kaelith now lay watching with solemn eyes.
The hall fell quiet again.
"This blade," Elysia said clearly, voice echoing through the enchanted hush, "is forged not to wound—but to protect. Not to rule through fear, but through purpose. It will be bound to your soul, Kaelith, when the ti is right."
She leaned down and touched the flat of the blade gently to Kaelith’s brow.
"This is your na. Your future. And we are your shield."
Kaelith cooed.
Then grabbed the blade.
Malvoria made a noise sowhere between panic and awe.
The blade shimred once—acknowledging her.
Elysia laughed. "She accepts it."
"She also tried to eat it," Malvoria muttered.
Elysia turned and smiled at her wife. "She’s yours, after all."
The ballroom erupted into thunderous applause, fla and starlight and sound crashing around them.
Lanterns pulsed with golden light overhead. The enchanted ceiling blood with illusions—phoenixes in flight, constellations swirling like a crown above Kaelith’s cradle.
Nobles clapped, so wiping tears, others whispering frantically about the blade, the child, the prophecy. Kaelith squealed in triumph, her tiny fists punching the air as if she understood the weight of what had just been bestowed.
Elysia sat again, cradling her daughter with quiet pride. Malvoria remained standing, silent and still, eyes on Kaelith—but sothing in her posture had shifted.
Tension.
From the corner of her eye, Elysia caught it—Malvoria’s jaw tightening. And not just her. Lara, perched awkwardly near the musicians, went rigid, her goblet halfway to her lips.
Raveth, who’d been casually leaning against a pillar like nothing could ever startle her, stood straight in a blink, arms folded tight.
Then the crowd parted.
A woman stepped through.
Tall. Striking. Clad in a crisp black shirt and fitted trousers. Her hair was ink-dark and cascaded in deliberate waves over her shoulders.
Her skin shimred with faint demonic undertones, and her red eyes glowed beneath long lashes. She walked like she owned the air, like danger wore perfu and smiled.
Elysia sat up straighter, frowning slightly.
She didn’t know this woman.
But Malvoria did.
The queen’s knuckles whitened around the armrest. Raveth’s mouth was a razor-thin line. Lara muttered sothing under her breath, too quiet to catch.
Then the woman stopped before the dais.
Her fangs flashed when she smiled.
"What a beauty," she said, voice velvet-smooth and laced with history.
"My granddaughter is beautiful."
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