Chapter 313
The receiving hall is all polished coral and shimmering mosaics, a cavernous cathedral of wealth and legacy. Light filters through crystalline windows, refracted into shifting prisms that dance across the marble floor. Every inch of this place is designed to impress. To intimidate. To remind us that this city believes itself the crown jewel of the sea.
But I barely notice any of that.
Because my eyes are fixed on the entrance, and my stomach is in knots.
Wake and I stand beside Lovelace and Petra, both glittering in ceremonial regalia. Petra’s expression is calm, gentle even—but Lovelace looks as though he’s preparing to pass judgment from a throne carved out of a glacier. Around us, nobles murmur and straighten their backs, glancing toward the towering entry doors with anticipation.
Cora would rather eat barnacle stew than walk into this room. I know that without seeing her face.
But then the doors swing open—and there she is.
Cora glides into the hall with her head held high, Delphi beside her, and Khale bringing up the rear. The three of them look like war and royalty wrapped into one breathtaking procession. Cora’s wearing a sheer, dark blue dress that gleams with subtle bioluminescence.
Delphi wears flowing robes of spun pearl, elegant but practical. Khale’s scaled chestplate is carved with Tangaroan symbols, the kind that make nobles swallow their comments before they ever form.
Cora and Delphi dip low into a synchronized curtsy. Their tails curl beneath them, a precise, practiced show of respect.
But they don’t rise.
They wait.
Long enough for it to feel pointed. Almost confrontational.
Lovelace, of course, savors the silence.
He moves forward, arms out like he’s addressing a theater. “Over a century you’ve been gone,” he intones, voice thick with false sorrow. “Feared to have returned to the Ether to rejoin Electra in the world beyond our own. For over a century, we have mourned your loss—and felt the weight of your absence in our revered bloodline.”
The air in the room tightens.
Behind Cora, I see Khale’s jaw flex, sharp enough to cut stone.
Lovelace goes on, as if delivering a soliloquy. “You’ve caused great heartache and regret to this family, to this city, and to Electra herself. And my heart aches evermore that you’ve both proven yourselves unworthy of her favor.”
I take an angry step forward before I even think about it.
Wake gently presses a hand to my arm. A silent reminder: not yet.
Lovelace spreads his arms, his voice lilting upward into the theater of reconciliation. “But now, of all times, is reason to forgive and rejoice. Because despite your folly—or perhaps because of it—Electra’s honor is restored through our Heir. For whom we have you to thank, Anthozoa.”
I grit my teeth.
“Now rise, daughters, and be welcomed home.”
The hall breaks into applause, but it’s hesitant. Stiff. The celebration muted by the slap of that speech. Exactly what Lovelace intended.
Cora rises, regal and unbothered. She gives Lovelace the barest tilt of her head. Nothing more.
He looks like he just bit down on a lemon.
But before he can say something smug, Cora sweeps past him. She reaches for Petra and throws her arms around her.
Delphi follows, and suddenly all three women are clinging to each other in a tangle of sobs and silk. Petra’s composed facade cracks instantly. She buries her face in her daughter’s shoulder.
Around them, nobles whisper and shift. Some look moved. Others look scandalized. Lovelace looks furious.
And I want to fry him into ash for it.
Wake, sensing the temperature drop, steps forward. “There is cause for further celebration today,” he says loudly, drawing every eye in the room. “Might we do the honor of introducing the Dawn King—Heir to Tangaroa, and friend to the Abyss—King Khale.”
At the mention of Khale’s title, Lovelace’s spine straightens. He shifts gears instantly, wearing the gracious host like a second skin. “Of course. Welcome to Estellis, Your Majesty. It is our deepest honor to host you and your retinue.”
Khale gives him a nod that could freeze magma. “The honor is mine,” he says flatly. “After all, a King goes nowhere without his Queen.”
Lovelace twitches. Barely. But Wake jumps in again before the tension can break.
“King Khale’s army is second only in size to my own,” Wake says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “And just as easily excited. Should we see to it they’re made comfortable in their encampment?”
Lovelace hesitates.
Then—wisely—he nods. “Of course. I will arrange for additional supplies to be sent to your soldiers at once.”
He starts snapping orders, sweeping half the room up in his wake. Nobles scurry. Attendants hurry after him. He leaves in a flurry of silk and ego.
The moment the doors close behind him, the air in the hall changes.
Relief. Laughter. Life.
A noblewoman rushes to Cora’s side, squealing like a dolphin. “Anthozoa, Delphinium! Oh, stars above, you haven’t aged a day!”
Others close in fast, fawning over Delphi and gushing with questions. The court becomes a whirlpool of gossip and cooing voices.
I join them slowly, catching Delphi’s eye. She looks overwhelmed but grateful.
And just like that, the plum-colored tea reappears—almost like magic—poured into pearl-shell cups, surrounded by tiered trays of sweet-smelling kelp rolls and candied anemones.
Delphi sees it, and I watch the color drain from her face.
Cora notices too.
She reaches for Petra’s arm and says clearly, “Mother, we’re grateful for your hospitality, but we’re all quite tired. I think it’s time we retired for the evening.”
A courtier pipes up, “Will Phoebe be staying?”
Another asks, “You must stay! We haven’t had a chance to hear your love story!”
Petra lifts her hand delicately. “Let them rest,” she says. “The ball is tomorrow. There will be plenty of time.”
She offers a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Let me have someone show you to your rooms.”
Cora’s lips curve into a razor-sharp smile. “Oh, it’s only been a hundred years, I’m sure things haven’t changed that much.”
Petra blinks, clearly unsure how to respond.
Cora leans in and says sweetly, “I’m joking, Mother. We’ll stay with Phoebe tonight. Keep her company in this strange place while her mate does manly things.”
Petra opens her mouth to protest. Closes it again.
Cora turns, Delphi and I falling in behind her as she glides from the hall without waiting for permission.
The hush that falls in our wake is almost as satisfying as the look Lovelace had on his face.
Almost.
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