He stepped closer, brushing a strand of her blonde hair from her face. “Then let it be held beneath the middle of the capital in our ancestral Dome, where the stars themselves will bear witness.

Let the Ayaquean choirs sing alongside the howls of the Werewolves, the chants of the Daimphs, and the hymns of my Vampyric kin. A symphony of unity.

Her lips curved into a smile, soft yet resolute. “And the vows shall be spoken in all tongues, so no soul feels forgotten. And soon, I want the Palace adorned not with gold alone, but with the symbols of every race. A tapestry of our world.”

Demarion’s hand...