They didn't throw her in chains.
They dressed her in silk.
The same people who once called her cursed now handed her emeralds, combed soot from her hair, and scented her skin like a lamb for slaughter.
Not a guest. Not a princess. A spectacle.
She understood this wasn't mercy. This was theater.
By midday, the entire court had gathered beneath the sky-arched Hall of Judgement. A sacred place where fire itself chose who was worthy, or who would be turned to ash.
At the center of the arena, the Empress stood like a statue carved from frost. Princess Isla stood beside her, dripping in pearls, her smile as cold as her mother's gaze.
"Let the fire speak," the Empress said. Her voice rang across the stone. "Let it burn what is false. Let it spare what is true."
A hush fell.
The High Priest stepped forward, drawing a curved blade. He opened his palm above the sacred altar. As his blood touched the stone, the air changed.
The ground rumbled.
A circle of flame erupted in the arena's center. Heat shimmered in waves, and the sacred fire beast emerged.
Not flesh, not bone. Smoke and ember. A lion of wildfire. Eyes like molten gold. Each step scorched the marble.
The crowd gasped.
The beast turned.
And looked straight at Elara.
Her breath caught. Her feet felt rooted to the floor.
"Step forward," the High Priest commanded.
She did.
One step. Two.
The flames hissed louder. Sweat beaded on her skin. Her heart pounded. Isla's scoff echoed from the terrace.
"She won't last ten steps," someone muttered.
But Elara walked on.
The heat clawed at her lungs. Her vision blurred. The world narrowed to fire and footsteps.
Then she heard it.
The whisper of the Stone in her blood:
You are not unmade. You are chosen.
The beast snarled.
And lunged.
Screams rose from the crowd.
Elara didn't flinch.
The flames wrapped around her but not to devour.
To dance.
They curled along her arms like silk. The fire beast paused, nose to her chest. Their eyes locked.
And then it bowed.
The gasps that followed were sharper than any blade.
"She commands it."
"No. It submits to her"
The Empress's lips pressed thin.
The High Priest fell to his knees. "The Trial of Flame has spoken. She is favored. The fire yields to her spirit."
The beast roared once...a sound that made marble tremble and, vanished in a flash of light.
Elara stood alone in the stillness.
The nobles stared at her not with disdain.
But awe.
Even those who had wished her burned now looked with something else.
Wonder.
She breathed in. Her chest rose slow and sure.
She wasn't the dust beneath their shoes anymore.
She was flame-walked.
And impossible to ignore.