Free Web NovelChapter 523: Chapter 523
The throne room had been scrubbed clean and transformed for the occasion. Sunlight poured through the tall arched windows, catching on polished marble floors and the heavy banners of deep crimson and gold that hung from the rafters. Every important noble and official in the kingdom stood shoulder to shoulder, dressed in their finest silks and jewels on display. Whispers rippled through the crowd, but they carried no malice today, only anticipation.
Ragnar walked by himself along the long aisle that divided the room, his steps measured and sure. He wore expensive fabrics of house colors, tailored to his frame.
At the front of the gathering, his closest allies watched with happiness and pride.
Casilo, Gonan, and Lord Falein Tomar were in attendance.
A little farther along, Lady Maelis smiled warmly, her hand resting on her husband Soren’s arm. Their two sons, Ansel and Leif, stood straight-backed beside them, and Soren’s niece, Mina. On the opposite side of the aisle, Lady Taryn Caelorth held her head high, her son and daughter flanking her on both sides. Dozens of others filled the room, men and women who had risked everything supporting Ragnar and defying the queen, just to see this day arrive. Their pleased expressions said what words could not.
Elka, though once Hairan’s wife, still attended the coronation only hours after he had been laid to rest. Widowhood should have been an impossible thing for her to get used to so quickly, yet this was the freest she had ever felt in her entire life. No longer did she live beneath anyone’s oppressive thumb. She was finally free to be whoever she wished, no longer bound to serve another’s whims as she once had under Queen Nheera.
She paid little mind to the curious looks cast her way as she watched Ragnar’s coronation unfold before her. The whispers surrounding her were easy enough to guess. Many likely believed she was betraying her dead husband by standing among his rival’s supporters so soon after his burial. But Elka did not care. She was free to do whatever she chose, and she chose to witness the new reign begin.
Beside her Jayran was completely engrossed in the ceremony, hardly paying her any mind.
Ragnar reached the dais and climbed the few steps gracefully. The head priest, an elderly man in flowing white robes, waited before the two golden thrones. Two attendants held the crowns on velvet cushions, one larger and heavier, the other lighter and intricately wrought.
The priest’s voice rang clear through the hall as he recited the traditional oaths of kingship. Then he stepped back slightly, allowing Ragnar to speak the binding vow of the kingdom.
Ragnar stood tall and proud, and when he spoke, his voice was loud enough for everyone present to hear.
"I, Ragnar Acheron, swear before the gods and the people of Lamora to uphold the laws of this kingdom, to defend its borders with my blood and blade, and to govern with justice and strength. I vow to place the welfare of every subject—highborn and low—above my own desires. Should I fail in this duty, may my crown be stripped away and the land itself reject me."
A profound hush fell over the room. The head priest lifted the crown and placed it on Ragnar’s head.
"By the will of the kingdom and the blessing of the old gods," the priest declared, "I name you Ragnar, King of Lamora and her colonies."
Ragnar stood motionless for a breath, letting the weight of the crown settle. Then he turned and descended the dais. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
Circe waited at the front of the gathered guests. She wore a gown of rich crimson silk shot through with gold thread, the neckline and sleeves adorned with delicate embroidery. Gold and gemstones gleamed at her throat and wrists, but it was the confidence in her grey eyes that drew every gaze. She watched Ragnar approach without a trace of nervousness.
He stopped before her as was customary and extended his hand. She placed hers in his without hesitation, intertwining her fingers with his. A small smile curved her lips as she glanced at the crown now resting on his head.
Ragnar led her up the dais steps, completely in sync with each other.
Once they stood before the throne, the head priest stepped back.
The ceremony had always unfolded in the same sacred order. The head priest would first place the crown upon the king’s head, sealing his ascension before the eyes of the gods and the people alike. Only then would the newly crowned king turn to his wife and, with his own hands, lower the queen’s crown onto her head, presenting her to the kingdom as his queen. It was an ancient custom, one that had been upheld for generations without fail.
And just like Ragnar, she swore a soul-binding oath in front of all those present.
"I, Circe Valdris, accept this crown and the duties it carries. I vow to stand beside my king as his equal, to offer counsel rooted in truth, and to protect the heart of this kingdom as fiercely as I protect its people. I pledge my loyalty, my wisdom, and my life to Lamora and to the man who wears its crown."
Ragnar took the other crown from its cushion. For a moment he simply looked at her, affection clear in his eyes. Then he raised the crown and lowered it gently onto her dark hair.
"With my own hands," he said, "I crown you Circe, Queen of Lamora."
He took her hand again and guided her to the queen’s throne beside his own. Together they sat.
The room erupted in applause. The sound rolled through the throne room like thunder—hands clapping, voices rising in approval. Casilo and Gonan cheered outright. Even Elka clapped, her expression one of genuine relief.
Ragnar reached across the small space between the thrones and laid his hand over Circe’s. She turned her palm upward and laced their fingers together. They sat side by side as king and queen, the future of Lamora stretching out before them.
