The morning sun rose over Oakhaven not with a whisper, but with the roar of a kingdom in transition. The "Phoenix Prince" was no longer a nickname whispered in the slums; it was the official title of the Heir Apparent.
I stood on the balcony of the Treasury, watching the Imperial engineers begin the repairs on the West Ward. From this height, the city looked like a complex machine—one that I finally had the keys to.
"You look like a woman who just successfully executed a 'Hostile Takeover'," a voice rumbled behind me.
I turned to see Bastian. He wasn't in his training leathers or his soot-stained rags. He was draped in the heavy, sapphire-blue robes of the Crown Prince, the gold signet ring of the King glinting on his finger. He looked regal, but his eyes still held that same spark of "Unconventional Asset" that I had first seen in the kitchen.
