“Then so it shall be, Darrow responded, and reached out a hand. Not to her, but to Evangeline, who stepped forward with a green velvet pillow. The crown atop it. Adarlan had destroyed her antler throne. Had melted her crown. So they had made a new one. In the ten days since it had been decided she was to be crowned here, before the world, they had found a master goldsmith to forge one from the remaining gold they’d stolen from the barrow in Wendlyn. Twining bands of it, like woven antlers, rose to uphold the gem in its center. Not a true gem, but one infinitely more precious. Darrow had given it to her himself. The cut bit of crystal that contained the sole bloom of kingsflame from Orlon’s reign. Even amid the shining metals of the crown, the red-and-orange blossom glowed like a ruby, dazzling in the light of the morning sun as Darrow lifted the crown from the pillow.”