The Flames of the Throne The royal court of Caldera had long been known for its burning throne—a cursed seat of power wreathed in eternal fire. Legend said only the rightful ruler could sit upon it and extinguish the flames. But over the years, that had become a problem. A big problem. Mainly because no one knew who the rightful ruler was. Which is why the throne room always smelled like smoke and...charred flesh. "Well, that didn't go as planned," Malik grunted, yanking a scorched piece of fabric from his shoulder and tossing it aside. He winced. "Thought I was the chosen one. Guess not." "You're lucky your skin isn't peeling off," Aaliya shot back from across the room, arms crossed. "Though I can think of worse fates." Jamal chuckled from his seat by the window, sipping his joe. "That’s what, the fifth one to try this week? I’m starting to think we should make a betting pool out of this." Aaliya shook her head. "How ...