Buckingham Palace, London. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the centuries-old stained glass, dancing across the high marble walls of the grand royal dining room. The scent of aged wine, spiced duck, and roasted vegetables floated amidst the stillness. The room was immense yet held only three women—three generations of royalty seated in regal silence, forks delicately in hand, knives gliding smoothly against porcelain plates.
Queen Charlotte Victoria III, poised and serene, chewed slowly, her sapphire eyes trained on the white embroidered tablecloth. To her right sat her sister, Tristana Rourke, her expression calm but thoughtful, lips pressed as if holding back a hundred words. At the head of the table, casting a long shadow over both, sat their mother—Charlotte Victoria II, the former Queen of England, a legend in her own right, a woman of discipline, steel, and command.
The silence was long, ceremonial almost. It wasn't awkward. It was heavy, as though every woman in the room knew something inevitable approached. It was Queen Mother Charlotte who finally broke it.
"It's been too long." Her voice, once soft in her younger years, still carried its firm, authoritative timbre.
Charlotte Victoria III looked up, blinking once. Tristana glanced between the two, her fingers stilling on the silver.
"This cannot wait." The Former Queen set her wine glass down with a soft but resolute clink. "Your father is waiting for his grandson."
Queen Charlotte shifted slightly. "Mother, it will take time. The relationship between Risa and Ray is—strained. Complicated."
"That is not a reason," Victoria II said, her tone cool but cutting. "That is an excuse. He is her son. Your nephew. The blood of England runs through him whether he wants it or not."
Tristana interjected, her voice soft but firm. "Give it a little more time, Mother. Risa is trying. Ray… he's been through more than you know. More than anyone should."
The Queen Mother gave her youngest a sidelong look. Not unkind, but sharp.
"Time," she echoed, almost to herself. Her fingers tapped the golden rim of her wine glass. A minute passed in silence again, broken only by the clink of cutlery.
Then Victoria II sat straighter, folding her hands. Her eyes, pale blue and calculating, fixed on the great window looking east.
"Then I shall go myself."
Both Charlotte and Tristana looked up in unison, stunned.
"What?" Charlotte whispered, as though the air had been sucked from her lungs.
"You heard me," Victoria II said. "If Risa cannot bring him into the fold, then I shall. I've waited long enough. And your father's patience is at its end."
Charlotte placed her fork down with deliberate care. "Mother, you haven't left the country in over a decade. Since you stepped down."
"And yet the bloodline is in disarray," the Queen Mother countered, her voice growing colder. "The future of this monarchy lies not only in tradition but in our very flesh. Ray is mine. I refuse to let the Japanese ruin him."
"Mother," Tristana said, her voice tense. "It's not as simple as claiming him. He has ties, people he cares about. He is... dangerous. Not to us, but to those who try to control him. You know what he's become."
"We've been lucky, Ray, our family, did our best and he's on our side." Tristana added.
"I do." Victoria II's eyes glinted. "And that is why he must come back. Power that wild cannot remain in unstable hands. He is a king among wolves, and I will not allow him to be devoured by mongrels."
Charlotte opened her mouth, but her mother raised a hand.
"No more discussion."
The authority in her voice was final. Not even the current Queen dared to defy it.
"I leave tomorrow," Victoria II said. "I'll take the Sovereign Jet. And Charlotte…" she turned her gaze to her youngest daughter,
"I will need your Queenswomen."
Charlotte stiffened. "All of them?"
"Three. I want Serpent, Nighthawk, and Viper. Hera, Valkyrie, and Rakshesha remains here in case of emergencies."
"Mother," Tristana said, her voice now worried. "You know what will happen if you stepped out of our domain."
"You're in grave danger if the Matriarch finds out you're out of England." Tristana added.
The Queen Mother smiled coldly.
"Let them come. Let them try. If they want a fight, I shall bring fire."
Charlotte and Tristana exchanged glances. There was nothing more to say. The decision had been made. The former Queen, the woman whose iron grip had once commanded an empire, was returning to the field.
Outside, the winds howled softly against the stained glass. Inside, the storm had already begun.