Amara's POV
I didn't knock.
I stormed through the grand double doors like the woman I've become—not the girl who once smiled beside a king. The guards on either side didn't move. They knew better. The room was colder than usual—he had lowered the temperature again, a subtle game of power. But I wasn't here to play.
Chris sat on the obsidian throne that shouldn't exist in a private chamber. Back straight. Crown still resting crookedly on his head like some careless afterthought. But I saw through him. He wasn't careless. He was calculating.
"You summoned me," I said, voice sharper than a blade.
His eyes lifted slowly, as if I were merely an interruption—not his wife.
Not the woman who bled for this empire beside him.
"Shut the doors," he said to no one in particular.
They creaked closed behind me.
I stood my ground. My fists clenched at my sides.
"You let my soldiers point guns at me," he said softly, too softly. "And I gave you my trust."
I laughed, a low, dangerous laugh. "You vanished for weeks, Chris. Weeks. No letter. No word. You let the empire starve for your presence, and you expect obedience to a ghost?"
He didn't flinch.
"I built order in your silence. Held a gathering to unify. Protected your throne while you disappeared like a coward. And when you returned, you punished the empire for surviving without you."
"You're emotional," he said, rising to his feet. "That's dangerous."
I stepped closer.
"No. What's dangerous is marrying a king who thinks silence is strength, while his empire burns."
He stepped off the throne platform. We were face-to-face now. Inches apart. Breaths shallow. Hearts... louder than words.
"Do you know what the vote told me?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
"That they feared you... but they didn't love you."
"Good," I spat. "Love is for the weak."
His jaw tightened.
"I protected your name. I executed traitors. I stood trial in front of the world while you played peasant. Don't ever question my loyalty again."
"Then why," he said, voice now rising, "did you let them raise their weapons at me?"
"Because maybe I wanted to see who flinched first."
A pause. Long. Electric.
"You've changed," he said, almost... impressed?
"I had to," I replied. "You left me the crown, but no map."
He walked around me now, slow. Circling. Watching.
"And if I strip you of the crown today?" he asked coldly.
I turned.
"I'll wear it in exile. And build my own empire if I must."
He stopped.
Then... a smirk.
Dark. Mysterious. Familiar.
"I don't want war with you, Amara," he said. "I want to know if you're still mine."
I took a breath.
Looked him in the eye.
Then stepped close.
"I was never yours," I whispered. "I was the Empire's. You just didn't see it."
He stood there.
Still.
Silent.
Broken?
Or calculating again?
Whatever came next—I was ready.
Because I wasn't walking out of that room a queen…
I was walking out a weapon.
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