Chapter 5: The Aftermath

The grand dining hall of Château de Lumière, once a symbol of power and opulence, now stood as a silent witness to tragedy. The flickering light of the chandeliers cast long shadows across the room, turning the polished mahogany table into a dark mirror that reflected the horror of what had transpired.

Lord Edmond lay slumped across the table, his orange jacket now stained a deep crimson. The fork, that simple instrument of dining turned deadly weapon, protruded from his neck at an odd angle. His eyes, once filled with fury and indignation, now stared blankly at the vaulted ceiling above.

Vivienne stood motionless, her violet dress a stark contrast to the spreading pool of red. Her hand, still outstretched, trembled slightly. The perfect poise she had maintained throughout their confrontation had shattered, leaving behind a young woman who looked lost, vulnerable, and terribly, terribly alone.

The attendants, those silent observers who had borne witness to the escalating conflict between father and daughter, remained frozen in place. Their training had not prepared them for this. How could it have? In all the long and storied history of their kingdom, never had there been a night like this.

Slowly, as if waking from a trance, Vivienne lowered her hand. She took a single, shaky step backward, her eyes never leaving her father's lifeless form. "I…" she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean…"

But the words trailed off, lost in the vastness of the room and the enormity of what had occurred. What could she say? What words could possibly encompass the tumult of emotions that raged within her? Grief, shock, horror—yes, all of these. But underneath, buried deep but undeniably present, was a flicker of something else. Relief? Triumph? The thought made her stomach churn.

One of the attendants, an older man who had served the royal family for decades, was the first to break from his stupor. With slow, careful movements, he approached Vivienne. "My lady," he said softly, his voice gentle as if speaking to a frightened animal. "We must… we must act quickly. The guards will have heard the commotion."

His words seemed to jolt Vivienne back to the present. She blinked, then nodded, a semblance of her earlier composure returning. "Yes," she said, her voice stronger now. "Yes, of course. We must… we must secure the castle. Send word to our allies. The transition must be smooth, or all will be lost."

She turned to face the assembled attendants, her violet eyes blazing with an intensity that made several of them step back. "What happened here tonight," she said, her voice low but carrying clearly through the silent room, "was a tragedy. A terrible, unforgivable tragedy. But it cannot—it must not—be in vain."

Vivienne straightened, squaring her shoulders. In that moment, despite the blood on her hands and the wild look in her eyes, she looked every inch a queen. "My father's vision for our kingdom was one of stagnation, of clinging to outdated traditions at the cost of our people's wellbeing. That ends now."

She began to issue orders, her words clipped and precise. Guards were to be posted at key points throughout the castle. Messengers were to be sent to trusted nobles and military leaders. The news of Lord Edmond's "tragic accident" was to be carefully controlled, the narrative shaped to minimize unrest.

As the attendants scurried to obey, Vivienne allowed herself one last look at her father's body. For a moment, she saw not the stern, unyielding man he had become, but the father she remembered from her childhood. The man who had taught her to ride, who had read her stories of great kings and queens of old. The man who, in his own misguided way, had truly believed he was doing what was best for their people.

A single tear slid down her cheek, quickly wiped away. There would be time for grief later. For now, there was work to be done.

As the first rays of dawn began to peek through the high windows of the dining hall, Vivienne stood alone at the head of the table. The body had been removed, the blood cleaned away. To an outside observer, it might have seemed that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred here.

But Vivienne knew better. The world had shifted on its axis this night. The old order had crumbled, washed away in a tide of blood and broken trust. What would rise in its place remained to be seen.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, they were clear and focused. The time for doubt, for second-guessing, was over. She was the Violet Princess no longer. From this day forward, she would be Queen Vivienne, first of her name. And she would remake this kingdom in her image, no matter the cost.

As she strode from the dining hall, her violet dress billowing behind her like a battle standard, Vivienne allowed herself a small, grim smile. The game of thrones was never meant to be played gently. Her father had taught her that, if nothing else.

And she intended to play to win.