Chapter 490: Shadows of the Throne

Amal's POV

The palace was alive with whispers.

Servants hurried through the halls, their steps lighter than usual, their voices barely above murmurs. Ministers moved cautiously, eyes shifting between Classic and Christiana, waiting—no, anticipating—the next power move.

Tension had settled like a storm waiting to break.

I had seen power struggles before. I had been raised in a world where strategy was as valuable as loyalty, where rulers smiled while holding daggers behind their backs.

But this?

This was different.

This was war between family.

I stood at the balcony overlooking the main courtyard, watching as soldiers reorganized under Classic's orders. Ethan had already begun carrying them out—funding had been severed, military movements had shifted, and Classic's rule was being asserted in ways that left no room for doubt.

He wasn't backing down.

Neither was Christiana.

I had seen the way she had smirked when Classic reinforced his authority. The way her fingers had drummed against her glass, already calculating her next move.

And Chris?

He watched. Always watching. Always testing.

I turned as the heavy doors to the council chamber opened, and Classic stepped out. His shoulders were squared, his expression unreadable—but I could see the tension in his posture. The weight of the throne settling on him.

"How much longer will this go on?" I asked.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair before stepping beside me at the balcony.

"As long as it takes," he said.

I studied him. "You realize she won't stop."

"Neither will I."

His voice was steady, but I knew him too well. I could see the battle behind his eyes—not just against Christiana, but within himself.

He had been raised to inherit power. Trained to rule. But proving it? That was something entirely different.

"Classic," I said carefully, "Chris is watching all of this. And he's not choosing a side."

Classic let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it.

"He never does. He just waits to see who wins."

That was the truth of it.

Chris could have overruled Christiana. He could have ensured Classic's decisions stood without challenge.

But he hadn't.

Because this was a test.

And it wasn't just about ruling—it was about power.

Who could hold it.

Who could keep it.

And who would be left standing when the game was over.

I reached out, placing a hand on Classic's arm.

"Then win."

His jaw tightened.

"I intend to."