Chapter 11:The King's Judgment

The halls of Aurelia's Grand Palace were colder than Amara expected. Unlike the warm, golden splendor of Khaliri, the towering marble columns and intricate frescoes of Aurelia's court felt distant—grand yet unwelcoming. It was a kingdom built for power, not comfort.

At her side, Prince Zayid strolled with his usual air of arrogance, his dark eyes lazily scanning the lavish corridors. But he wasn't admiring the architecture. His gaze lingered on the Aurelian women—the noble ladies and courtiers who curtsied as they passed. Some whispered behind their jeweled fans, others giggled, stealing intrigued glances at the infamous Khaliri prince.

Amara sighed, rolling her eyes. "Try to behave."

Zayid smirked. "I am behaving. I'm merely appreciating Aurelia's... artistic beauty."

Before she could reprimand him, the towering doors of the Royal Council Chamber were pushed open. Inside, at the head of a long, polished table, sat King Alistair Aurelius.

His presence was as commanding as ever—golden hair neatly combed back, sharp blue eyes filled with thinly veiled contempt. His royal robes, embroidered with the sigil of Aurelia—a silver eagle against a crimson backdrop—only emphasized his authority.

Amara stepped forward first, her posture poised and unwavering. Unlike the noblewomen of Aurelia who bowed at his feet, she only inclined her head—a gesture of respect, not submission.

Zayid, however, did not bow at all. He casually took a seat without permission, stretching an arm over the chair beside him. A deliberate act of disrespect.

The tension in the room thickened.

King Alistair's gaze flicked between them before settling on Amara. "So this is the woman my son wishes to disgrace our bloodline for."

Zayid raised an eyebrow. "We just got here, and you're already throwing insults? No wonder Cassius doesn't like you."

Amara shot him a warning look, but it was too late. The king's glare sharpened.

"I did not summon you, Prince Zayid," Alistair said coldly. "Your presence here is irrelevant."

Zayid placed a hand on his chest mockingly. "Oh? And here I thought I was the entertainment."

Amara exhaled, shifting the attention back to herself. "You wished to speak with me, Your Majesty."

The king studied her in silence, his sharp gaze assessing every inch of her—her posture, her confidence, the way she did not lower her eyes like the noblewomen of his court. She was different.

Finally, he leaned back. "Tell me, Princess Amara. What spell have you cast upon my son?"

She did not flinch. "No spell, Your Majesty. If Cassius has chosen me, it is because he sees my worth."

The king scoffed. "Worth? A foreign princess with no ties to my people? What could you possibly offer Aurelia?"

Amara tilted her head slightly, her hazel eyes gleaming. "The real question is, what can Aurelia offer me?"

Silence.

Zayid choked on a laugh.

Even the royal guards shifted uncomfortably.

For the first time in years, King Alistair was speechless.

Cassius had been right—this woman was different. She did not plead, she did not beg for approval. She stood as an equal, challenging his authority without fear.

Alistair's expression darkened. "You are bold. But boldness does not make a queen."

Amara's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Neither does fear."

Their gazes clashed—a silent battle of dominance, of power.

But for the first time in his life, King Alistair saw a woman who did not shrink beneath his rule.

And it infuriated him.