Title: “The Crown That Doesn’t Tremble”

Scene: Blackwood Palace – War Room Below the Throne Hall

POV: General Soren Vask

It was well past midnight.

But the war room buzzed like midday.

Screens flickered with updates: international movements, military deployments, B.A.M. readiness reports, press hysteria, and unfiltered chatter from underground resistance threads daring to ask one forbidden question:

"Where is the King?"

I stood by the strategic interface, arms crossed, listening to multiple officers talk over themselves. None of them were saying anything I didn't already know.

Then the doors opened.

And every sound in the room died instantly.

Amara Blackwood had arrived.

She didn't wear the ceremonial robes tonight—no crown, no medals, no jewels. Just black. Sharp. Streamlined. Efficient. Like a dagger disguised as a woman.

She looked exhausted.

But not weak.

Never weak.

> "Leave," she said simply.

Everyone in the room looked at each other—half confused, half afraid.

> "Did I stutter?"

They scrambled out.

Except me.

She didn't tell me to leave.

She never did.

When the door finally sealed behind the last officer, she walked past me—straight to the table. Her hands braced on either side of the map display. Eyes locked on nothing.

But her mind was moving fast.

I waited.

She spoke.

> "The border states are whispering again. If they think Blackwood is without a spine, they'll test us."

> "Yes, ma'am," I replied.

> "How long can we keep Chris's condition contained?"

> "With the B.A.M. controlling outer intel and BBN limiting internal leaks—maybe another 72 hours. After that…"

> "They'll smell blood."

She nodded, slow and steady.

Then she finally looked at me.

Eyes sharp. But… something cracked beneath them.

> "Do I look shaken to you?"

I didn't answer right away.

Because even the truth has consequences in Blackwood.

But I spoke plainly.

> "You don't look shaken. You look alone."

She smiled—thin, cold, tired.

> "That's worse, isn't it?"

I stepped forward.

> "He's not dead."

> "Not yet," she murmured. "But neither is he ruling. And every second he stays under, more vultures circle."

She turned to face me fully.

> "So here's what we do, Soren."

> "Yes, Your Majesty."

> "I will hold the crown in one hand and the sword in the other. I will speak softly to the people and roar in every council chamber. We give them a Queen to fear."

I nodded once.

> "And the throne?"

She stared toward the far wall where a framed sigil of the Blackwood crest hung in dim light.

> "The throne stays untouched. That's still his seat. Until he comes back—or until I burn the world trying to wake him."

---

I looked at her and, for the first time in years, I felt it:

That same unshakeable loyalty I gave to Chris?

It now belonged to her, too.

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