CHAPTER 26: The Second Crown

"What?" I asked, blinking in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Starlion didn't slow his pace, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor.

"This has never happened before," he said calmly. "But the power Lord Draven has granted you… is second only to his. There is no place in Persia you cannot enter. No door that will remain shut to you."

I froze for a moment.

Was I really the only one who didn't know this?

"Wait… with that kind of power, what if I gathered an army and started a rebellion or something?" I asked, my voice low, trying to understand why Draven would give someone like me—someone he barely knew—so much power and freedom.

Starlion didn't even flinch.

"He gave you that power because you pose no threat to him," he said simply. "And neither does the entirety of Persia."

I frowned. "But what if I join hands with…"

He cut me off immediately.

"Let me put it this way, Lady Majesty—" He turned to face me, his azure eyes glowing faintly beneath the light of the torches. "—The world itself is no threat to Lucius B. Draven."

He said it with such unshakable confidence, as if it were a fact written into the bones of the earth itself. The way he spoke, the weight behind his words—it silenced any argument I had.

I looked away, feeling a strange chill run down my spine.

He wasn't just being dramatic.

He meant it.

And somehow, he made me believe it too.

"We're here," Starlion said as we stopped before the massive gates leading into the throne room.

I took a deep breath.

Persia… it was nothing like Runevale. It was nearly twice the size of my homeland, boasting the largest population across the known kingdoms. From what I had gathered, they had over a hundred thousand elite warriors—trained, disciplined, and loyal. Just the thought alone sent chills down my spine. This wasn't just a kingdom—it was a fortress.

Two guards flanking the entrance stepped forward.

"Announcing the arrival of Lady Majesty, the guest of His Majesty the King," one of them declared loudly.

With that, the towering gates creaked open, revealing the grandeur within.

I stepped through, my eyes widening as I took in the sight.

The throne room was enormous—tall pillars lined with silver and obsidian stretched towards the ceiling like the spines of ancient beasts. Crystal chandeliers dangled from above, casting a soft glow across the polished marble floor. Hundreds of nobles filled the sides of the room, dressed in elegant robes and cloaks, each one seemingly trying to outshine the other. The air smelled faintly of exotic incense and something sweet, like lavender mixed with firewood.

But what caught my attention most was the throne.

At the far end of the hall, raised upon a few steps, sat a throne made of platinum. It wasn't overly ornate—no unnecessary carvings or gems—just sleek, regal metal shaped into something that demanded both respect and silence. It was cold and beautiful… just like the man who sat upon it.

Draven.

His gaze was fixed on me from the moment I walked in. Calm. Unreadable. Almost as if he'd been waiting for me all along.

All around me, the nobles murmured amongst themselves in hushed voices.

"Wow… she's so beautiful. I thought she was going to be just another concubine, but she looks to be on another level," someone whispered.

"I heard she's the sister of the Queen of Runevale," another added, their voice laced with curiosity.

"That cold-hearted witch had a sister? I heard she ate her own child…"

"You mean the queen rumored to be the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth? I heard she's every man's dream. How I wish I could get a glimpse of her beauty."

Their words flowed like whispers through a storm—barely audible, but sharp enough to sting.

I kept walking, holding my head high. I wasn't here to answer their questions. I wasn't here to explain myself. Still, my heart beat a little faster with every step. Eyes were everywhere, watching, judging… wondering why someone like me stood at the center of Persia's throne room.

Starlion guided me toward the front of the grand throne room, his presence clearing the path like a blade through fog. At the far end of the hall, just beneath the looming throne, was a seat unlike any other. Polished obsidian, laced with golden patterns that shimmered like fire under the torchlight—it stood slightly lower than the king's throne, yet still above every other seat in the room.

"This is your place, Lady Majesty," Starlion said, his voice steady.

I blinked at him. "Mine?"

He nodded once. There was no hesitation.

Draven had never married, never built a royal family. He hated the idea of being tied down by bloodlines and traditions. That empty space beside the throne had remained untouched for years. And now, without any warning or explanation, it was being offered to me.

This was the third most authoritative seat in Persia—only below the throne and the one meant for a queen. But with no queen in the picture, this made me the second most powerful figure in the entire empire.

I barely understood my own place here, and yet....here I was, handed power I hadn't earned, seated at a position nobles would kill for.

Starlion gestured again, and I sat.

Whispers rippled through the hall like a sudden gust of wind. Nobles exchanged stunned glances. Some looked offended. Others were fuming.

An outsider had just taken the seat they had all dreamed of. And to make it worse, Starlion—Draven's right hand—was standing right beside me. It meant no one could speak against me-or even dare to lift a finger.

But not everyone held their tongue.

"What is the meaning of this, Lord Draven?" a voice rang out across the chamber.

I looked to see an older man rising from his seat. He had a bald head and wore heavy robes adorned with golden trim. His face was lined with years of power and pride.

"How could you give such authority to someone—worse, to a girl—without any introduction, without a word of discussion?" His voice thundered across the room, filled with outrage.

Several other nobles nodded, echoing his anger. It wasn't just a few people. Nearly everyone in the room was furious.

But Draven didn't even flinch.

He leaned to one side of the throne, resting his cheek on his palm, his face expressionless. Then, in a tone as flat as a whisper yet sharp enough to cut glass, he spoke:

"Since when do I need your permission to do anything, Marcus?"

The entire room fell into stunned silence.

The man—Marcus—who had been so loud just moments ago, suddenly stiffened. The color drained from his face, and the fury in his eyes turned to fear. He recalled how Draven had seized the throne-by wiping out the entire royal bloodline. He had brought down their entire military army all by himself. He was the man who made himself King.

I looked at Draven, but he didn't look back at me. He didn't need to.

The atmosphere in the throne room shifted. There was no democracy here. No council of equals. His word was law.

And it hit me then… the sheer difference between him and everyone else in the room. The weight he carried. It reminded me so much of my mother. That same cold dominance. That same silent demand for obedience.

Maybe all powerful people were like this.

Frowns turned to silence.

And silence… turned to fear.

"I've called this meeting to inform you of some changes I've made," Draven said, his deep voice echoing through the grand throne room. The tall marble columns and gold-trimmed walls added an extra layer of weight to his words.

"Lady Majesty," he said pointing at me.

"She is now the Second Crown of Persia.

From this moment forth, Lady Majesty will be treated with the highest respect."

Murmurs spread across the room like a wave. Some of the nobles shifted in their seats, clearly uneasy with the sudden announcement. A few exchanged glances, frowning. You didn't need to be an expert in politics to know they weren't pleased.

Marcus, who stood among the front rows, gave a loud "Tch," before sinking back into his seat, crossing his arms. He didn't even bother to hide his irritation.

I sat, silently watching all of them. Their discomfort was so obvious it almost made me feel awkward. Almost.

Draven, unfazed, turned to leave. His long dark cloak trailed behind him like a shadow that refused to let go. But just as he reached the center of the room, he stopped. The silence hit harder than a thunderclap.

Slowly, he turned back to face the crowd, his eyes scanning the room with an eerie calm.

"One more thing," he said, his voice lower this time but even more intense. "Any act of disrespect towards Lady Majesty… will be treated as disrespect toward Lucius B. Draven himself."

The room went still. You could hear the sound of someone swallowing. No one dared speak.

And with that, he turned and walked out without another word, leaving behind a room full of stunned nobles who now looked at me as if I'd grown wings—or fangs.