Chapter Twenty-A Throne Shared

The emperor sat tall upon his throne, draped in regal composure, though his fingers tapped impatiently against the armrest. At his right stood Lord Gabriel Flynn, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his posture sharp as ever. The members of the imperial council fidgeted and whispered amongst themselves, their confusion growing with each passing minute.

"Your Majesty," Gabriel murmured as he leaned slightly closer, "this meeting ought to have commenced. The council grows restless."

Xander didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed on the great oak doors at the far end of the chamber.

"She said she would come," he muttered beneath his breath. "I'm waiting for her."

Gabriel's jaw clenched with barely veiled irritation. "Not this again. Your Highness, I fear the lady is toying with your affections. She will not come. That much, I am sure of."

Xander turned to him at last, a retort poised on his lips when the doors creaked open with a solemn groan. Every head turned. And then she stepped in.

Lady Lola Cavendish.

She entered the throne room in a gown of silken navy and silver embroidery, the fabric gliding across the marble floor like water. Her hair was pinned with delicate jewels that caught the light as if the stars themselves had descended upon her. The emperor released a slow, stunned breath. His heartbeat betrayed him.

"I knew she would come," he murmured.

Even Gabriel found himself momentarily speechless. "Well," he whispered to himself, "she does know how to make an entrance."

Lola paused only a moment before addressing the room. "Gentlemen, forgive my tardiness. It was not by design." Her voice held its usual grace, though her spine remained straight, chin lifted, unbothered by the dozen stares cutting into her.

She bowed respectfully before the emperor and took her place beside one of the dukes. The room stirred with murmurs.

"Your Majesty," one baron spoke up, his voice clipped with indignation, "with all due respect, I fail to see why a maiden has been permitted entry to this most official gathering."

Gabriel folded his arms, arching a brow in amusement. This, he thought, ought to be good.

"Lola," Xander said, his voice firm but fond, "come forward."

She hesitated.

"Come sit beside me," he added, patting the empty chair next to his throne.

Gasps echoed through the chamber. The dukes and earls stiffened visibly.

"That seat is reserved for the next queen," one of them protested.

"Preposterous," muttered another. "It is an affront to tradition."

But Xander heard none of it. Or rather, he chose not to.

"I am still waiting, Lady Cavendish," he said without looking away from her.

Lola's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she considered refusing. There were too many eyes, too many expectations, and too many consequences she could not yet name. But the emperor's gaze held her captive. Steady. Reassuring.

With a deep breath, she lowered her head. "As Your Majesty wishes," she said softly, ascending the dais with quiet steps.

When she reached the throne, he extended his hand to her. And when she sat beside him, poised and regal despite the chaos rippling through the room, he made the declaration that would change everything.

"Lady Cavendish shall serve as acting queen of the realm," Xander said.

A deafening silence fell.

"I trust this is no surprise to any of you," he continued. "I do not require your approval, only your obedience. As I have spoken, so shall it be."

Lola blinked. She felt her pulse quicken as the full weight of his words settled around her shoulders like a crown made of whispers. He hadn't warned her. He hadn't asked.

And yet… he had chosen her.

Gabriel's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The council members exchanged anxious glances, but none dared speak again.

Xander turned to her briefly, and his smile, so brief and boyish, stirred something deep inside her.

"Shall we begin?" he asked the room.

The council begrudgingly nodded.

But behind them, hidden in the shadows of the grand pillars, a figure watched in silence, his face obscured, his expression unreadable.

His hands, however, were clenched into fists.