Chapter 30; A new order

They came one by one.

Some knelt.

Some kissed her ring.

Some only bowed their heads—but none dared look her in the eye.

Not after what they'd seen.

The throne room, once echoing with whispers and tension, now stood in near-holy silence as Queen Annabelle sat, her posture regal, her expression unreadable. Her crown was gone. She didn't need it anymore.

**Power no longer needed symbols.**

It needed only her voice.

Zarek leaned beside her throne, lounging like the beautiful devil he was, a cruel smile pulling at his lips as each courtier offered loyalty they never meant to give her just weeks ago.

Cassian stood guard at her right, his blade sheathed, but his aura *lethal*. His devotion no longer subtle—it pulsed in the way he watched her, ready to obey the moment she whispered.

And behind her, **Noctis** stood like a dark monolith, silent but present, a shadow that made even the bravest lords *tremble* when they met his ageless gaze.

Malrik had taken his place lower, to the side—neither knight nor courtier nor prince anymore. He stood without speaking, head bowed, the symbol of *what happened to those who underestimated her.*

Annabelle finally raised her hand.

One gesture—and the room obeyed.

"I will no longer entertain games of territory," she said, her voice calm, but every syllable *wrapped in command*. "If you hold land in my name, you will kneel. If you hold armies, you will swear. If you have ever dreamed of *opposing* me…"

She smiled.

**"I dare you."**

A few looked away. One dropped to his knees without being asked.

She continued.

"There will be new seats in this court. One for the Blood Witches. One for the Southern Clans. One for the Wildborne. And none for traitors. I don't need loyalty through flattery."

Her gaze swept across the room, dark and divine.

"I only need *truth.*"

And then, in perfect silence, she turned her head slightly.

**"Zarek."**

He stepped forward like a storm uncoiling.

"Fetch the ones who sent word from the Crimson Isles," she said, leaning back into her throne. "Let them be the first to see what happens when you threaten a queen in the age of gods."

He bowed low, his eyes gleaming.

Cassian stepped closer, ready.

Noctis simply watched.

And Queen Annabelle, now fully in command of a court that once doubted her, whispered to herself:

**"Let them come."**

The court was still as the doors opened.

They entered draped in red silks, each step choreographed like a performance—five in total. A woman in front, tall, sharp as a blade in every movement. Two men behind her with gilded armor and crimson tattoos curling up their necks. A younger girl with silver bells in her braids. And at the back—

A warlock.

His aura was like ash and old fire, reeking of the Isle's cursed bloodlines.

They walked like they owned the floor.

But their eyes—

They didn't understand who *she* had become.

Queen Annabelle didn't rise.

She didn't need to.

She sat like divinity incarnate, legs crossed at the knee, the sheer black of her dress shimmering like spilled ink. One hand rested on the arm of her throne. The other trailed lazily over the fangs of a chained beast crouched beside her—an old vampire she'd broken days ago for treason.

Zarek stood at her left now, watching the delegation with predator calm.

Cassian beside him, arms crossed, gaze unmoving.

And Noctis… oh, he wasn't visible.

But they *felt* him.

Even the warlock's breath stuttered.

The tall woman stepped forward. "Queen Annabelle," she said, too bold. "The Crimson Isles offer peace—if your court stays out of the southern seas. The waters belong to—"

Annabelle raised one hand, and the woman stopped speaking mid-breath.

Not out of fear.

Because she literally couldn't speak. Her voice had vanished.

Annabelle tilted her head. "I didn't say you could speak."

The room inhaled sharply.

The chained beast growled.

Zarek smirked.

Cassian turned his head just slightly, ready to move.

The warlock dared to step forward—but flinched when Annabelle's eyes snapped to him. She hadn't moved her body. Only her gaze.

"You cursed my name in blood magic two nights ago," she whispered. "You burned my sigil. Did you think I wouldn't *feel* it?"

His knees gave out.

Just like that, he collapsed on the marble, coughing black smoke.

Annabelle rose—slowly.

Every motion deliberate. Feminine. Powerful. **Eternal.**

She stepped down from her throne, walked up to the woman who now stood frozen in humiliation, and leaned in close.

"You came to demand borders," Annabelle said, voice like silk and steel. "But now… you'll crawl back and *beg* to be allowed to exist."

She kissed the woman's cheek—slow, threatening.

Then she turned to the court.

"To rule is not to ask."

She snapped her fingers.

The guards moved.

The delegation was dragged out—not killed. Not yet.

They'd carry her message home.

**A goddess has risen. And she does not negotiate.**