Scene: War Room — Same Scene, Seconds After the Declaration
Amara's POV
I was still processing the scale of the command when Chris leaned closer to the map again… his fingers dragging along the coastlines of Delvaron.
Then, almost casually—
almost—he said:
> "Can I join in the battlefield?"
I blinked.
Not out of surprise.
But out of calculation.
> "You're the King," I said carefully. "You don't ask to join war. You decide whether the throne itself moves."
He looked up at me. And for a split second, I saw something younger in his eyes—an echo of the man before the throne. The warrior. The storm.
> "I've been silent too long, Amara," he said. "They need to see me not just as a ruler in marble halls. They need to see me dripping in victory."
I stared at him. This wasn't hunger for blood.
It was hunger for relevance.
He continued.
> "Delvaron is strategic. It borders the Pacific Line. If we take it, we control 40% of the world's eastern trade channels. I won't sit on a golden seat while history is written without me."
> "And what happens to Blackwood if you fall?" I asked, sharp.
> "Then the world fears you," he said softly. "Because the woman they left behind destroyed everything."
We stood in silence. The war map pulsing softly. Territory outlines glowing in deep red. The air was thick with resolve.
I stepped closer, pressing my palm to his chest, feeling the steady thrum beneath.
> "Then you're not going as a king."
> "What am I going as?" he asked.
> "A myth," I whispered.
He grinned, that cold, sovereign grin.
> "Then prepare the world. The throne is marching."
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