Amara stood by the tall windows of the Blackwood Castle, her hands resting against the cool marble frame. The chamber was quiet except for the faint crackle of the fire. The silence didn't calm her; it only made her heart pound harder.
Reports had been flowing in since dawn. Darnova's tower. The parade. The president's arrogance. And then—her husband's reveal.
Her chest tightened as the last message replayed in her mind:
"The God of Blackwood has unmasked himself. The hall is under his command. The president is on his knees."
She pressed her lips together, fighting the storm inside her. Pride and fear clashed like fire and ice in her chest.
"He didn't tell me…" she whispered. Her fingers curled into fists. "He went there disguised as a guard, and now the entire world knows he played their leader like a child's game."
Her maid entered quietly, bowing. "My Queen… shall I prepare the chamber for rest? You've been standing here for hours."
Amara turned slowly, her eyes sharp. "No. I won't rest. Not while my husband is rewriting the map of the world with his own hands."
She moved to the throne room, the echo of her heels filling the vast halls. Soldiers snapped to attention as she passed, but she hardly noticed. Her thoughts were only on him.
At the throne, she sat and exhaled deeply. "Chris… you take risks even gods should not take. You carry the empire in your palm, yet you hide your moves from even me."
Her gaze hardened.
"If you don't return safe, I'll burn down every nation until I find you."
She leaned back, fingers brushing the armrest carved with the Blackwood crest. Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost a vow:
"They will learn—Amara Blackwood does not wait in silence. She rules beside her king."
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