"It's because…"
Claire waited. Waited patiently. Why. Why the conqueror of the Augustus line—the Empress of a great empire, the sovereign who once held half the continent beneath her heel—just… accepted loss and walked away from her throne.
Her jaw clenched, her breath steady but her chest tight. She knew there was something more than politics here, more than military logic.
Claire knew. Even though Eli had lost—lost devastatingly—after Atlas came to her… she had surrendered.
She had shown zero resistance.
She could have escaped. Merlin at her side, her empire behind her, she could have pulled away into the depths of the Augustus court. She could have rebuilt, reforged, reassembled her banners, her fleets, her legions.
She could have carved new battlefields out of the continent's heart.
And struck again.
Yes, the Berkimhum kingdom had Atlas. Yes, he was formidable. But how much could one man defend? How much could one legend stretch before breaking?
Not much. Not in theory.
