The echo of my steps trailed behind me, rhythmic and sharp against stone, each one carved from pain I refused to feel.
The arena roared behind me. I didn't look back.
The gate slammed shut.
And still, they chanted my name.
The castle halls swallowed the last of the crowd's thunder. Stone and torchlight greeted me now—cool, muted, familiar. My blood left a small trail behind me as I walked, steady despite the bruises.
I pulled the blindfold off as I entered the upper chamber.
Dark blurs and pulsing threads of mana flooded my vision. Faces bled into outlines. Mana warped. But I saw enough.
The nobles were already assembled.
King Hadrian stood near the long table, flanked by three advisors. His crown was off, coat draped over one shoulder. Tired, but alert.
Ramon leaned against the far wall, quiet as always. His mana signature—strong and steady—was the only thing in the room that didn't waver.
The nobles turned when I entered.
Not with reverence.
With entitlement.
"You took liberties in the pit today," said a baron from the east. Smooth-voiced. Hands laced over his stomach like he was cradling his own smugness.
Another scoffed. "No performance. No theater."
I stood still.
Let them think they were clever.
Then the eldest among them spoke, voice calm, oily.
"You forget yourself, girl. We provide the coin that feeds your soldiers. The troops that guard these borders. The merchants that keep the city breathing."
He stepped closer, emboldened by his echoing agreement.
"If we decide to pull back—our forces, our funds, our favor—then this fragile little throne collapses under its own weight."
Another noble nodded. "We are the spine of this kingdom. And we will not be bullied by a blind brat with a title she hasn't earned."
I stepped forward.
One pace.
Two.
"You're right," I said. "I'm not Lincoln."
Then I turned my head toward the last speaker.
"And that's why you're still breathing."
Space rippled.
Mana snapped like a whip.
And the noble to his left—an oily merchant lord with a too-wide ring on every finger—vanished.
No flash. No drama.
Just a twist in the world where he had been.
A hollow implosion of reality.
Gasps followed—but no one screamed.
Not out of respect.
Out of shock.
I stepped into the middle of the chamber, blood still drying on my temple.
"If any of you dare threaten to pull your soldiers, your silver, or your loyalty," I said, voice sharp as broken glass, "then I will lock you in a cell."
Silence.
"You'll rot there until Lincoln returns. And when he does?" I paused.
"I'll make sure you explain yourselves to him."
No one spoke.
Even the baron's breath hitched.
I turned to the king.
"Is that acceptable, Your Majesty?"
King Hadrian's mana didn't move.
But a slow, i could feel a quiet smile touched the edge of his mouth by the way his mana changed.
"Perfectly," he said.
Ramon let out a soft laugh. "I told you she'd put on a show."
I turned and walked from the room.
No salute.
No bow.
They didn't deserve one.
Later, in the healer's wing…
The pain was a dull throb now—my ribs wrapped tight, my shoulder settled back into place. The healer dabbed blood from my brow.
"You should rest," she said softly.
"I will."
The door creaked open.
Ramon stepped in.
"So… jail threats. And you…erased someone. That's how you play politics now?"
I tilted my head.
"They needed a leash."
He chuckled. "You are a leash."
"Just until Lincoln returns."
He leaned against the wall, studying me with familiar affection and wariness.
"You're not just holding the line, Annabel," he said. "You're becoming something else."
I didn't answer right away.
Then: "Good."