By morning, the throne room smelled of ink and steel. The scent of war planning. Of inevitability.
I sat beneath stained glass shaped like wings, but I felt no flight in me.
Just fire.
General Varreth presented the latest troop reports, his finger tracing the northern border like it was a wound we could simply stitch shut. "The enemy will breach within a week unless we thin the eastern lines."
I nodded, but my mind wasn't on maps. It was on Rael.
He hadn't said a word to me after staying the night. Silent as always, but I felt him watching. Like I was something he was sworn to protect but didn't know how to hold.
After the council dismissed, I walked the hallways alone—until I reached the inner courtyard. The training yard.
It was empty except for him.
Rael.
He moved through sword forms with the precision of someone born for violence. Every strike a question. Every breath an answer.
I stepped into the circle.
He stilled.
"You've been avoiding me," I said.
"I've been protecting you."
"From what?"
He met my gaze. "From me."
I stepped closer, holding his stare. "Then stop pretending I'm fragile."
That got him. A flicker of something dangerous passed through his expression.
"I want you to teach me," I said. "Not how to rule. Not how to smile through poison. I want to know how to fight."
He hesitated. "Why?"
"Because if I die on that throne, I want it to be my choice. Not theirs."
Silence stretched between us like a wire. Then he nodded once and tossed me a dagger.
I caught it—barely.
His voice was cool and precise. "Lesson one: A blade doesn't care who you are. Royalty or rat. It only cares where it lands."
He lunged.
Not to kill, but to test.
I blocked, poorly. My arm jolted with the impact.
Again.
Strike. Parry. Miss.
Again.
By the fourth exchange, my breath was ragged and my palms burned.
Still, I didn't stop.
Rael's eyes flickered with something unreadable—admiration, maybe. Or warning.
"Why do you want this so badly?" he asked.
I met his blade with mine and whispered, "Because I want to be remembered as more than just the girl who wore a crown. I want to be remembered as the woman who earned it."
He stilled.
Then lowered his weapon.
"Then remember this, Lazaria," he said, stepping closer—so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Every empire falls. But the ones that rise again are always led by women who learn to make war in the dark… and still choose love in the light."
And before I could ask what that meant, he stepped away.
Leaving me with shaking hands, a dagger in my grip… and a heart I wasn't sure I wanted to protect anymore.
They say silence is golden.
But tonight, it was heavy. Sharp. Carved in shadows.
I sat on the ledge of the highest balcony in the palace, wind pulling at the loose strands of my braid. Below, the city of Caeloreth shimmered like a sky turned upside down—floating lights mirroring the stars.
But all I could think about was the dagger still strapped to my thigh.
And Rael.
He hadn't spoken a word after our training session. Just handed me a cloth for the blood on my knuckles, nodded once, and disappeared into the dusk like a ghost with a secret.
I leaned forward into the air.
The empire stretched infinitely below me. Beautiful. Cruel. Mine.
And yet… I'd never felt so far from it.
"You're braver than I thought."
His voice again. From my mind, or from behind?
I turned.
Rael stood in the doorway, half in shadow. "You shouldn't sit there."
I smiled, thin and tired. "Afraid I'll fall?"
He stepped closer. "Afraid you'll jump."
I looked back at the city. "Sometimes, I wonder if falling would be easier than fighting."
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I?" I turned to him. "Every day I'm reminded I'm a symbol. Not a person. A name. A crown. A marriage contract. A thousand-year legacy they expect me to wear like armor." I placed my hand on my chest. "But in here, Rael… there is no armor."
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
Until he did.
"I was once told," he said, walking slowly toward me, "that the strongest blades are the ones that remember they were forged in fire… not born whole."
He stopped just beside me.
Close enough to see the faint scar at the base of his throat.
Close enough that I stopped breathing.
"Is that what you are, Rael? A blade?"
"No," he murmured. "I'm the hand that decides when not to use it."
I didn't realize I was trembling until he reached out—so gently—and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. His hand was calloused. Warm.
Real.
"Lazaria," he said, voice low. "Let them see your crown. But never forget your heart was always the more dangerous thing."
I swallowed. My voice barely rose above the wind. "And if they break it?"
His grip tightened. "Then I'll help you rebuild it. As many times as it takes."
And just like that… I knew.
This wasn't just politics.
Wasn't just protection.
This was something neither of us had dared to name.
Not yet.
But it lived in the silence between our heartbeats.
And it was growing louder.
There were places in the palace untouched by gold.
The Hall of Forgotten Blades was one of them.
No velvet banners. No glass windows. Just stone. Dust. Silence. A tomb of weapons once wielded by kings and queens who bled for their reigns. Not symbols—soldiers.
I walked through it alone. My footsteps echoed, but my thoughts were louder.
Rael hadn't spoken to me since the balcony.
But his touch still lingered on my skin like a phantom vow.
I stopped in front of an obsidian scythe mounted on the wall. The plaque read: Queen Elenith Noctis. Defender of the South. Died swordless.
I placed my fingers over the name. "She died fighting for a people who loved her too late."
"They always do."
I didn't flinch.
I knew that voice now like I knew my heartbeat.
Rael stood behind me, his arms crossed, no weapons today. Just him. Just shadow and certainty.
I didn't look at him. "You followed me."
"No," he said. "I waited for you to come here. You always do when you're about to make a choice that'll ruin you."
I finally turned. "Then you know what I'm about to do."
"I can guess." His eyes softened. "But I don't want to be right."
Silence pulsed between us again.
"I'm going to the border," I said. "Not as a ruler. As a soldier."
Rael stepped closer, his jaw tight. "Your death won't stop the war."
"I'm not planning to die."
"But you're planning to fight," he said quietly. "And if you do… if you get hurt—"
"I've already been hurt."
That stopped him.
I took a shaky breath.
"They broke my trust. My council lies to my face. The nobles smile while sharpening blades behind my back. I'm tired of smiling through it. If I have to earn their respect, then I'll do it the only way they seem to understand—on the front lines."
He stared at me like he was memorizing something he'd never say aloud.
"Then take this," he said after a moment.
He unclipped the black ring from his right hand—the one he never removed.
I blinked. "That's—"
"My oath ring," he said. "Given to me the day I swore my life to the Empire. To you."
I hesitated. "I don't want your loyalty if it costs you your life."
His voice was low, resolute. "Then take it as a promise: I'll always find you. No matter what field, what ruin, what battlefield."
I slipped the ring onto my finger.
It was heavy.
Not in weight.
In meaning.
"I'll wear it," I whispered. "Not because I need a symbol… but because I trust the hand that gave it to me."
Rael's gaze darkened, softening all at once.
He said nothing.
Just bowed once.
And I understood.
There are words too sacred for speech.
This was one of them.
The sky bled into lavender as I stood at the edge of the imperial hangar, where airships hummed low and restless like beasts sensing a storm.
I wore armor now.
Not ceremonial—real armor.
Black steel molded to my body, layered over a tunic stitched with the imperial crest. I felt its weight on my shoulders. On my ribs. Over my heartbeat.
But it was nothing compared to the weight of eyes watching me.
Rael stood to my right, stoic as ever, arms crossed over his chest. The rest of my guard waited beside the ship, trying not to stare.
They had never seen their Crowned Princess like this before.
Neither had I.
"I'm not going as royalty," I said, adjusting the leather straps on my chest plate. "I want that made clear."
Rael didn't look at me. "Then you'll fight like a soldier."
"I intend to."
He finally turned. "And if they don't listen to you?"
"Then I'll make them."
The corners of his mouth twitched—so faint I almost missed it.
Pride, maybe.
Or resignation.
"Lazaria," he said, his voice quieter now, "you don't have to prove your worth with blood."
I held his gaze. "I'm not doing this for worth. I'm doing this for them. For the farmers in the East who've already buried sons. For the children hiding beneath floorboards at the border. I'm doing this because the people need more than a throne—they need a shield."
Silence.
Then Rael exhaled like he'd been holding his breath since the night we met.
"I'll be your sword, then," he murmured.
I looked at him. Really looked.
At the man bred for violence, yet choosing restraint.
At the ghost with silver eyes who held more loyalty in his silence than any council member ever could in speech.
"No," I said, stepping closer. "Be more than that."
His eyes flickered.
"Be my equal."
For a moment, time stopped. No wind. No noise. Just that raw truth between us.
He nodded, once. "Then stand beside me. Not behind."
We boarded the ship without ceremony.
The soldiers bowed.
But I didn't feel like a princess.
I felt like a storm they'd been waiting for.
And as the engines roared and the floating city shrank beneath us, I pressed one hand over Rael's oath ring on my finger and whispered a promise to no one but myself:
If I survive this, I'll never rule the same way again.
I'll rule with blade and bone.
With heart and fury.
With him.
The borderlands did not welcome royalty.
They didn't rise with banners or songs. There were no garlands strewn across gates. Only smoke. Mud. The distant thud of cannon fire like a heartbeat gone wrong.
We landed at dusk.
Rael was the first to step off the airship, his hand at the ready, scanning the horizon like a hawk born of war. I followed with my cloak tucked behind my shoulders, my armor catching what little light the dying sky offered.
No one bowed.
They stared.
Like they couldn't believe I'd come.
A commander approached—General Isthan. His beard was dusted with ash and silver, his eyes ringed with sleepless nights. He didn't salute.
Instead, he said, "You're late."
"Didn't know war had a schedule," I answered.
The men around him stiffened.
But he only gave a dry, bitter laugh. "Spoken like someone who hasn't watched children dig graves."
I stepped closer. "I came to change that."
"You came to die," he muttered. "Or to parade yourself for the nobles."
"I came to fight."
His gaze swept over me. Then to Rael. "And you brought your shadow. Good. You'll need it."
"I brought more than him," I said. "I brought orders. Food convoys are being rerouted from the northern storehouses. And two battalions from the Floating Guard arrive in three days."
Isthan raised a brow. "You've already issued commands?"
"I am the crown," I said calmly. "And the crown doesn't wait."
Rael stepped forward. "Where are you posting her?"
Isthan blinked. "Her? She's not—"
"She's trained," Rael cut in, tone sharp. "She bested two of my men in under five minutes. She knows how to kill. But more importantly, she knows when not to."
Isthan looked at me again, this time with something colder than skepticism—respect, perhaps, dusted with caution.
"Very well," he muttered. "She stays in Sector Four. High risk. Low morale."
"Perfect," I said. "I'll remind them what hope looks like."
As we moved toward the tents, Rael walked silently beside me.
Only when the sun dipped behind the mountains did he finally speak.
"You didn't flinch when he dismissed you."
"I've been dismissed my entire life," I murmured. "But I didn't come to be seen, Rael. I came to matter."
And I would.
If it cost me blood, so be it.
If it cost me everything… I would still choose the same.
Because a crown is not power.
Not truly.
But a voice—a voice that echoes in the dark when no one else dares to speak.