Today was going to be different; any other day nothing would have made no difference, but today definitely was.
Ever since Ragaleon had made her a member of the council, it had been the same pattern.
Going to the council meeting, fighting the will not to feel inferior among a bunch of men who carried themselves like some kind of demigod.
But she had other things planned for today.
When her handmaid, Rosa, had come to summon her, Racheal was already dressed and ready to attend the council meeting.
Although she was not herself.
She was like a hollow vessel emptied by grief and loss, constantly reminded of the sacrifices she had made just to feel a fleeting sense of safety.
And now, as she walked toward the courtroom with the unwavering resolve of a hardened warrior, she didn't care any less about what those men had installed for her today.
She moved like the princesses of Samaria, like the queen of Decreash, like the ruler she truly was, born to command, to endure, and to face whatever awaited her with unshakable strength.
But the truth was harsher than her outward composure. The only real power she possessed resided in the scroll she held tightly in her hand.
That scroll, fragile yet weighty, carried her fate, inked with her very own hand. Every decision, every promise, every strand of her destiny was bound within it. The knowledge it contained made her formidable.
When the doors to the courtroom swung open, they were all there—seated in their positions just as she had envisioned in her mind.
Racheal stepped in, each of her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, a rhythm like a drum announcing her arrival.
Her hair bounced with each step, her presence moving forward like an unstoppable force.
Her gaze remained fixed straight ahead, unflinching, as the gown she wore trailed elegantly behind her, a dark river marking her path.
Her face was hardened, shaped to command respect and even fear.
At her entrance, every member of the court rose to their feet, a silent acknowledgment of her presence and power. She moved to the head of the long, polished table, letting authority settle over the room like a tangible force.
"Sit," she commanded, her voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge that brooked no defiance.
As they obeyed, she allowed her gaze to travel deliberately from face to face, reading each expression.
"I have no intention of trading words."
She started, her voice booming across the room, filling every corner with a controlled authority.
Her hand swept casually across the table as she emphasized her point, fingers brushing the polished wood.
"I only wish to offer an olive branch," she continued, letting her shoulders relax slightly, one hand rising to gesture toward the gathered officials.
"To extend my intention of unity among the realms.
We must learn to live as one, to let purpose guide every step we take."
She paused, then placed the scroll in her hand on the table, letting every curious gaze linger on it.
"It was the king's wish that the Hand should rule in his stead. Yet he also desired that his bloodline inherit his throne. To ensure this, he had written a proclamation of his wishes, signing it with his own hand."
Brandon, seated with his legs lazily crossed, shot her a suspicious glare.
In response, he received only a soft, steady gaze. Today, she had not come to assert sovereignty or diminish anyone.
She had come in peace.
Rising from his chair, he reached out, took the scroll, and unfolded it before everyone, reading its contents aloud.
Racheal arched her back in a feline posture, her brown curls framing her face, giving her an almost celestial glow.
Bradon had barely finished reading when he was forced to pause.
It was as though his eyes were betraying him.
"Why have you stopped?" Josiah asked, a grin spreading across his face as he savored the unfolding drama.
"Continue. We would all like to hear the full contents," Drigo said, already feeling the air thicken with tension.
Brandon dropped the scroll, his lips pressing into a thin line as he struggled with the bitter anguish coursing through him.
"I shall not continue. This… makes no sense."
He spoke with finality, casting Racheal a fleeting, uncertain glance. At that moment, he didn't know what to say or what to do.
This was the same woman he had challenged countless times.
And now, in that very scroll, it was written that her unborn child would inherit the throne should Ragaleon die.
The very fate of the realm was growing within her, making her indomitable and unlike any ever to be reckoned with.
Priest Tailbon, the eldest of the members and among the wisest, clicked his tongue and then leaned back fully in his chair, his wrinkled fingers stroking his white beard.
"Even though what we have just heard makes little sense. I would argue that everyone has no choice but to comply."
Racheal nodded curtly at his words, then returned her gaze to Brandon.
He remained composed, saying nothing about what had just transpired.
For now, she was in the clear.
"I will see to it that the realm is protected, and under my wings, the child in my womb will grow to be just like her father."
She rose to her feet, her voice wavering a bit.
"Her?" Brandon arched an eyebrow.
"The baby is a girl?" Josiah added, baffled by her words.
"And so what if it turns out to be a girl?"
Racheal's eyes glimmered with something dangerous.
"It doesn't matter. It doesn't limit the child's capability."
"It has never been done before," came the voice of Priest Tailbon.
"Never even considered…that a woman could rule as the protector of the realm," Josiah added.
Racheal remained unmoved by his words.
"Then you all must indeed count yourselves lucky to have found favor in my sight."
She managed to straighten up, supporting her back with her left hand, her protruding stomach making her steps a bit slower.
"For if this baby turns out to be a girl, as per the wish of her father, she will rule as queen."
Those were her final words before she took her leave, leaving the courtroom in a state of confusion.
They say good news spreads, but bad news spreads faster.
Whether the king's decision about his heir was good or bad, when it eventually reached Jazell's ears, it felt like a deliberate attempt to ruin her.
"This cannot be happening."
She muttered to herself, having lost all appetite for the food her maid had brought her.
Restless, she began pacing the length of her room.
"Summon the Lord Hand to my chamber this minute."
Those were her orders to her personal maid, Linn, who obeyed dutifully.
When Brandon was informed that his sister had summoned him, he immediately concluded that nothing good would come of it.
He could already tell the news had reached her ears—and that she was deeply unsettled by it.
Nevertheless, he still answered her call, arriving at her chamber after deliberately delaying his response.
He trotted into her chamber, hands crossed behind his back, a practiced nonchalance radiating from his cold demeanor.
His supposed indifference only drew sharp snarls from his sister.
"What exactly was in that letter?"
She asked the moment her eyes settled on him.
With his hands still crossed behind his back, he tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting in faint amusement.
"If you wish to know," he said coolly, "then you must ask nicely."
Her gaze swept over him from head to toe, slow and assessing.
"You think my restlessness is something to fill your empty amusement?"
She inched closer, eyes sharpened to daggers.
"How little do you think of me," she went on, voice tight with restraint, "that you carry yourself with such swollen pride?"
The words left her like spit. She turned sharply, blonde hair clinging to her face, icy blue eyes burning with fury.
"I warned you, didn't I?"
"But you went ahead and ignored me anyway—going so far as to hurl insults at my face. And now," she said, glancing back at him, "look at where that has landed us."
He monitored her with his eyes for a brief moment before finally lowering his gaze.
"Queen Racheal's unborn child will inherit the throne should the king die," he said, answering her question, stating what she already knew—yet needed to hear from his own mouth.
"And my child?"
Her hand moved instinctively to her rounded stomach, fingers splaying protectively as her eyes searched his face.
"What does my child get?"
She asked, barely above a whisper.
He said nothing.
"You are not saying anything."
For a moment, she thought he was contemplating his words.
But he already knew the answer to her question—the trouble lay not in what to say, but in how to say it.
"Nothing… that is what my child gets."
She answered her own question, then turned fully away from him.
"Did he forget I was also carrying his child?"
She said she knew no one in particular as she moved briskly to the bed and sat down, her gaze drifting as her eyes grew distant.
"Was he so blinded by his love for Racheal that he forgot such important details in his letter, making me a jest in front of everyone?"
"A little advice, on my part."
She heard him say, and she inclined her head, lending him a reluctant ear.
"Play along. For once, it will cost you nothing to let someone else take the victory."
His words struck like weapons, driven straight through her chest.
"So you are telling me to accept defeat."
She scoffed, bitterness curling at the edges of her voice, hating how small and helpless she sounded.
"To let fate run its course in my life…"
She drew in a heavy breath, one hand instinctively pressing to her stomach as she felt the baby stir.
"That will be the last thing I will ever allow."
Her gaze hardened as she looked back at him.
"You know me too well by now," she said quietly. "I have never followed the rules. I bend them."
"You will lose this time. It is over—you know it, and I know it."
His voice carried a certainty that left no room for doubt.
"No."
She shook her head slowly from side to side. Her palm rested against her protruding stomach, stroking it gently, possessively.
"No one says it is over until I do."