Power isn't just seized.
Sometimes it's offered—
Sweet, wrapped in silk, soaked in poison.
At midnight, Selene received a crown.
Not in ceremony, but in silence.
A courier from the Ivory Empire delivered it wrapped in frost-stitched cloth—a delicate circlet of pale gold, laced with aether runes that shimmered faintly in the dark.
No note.
No signature.
Just a simple truth:
Take the crown, and become their puppet queen.
Selene held it in her hands beneath the torchlight, crimson eyes narrowed.
Lucien watched her from the edge of the war room.
"They want you to win," he murmured, "but not on your terms."
Selene said nothing.
The crown was light.
Too light.
As if it held no weight at all.
That's how traps worked.
Lira arrived minutes later, her cloak still wet from the northern patrols.
"They've already spread the news," she whispered. "That you've accepted."
Selene's lips curved into a cold line.
"I haven't."
"They don't care."
In the political courts of Aerthrial and beyond, rumors moved faster than truth.
Selene Valeburne was now the Queen of the Rebellion, whether she agreed or not.
And queens were easier to control than rebels.
Lucien stepped closer, golden eyes locked onto the circlet in her hands.
"We could refuse."
Selene's gaze stayed steady.
"And let them crown someone else in my place?"
Because that's how kingdoms worked.
If you didn't wear the crown, someone worse would.
By morning, the emissaries sent new terms.
Join their global alliance.
Take the throne with foreign backing.
Marry for political ties—not love.
Secure peace at the cost of truth.
Selene met them at the frost-forged gates.
Her crimson cloak swept behind her as she spoke, voice calm, words sharp.
"I don't need your crown," she whispered.
The emissaries smiled thinly.
"But the people already believe you wear it."
Inside the war chamber, Lucien leaned against the map table, eyes shadowed beneath strands of gold hair.
"They're forcing your hand," he said quietly.
Selene set the crown down on the cold stone surface, fingers brushing the aether runes.
"I won't rule like they want me to."
Lucien's voice dropped lower.
"And if that means becoming a villain in their story?"
Selene's crimson eyes gleamed beneath the torchlight.
"Then I'll be the villain who tells the truth."
Because some crowns weren't poisoned by metal.
They were poisoned by expectation.
Outside, crimson snow drifted softly through the rebellion camps.
And somewhere, in distant kingdoms, rulers whispered:
We've won.
But Selene smiled.
Because she knew something they didn't.
She hadn't started a rebellion for power.
She'd started it to end the lie.
And she wasn't finished yet.