Dominic's POV
The girl didn't flinch.
Not when I drew my blade. Not when I pressed its cold steel against her shoulder. The court had expected her to cower. I had, too.
But Isabella Daniels stood like stone—eyes steady, chin lifted. Not brave. Not foolish.
Convicted.
I turned away before she could see it
The way my grip faltered.
The way something inside me cracked.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
The nobles whispered like vipers behind their jeweled masks. Their judgment wasn't subtle. She was a servant in a stolen crown. They smelled blood, and I was supposed to be the one who made her bleed.
The Crown chose her.
The throne… it would eat her alive.
And yet, here she stood. Unburned. Unbroken.
I'd been Consort long enough to see the rot behind these golden walls. I'd watched nobles slit throats with smiles, watched monarchs lose their minds to power. The last Queen had screamed for hours before her soul finally left her body driven mad by the very crown now glowing on Isabella's head.
She should've collapsed under its weight.
But she wore it like it was made for her.
"Dominic."
I didn't turn. I didn't have to.
The voice was a snake wrapped in silk. Lord Carrow. Always behind me. Always watching. If you ever felt a knife in your back in this court, odds were he handed it to someone first.
"She's not one of us," he murmured. "That thing on her head won't save her."
"She was chosen," I said.
"The gods make mistakes. You know that better than most."
I did.
But I also knew the gods rarely played fair.
"Fix it. Quietly," Carrow continued, voice dripping with false concern. "Before her curse spreads."
I looked straight ahead. Past the nobles. Past the stares.
To her.
She stood alone beneath the stained-glass window, her silhouette lit by fractured sunlight. It made her look… otherworldly.
Not regal.
Not noble.
Something ancient.
Something dangerous.
She reminded me of the forest before a storm. Beautiful. Still. And humming with the promise of destruction.
"She belongs to no one," I said, my voice colder than steel.
"She thinks she belongs to you," he said with a mocking smirk. "Didn't you hear her in court?"
Oh, I heard her.
"That I belong to you."
A single sentence bold and reckless. And yet…
Part of me wanted to let her believe it.
Just to see what she would do.
What we both would become.
"You're not listening, Dominic. This ends one of two ways," Carrow whispered. "She's either removed… or she destroys everything."
"She isn't your concern," I growled, finally meeting his eyes. "She's mine."
His smile faltered, just for a second.
Victory.
But as he slithered away, a dark thought crept in—unwelcome and sharp.
What if Carrow was right?
What if she was the storm?
I looked back toward Isabella.
She hadn't moved. Still standing. Still wearing that impossible crown. The court might've seen a girl too small for a throne. But I saw something else.
I saw prophecy.
And for the first time in years, something inside me stirred.
Not duty.
Not desire.
Fear.
Because I wasn't sure if I was meant to protect her…
Or if I'd be the one forced to end her.