Chapter 6: The Queen's Doubt
The Garrison was empty now. Chairs were upturned, floors sticky with spilled ale, smoke curling into the rafters like forgotten prayers.
Thomisia sat alone at the head table, glass untouched in her hand, staring into nothing.
Larson's words gnawed at her like rats in the walls.
Storms don't last. Queens endure.
She hated that it echoed. Hated that it made sense.
Her cigarette smoldered between her fingers. She'd seen Alexander in battle, in smoke, in blood—never flinching, never breaking,
a man who seemed untouchable. And yet, that same unbending silence was the thing that unsettled her most.
Because storms didn't bend. They broke.
And what if one day he decided Birmingham was in his way?
Thomisia's chest tightened. She shook her head, muttering to herself. "No. He wouldn't… He—"
But then she thought of how he never explained, never reassured. Always watching, always apart.
She slammed her glass down, whiskey sloshing.
I'm the one who holds this family together. Not him. Me.
Across town, Alexander leaned against the windowsill of his small, rented room. The moonlight caught the smoke trailing from his cigar. He hadn't moved for an hour, eyes fixed on the empty street below.
But inside his head—
[System Notification: Risk Level Updated.]
Subject: Thomisia Shelby
Probability of Betrayal Event: 52%.
Alexander exhaled through his teeth.
Fifty-two. Brilliant. She's thinking about it.
The system buzzed again.
[Advice: Neutralize Potential Leak.]
Neutralize, it says. Sure. Easy solution. Just kill the head of the family and hope no one notices. Brilliant bloody idea, mate.
He dragged deep on the cigar, jaw tight.
No. Can't. Won't. Not her. Even if she's ready to throw me to the wolves.
Back at the Garrison, Polly's sharp eyes watched Thomisia from across the room. She hadn't left with the others. She could smell unrest the way others smelled smoke.
"You're rattled," Polly said flatly, lighting her own cigarette.
Thomisia didn't answer.
"Was it Larson?"
Her silence was answer enough.
Polly leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Don't let that rat crawl into your head. Men like him whisper sweet things because they can't build anything themselves. All they know is rot."
Thomisia's lips parted, voice unsteady. "But what if he's right? What if Alexander doesn't bend? What if one day he tears us apart?"
Polly's gaze sharpened. "Then you handle it when the day comes. But betray him now?" She shook her head. "That's not power, Thomisia. That's weakness dressed up like survival."
Thomisia looked away, throat tight.
Alexander stubbed out his cigar and finally spoke aloud, to no one.
"Bloody hell, I knew transmigration would be mad. But a love triangle between me, a Shelby, and a government spy?"
He shook his head, chuckling low.
Readers are probably eating this up. Drama, betrayal, intrigue. Meanwhile, I'm just trying not to get shot in the back while smoking my last cigar.
The system chimed once more:
[Host: Remain vigilant. The queen wavers.]
Alexander's lips pressed thin.
Yeah. I know. The question is—when she breaks, which side of me will she fall on?
And so the night thickened with smoke and silence—
One queen wrestling with her doubt.
One storm watching, waiting.
And in the shadows, Larson smiling, knowing his words had already planted roots.