The capital of Belgravia, Oakhaven, was a city of white marble and old secrets. When Lulan's motorcade crossed the city limits, it wasn't greeted by the silence she had left in six years ago. It was met with a frantic, buzzing curiosity.
The black armored SUVs moved like a funeral procession for the old regime. In the lead car, Lulan sat flanked by Bastian and Elara. Bastian was waving at the crowds through the tinted glass, his natural charisma already acting as a shield for the family's cold reputation. Elara, meanwhile, was sketching in a notebook—not flowers or birds, but the structural weaknesses of the Royal Palace's gatehouse.
"The architecture is pretentious," Elara whispered. "Too many windows. Hard to defend."
"It wasn't built for defense, darling," Lulan said, checking her reflection. "It was built for vanity. And vanity is the easiest thing in the world to break."
The Council of Thorns
The High Council Chamber was a circular room where the air always smelled of beeswax and stale tradition. The twelve Lords of Belgravia sat in their high-backed chairs, whispering like crows. At the head of the table sat Leonard, looking haggard. He had managed to retain his seat only because the King's proclamation hadn't been formally read into the record yet.
The heavy oak doors groaned open.
Lulan walked in, the rhythmic click of her heels the only sound in the room. She didn't wait for an invitation. She walked straight to the seat traditionally reserved for the Chancellor—the seat directly opposite Leonard.
"You are late, Director," Leonard snapped, his voice cracking. "This is a closed session of the Royal Council. You have no standing here."
Lulan placed a black leather briefcase on the table. "I have a pulse, Leonard. Which is more than your father would have right now if it weren't for my 'standing.'"
She opened the case and slid the Royal Proclamation across the polished wood. The Lords leaned in, their faces pale as they read the King's signature.
"As of 09:00 hours today," Lulan announced, "the Lascourine Memorial Hospital is the primary creditor for the Belgravian National Health Service. Since the Crown cannot repay the debt in bullion, the King has opted for... equity. I am your new High Advisor of State Affairs."
A murmur of outrage erupted. "This is a coup!" Lord Sterling shouted, slamming his fist down. "A commoner—a doctor—cannot sit on the Council of Thorns!"
"I'm not a doctor today, Lord Sterling," Lulan said, her eyes turning to chips of blue ice. "I'm a landlord. And I've come to collect the rent."
A Shadow from the Past
The session was adjourned in a state of chaos. Lulan retreated to the "Blue Room," a private parlor used for high-stakes negotiations. She needed a moment of silence to coordinate with Lucian, who was monitoring the palace's internal servers from their mobile command center.
She poured herself a glass of water, her hand steady. But then, a voice came from the shadows of the balcony—a voice that made her heart, for the first time in five years, skip a single, jagged beat.
"You always did like the Blue Room, Lulan. You said it matched the color of the Mediterranean on the day we met."
Lulan froze. She didn't turn around. She knew that voice. It was deeper now,
weathered by something more than time.
"Julian told me you were dead," she said, her voice a low simmer.
"The General lied to protect his investment," the man said, stepping into the light.
It was Captain Silas Vane.
The man who had been her father's protégé. The man who had been her first love, her secret fiancé, and the man who had supposedly been executed for "treason" the night she was exiled. He looked different—a jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw, and his uniform was no longer Belgravian. He wore the charcoal grey of the Cordovan Foreign Legion.
"Silas," she breathed, finally turning.
"I heard you were coming back to burn the city down," Silas said, a ghost of a smile touching his scarred face. He held up a file—the same black leather portfolio the General had given her. "But you're missing the last page, Lulan. The page your father didn't want you to see."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm the new head of the Royal Guard," Silas said. "The King hired me to protect him... from you."
Lulan stepped toward him, her "Ice Queen" armor cracking. "He told me they shot you. I saw the report. I saw the grave."
"The General needed you hungry, Lulan. He needed you to hate Belgravia more than you loved me. A woman with nothing to lose is a weapon. A woman with a husband is a liability." Silas's eyes softened, just for a second. "He turned you into a monster to save a Kingdom. The question is... what happens when the monster finds out the hero was alive the whole time?"
The New Variable
Lulan's comms unit chirped in her ear. It was Kael.
"Mother, we have a problem. There's an encrypted signal coming from inside the Blue Room. It's a direct link to the Cordovan Intelligence Bureau. Someone is recording you."
Lulan looked at Silas. He didn't move. He didn't reach for a weapon. He simply stood there, a living reminder of the life she had traded for power.
"You're not here for the King," Lulan whispered.
No," Silas replied. "I'm here for the children. Because they aren't Leonard's, are they, Lulan? They never were."