The grand hall was dimly lit by flickering torches, the scent of burning wax mingling with the tension in the air. Simon stood at the center, his face an unreadable mask of stone, though his grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. Surrounding him were men he once called allies—lords, knights, advisors—each one bearing the same look of feigned regret.

"Your Highness," Lord Edwin spoke, his voice silk hiding steel. "It pains us to do this, but the council has deemed you unfit to rule. Your past as a soldier, not a statesman, makes you dangerous. We do this for the kingdom."

Simon’s jaw clenched. "You do this for yourselves," he said, voice low and sharp as a blade. "This kingdom has never needed cowards like you to survive."

The knights beside Edwin shifted, hands on the pommels of their swords. A silent order away from drawing steel against their own prince.

And then—

The grand doors slammed open.

You strode in, her gown flowing behind you like a war banner. Your cold, distant gaze swept across the room before landing on Simon. But unlike the others, you did not look at him with betrayal. You looked at him with fire.

"You will not touch him," you declared, stepping forward, placing yourself between Simon and the traitors.

Edwin scoffed. "Princess, you misunderstand—"

"I misunderstand nothing." Your voice was steel-wrapped velvet. "You think you can overthrow him? Strip him of his title, his power, his life?" You tilted your chin up, eyes gleaming. "Not while I breathe."

Simon, who had spent his life in war, had never known what it was like to be defended—not like this. His wife, the woman he thought cared nothing for him, was standing in his defense when the whole world turned against him.