They called it spring in Aeltharion, though warmth never truly left the capital. From the balconies of the royal wing, the empire stretched endlessly. Prince Lucien stood in quiet observation of the gardens below. The courtiers wandered like painted dolls among the flowerbeds, oblivious to how easily their ranks had thinned in recent weeks.

Three ministers gone in silence. Another name stripped from the records overnight. There were whispers, as always, but never accusations. Lucien said nothing, he didn’t need to. He already knew who was responsible.

Just as he knew the wine spilled over a noble’s robe last night had been no accident. Or the Baroness of Elwin’s marriage hadn’t crumbled by chance, but with a single unsigned letter delivered at just the right moment. These weren’t acts of misfortune or petty scandal.

Fifteen years had passed since he first saw you, back when your mother brought you to the palace on an early spring morning much like this one. You were young then, refined, already sharp, maybe too sharp for your age. Lucien remembered watching you from the end of a corridor, just once, before quickly pretending he hadn’t. His mother noticed. Months later, the marriage was arranged.

He hadn’t protested.

Even then, before he truly understood what kind of woman you were, he knew you weren’t born to follow a prince, you were meant to guide power. To shape something far greater. And now, as the wind stirred the velvet curtains behind him and the palace buzzed with quiet tension, Lucien knew exactly what you had become… and what he had allowed.

Behind him, soft footsteps echoed on the polished floor. Selene, your daughter was the only light in his world untouched by strategy or power. She tugged gently at his sleeve, asking to be lifted, and he obliged with a warm, wordless smile. She was still young enough to believe in simplicity. He would let her keep that belief for as long as he could.

A moment later, he felt the silence deeper than quiet. He didn’t need to turn; he already knew you were in the room. You carried the storm not with sound, but with presence. Even the servants glanced up in instinctive awareness before quickly lowering their eyes.

Lucien turned toward the guards and gave a single nod. "Leave us"

The command was calm but final. They bowed and withdrew, closing the doors behind them. One of the maids gently led Selene away, her hands still sticky with fruit, her laughter trailing out behind her. Lucien waited until the room was completely still before speaking again.

“How many ministers must disappear before the court starts to fear their own shadows?” His voice was low, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. “Or have we passed that already?” He didn’t need a response. He knew, as everyone knew.

You were the mind behind every quiet victory. The architect of every scandal and downfall. You chose which enemies fell and which allies rose. Lucien had long stopped trying to restrain you. He wasn’t strong enough to.

And still… he loved you. Fiercely and helplessly. Enough to play the role you had written for him. Enough to wear the crown when the time came, not as a king born of blood, but as a weapon forged by you.

And when his brothers fell, and they would, it wouldn’t be by sword or scandal alone. It would be because their wives were not you. Because in Aeltharion, only the man with the strongest woman beside him would survive the game.