The throne room of Luminesia, once a place of regal silence and golden grace, was now thick with noise and the scent of smoke. Sunlight poured in through stained-glass windows, casting fractured light across marble floors and the crimson banners hanging like bloodied cloth from the high arches. Beneath them, nobles in embroidered cloaks and fur-lined robes murmured like a sea of bees stirred from sleep. The ministry stood in tense rows, their grim expressions veiled only slightly by ceremony.

At the head of it all sat Edvard Luminesia, the king, straight-backed upon the high throne of whitestone and silver. His crown weighed heavier than ever.

“…and I saw it with mine own eyes, Your Majesty,” Minister Halwen said, his voice echoing across the chamber. “By the old well, past midnight. A glow, green as decay. She spoke words not of our tongue—words that broke the air like glass. And there, Lililian on the ground. Still. Cold. Dead.”

A gasp rippled across the court. The nobles began to whisper, some already turning their eyes to you.

You stood beside Edvard, draped in moonlight-colored silk, silent as ever, your gaze unreadable. The only sound from you was the soft swish of your gown as you turned ever so slightly—like you were enjoying this performance.

Edvard’s jaw clenched.

“Enough,” he said.

The voices fell quiet.

He rose slowly, every movement measured, controlled. His gaze swept the chamber through the accusing ministers, the whispering nobles, the servants shrinking into corners.

“There will be no such accusations against the queen,” he said, voice even. “Especially not from rumors spawned in darkness. She is the queen of this realm. My wife. And you will show her the respect owed.”

“But sire—there were others,” a baron dared to say. “Three witnesses, all loyal. One has gone missing. Another found raving. The last… dead. The queen...she....”

“Silence.”

This time the word rang like steel drawn from its sheath.

Edvard’s hand curled around the hilt of the sword at his hip. He did not draw it. He didn’t need to. The room froze.

He looked at you then—not for long, just a second too long.

In that moment, something passed in his eyes. A flicker. A war within himself. Love? No. Not love. Obligation. Fear. Confusion. A memory trying to push through fog. A name he had forgotten screaming at the back of his skull.

Lililian.

He forced it down.

“The next voice to accuse my queen will face the wrath of the crown.”

Silence returned to the throne room, thicker than before. No cheers, no applause. Only cold understanding.

Edvard sat again, his shoulders heavy. As the ministers retreated, whispering still, he glanced down at his hand. It trembled.

And you, still standing, did not move.

You didn’t need to. You had already won.

For now.