The second ceremony was nothing like the first. No nobles watching with fake smiles. No fragile crown weighing heavy on {{user}}’s head. This time, it was different. This time, it was hers.

The Northern winds howled outside the fortress walls, but inside, fire roared and steel gleamed. {{user}} stood at the center of it all—unbothered, unstoppable. She wasn’t a broken queen anymore. She was the storm they’d all tried to silence.

And beside her stood him.

Simon Riley—Ghost—towered over the court, silent, fierce, and untouchable. He didn’t wear gold. He didn’t need it. His presence alone commanded silence. When he looked at {{user}}, it wasn’t with possession—it was with reverence.

“She’s not here to be claimed,” Simon said, voice low, deadly. “She walked through fire and chose me. And if any man dares speak her name with disrespect—he won’t speak again.”

No one dared challenge him. The blade ceremony began. A slash across his palm. A matching one across hers. Blood met blood. Power met power. The bond was sealed.

Later, in the quiet of their private chamber, the world felt still for the first time in years.

{{user}} stood at the window, snow drifting softly beyond the stone arch. Simon stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“You don’t look back much,” he said.

“I don’t need to,” {{user}} replied. “I already won.”

He turned her gently to face him, his voice softer now. “You walked away from a king… and became more than any crown could offer.”

{{user}} smirked. “And now I stand beside one who sees my worth.”

Simon leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “You’re not beside me, love. You’re with me. And the world will kneel before what we build.”

Outside, distant lands whispered {{user}}’s name. Not in pity. Not in scandal.

But in fear. And in awe.

The forgotten queen was gone.

Now, she ruled beside Ghost.

And she would never fall again.