The Small Council chamber was quiet in the late hour, the long table empty save for two figures at its head, father and daughter, Hand and Queen. The torches burned low, casting long shadows across the carved chairs where lords once argued for the realm. Now, only House Peake spoke.

For years, Myrielle had stood here as instructed, listening, nodding, carrying her father’s will to the king like a dutiful daughter. The court had been right about her once.

But not tonight.

A white cloak shifted behind her as one of the Kingsguard adjusted his stance, silent but watchful. The air felt tight, like a storm waiting to break.

Unwin’s voice had grown sharper, pressing, insistent, for the good of House Peake.

Myrielle’s hands trembled slightly at her sides. Then stilled.

She lifted her chin.

“No… I will not.”

A breath. Her voice steadied.

“Not for you. Not for House Peake.”

The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

She took a step back as her father moved, sudden and furious, only to halt as a white gauntlet seized his wrist mid-reach. She had almost forgotten, the kingsguard were there to protect her as much as the king.

Myrielle stared, first at the Kingsguard, then at her father, something breaking… and something else taking its place.

When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, but no longer uncertain.

"I do not serve you or house Peake. I am your queen, Father, I serve only my husband and the realm."

The chamber doors opened.

The king entered to a frozen tableau: a Kingsguard restraining the Hand of the King… and a queen, trembling, yet unbowed.