— Chris & Amara
The doors of the royal chamber sealed with a heavy boom, muffling the chaos of the palace just outside. The air inside was quiet, almost sacred. Amara stood near the center, her long black gown shimmering beneath the flickering candlelight. Chris had dismissed every single guard except for one stationed beyond the door — just in case.
Chris didn't speak at first. He peeled off the royal blazer, one button at a time, his gaze fixed on the floor like he was lost in calculations or memories — maybe both.
Amara waited. She'd learned this about him: Chris never spoke out of impulse, not in private. Silence was where his power brewed.
Then he looked up. "They think I'm weak."
She tilted her head. "Because of the press conference?"
"No," he said flatly. "Because I bled. Because Skylar got that close."
The name alone darkened the air between them.
Chris stepped closer, reaching for the decanter on the glass table by the window. He poured a drink — neat. One for himself. None for her. That was telling.
"She made it to the chamber, Amara," he said. "Our bed. My sanctuary. Do you know what that means?"
Amara stepped closer, brushing his hand as she took the glass from him gently and placed it back down. Her voice was low, controlled, sharp like a blade in velvet. "It means they're watching. They're testing. But they've forgotten who runs this empire."
Chris nodded slowly, jaw tight. "Which is why tomorrow, I'm cleaning house. Heads will roll, promotions revoked, and anyone who can't vow their mind, blood, and breath to the Blackwood name is gone. No trial. No discussion."
"And Skylar?" she asked carefully, knowing it wasn't just a political question — it was personal.
Chris's eyes turned colder. "I already gave you full command over her fate. Make her vanish. Not just physically. Wipe her from memory."
Amara's lips parted slightly — not in shock, but because for once, she didn't know what emotion to put on. Satisfaction? Guilt? Triumph?
"I'll handle it," she said. "But Chris…"
He turned toward her.
"I want us to move forward. Together. No more ghosts in the palace."
He walked to her. Slowly. Deliberately. When he was close enough to feel her breath, he cupped her face with both hands and said, "Then bury her so deep… not even my memory can find her."
And then he kissed her — not out of passion, but dominance. A claim. A silent contract.
Behind them, the Blackwood emblem gleamed in gold above the royal bed — two swords crossed beneath a crown. And just below it, the motto:
"Only one reigns."