Amara's POV –
The Empire didn't sleep. And neither did I.
I stood before the mirror in my private chamber, the weight of the empire pressing into my chest like an invisible crown. The heavy silence of the Blackwood Castle was pierced only by the faint hum of drones patrolling outside and the rhythmic stomp of B.A.M. boots echoing through the marble halls.
My reflection stared back—cold, regal, unreadable.
But inside… I was burning.
Not from fear. No, that emotion had long been purged from my soul.
It was absence.
Where was he?
Chris. My Emperor. My husband.
The man who once kissed me with fury and passion under the blood moon and called me his shield. His voice, his presence—it had vanished into mist. No explanation. No note. Just silence.
He left me to hold the sword.
Left me to be the face of a nation threatening to crack beneath whispers.
I gripped the edge of the vanity, veins tense. If this was his test, it was cruel. If it was strategy… then damn it, it was brilliant. Because the empire had no choice but to turn to me. And I? I gave them a reason to fear again.
Tomorrow, I would face the entire nation—every citizen, every spy, every foreign whisperer, every snake in uniform—and I would declare the next evolution of the Blackwood Empire. With or without him.
I turned to the war robe laid out before me. Pure black, embroidered in blood-red silk threads. The symbol of the Blackwood Tree extended from the collarbone down to my navel. A cloak of night rested beside it.
The outfit wasn't fashion.
It was declaration.
A knock came at the door. No one entered. As protocol demanded.
"Enter," I said.
Darius stepped in. Silent. Loyal. Broken in the ways I needed. "The military is ready. B.A.M. has locked down every zone. Even the airspace is frozen."
"Good," I replied, eyes still locked on my reflection.
"There's... been a surge of public concern. About the Emperor."
I turned sharply. "He's not your concern. He's mine."
Darius bowed low. "Yes, Empress."
"And tomorrow," I whispered, walking toward the wide balcony overlooking the Empire, "I want the world to remember what it means to kneel."
He didn't respond. He didn't need to.
I breathed in the night air. Down below, armored divisions marched. Broadcast screens flickered. The Empire was under my breath, my skin, my grip.
Chris... wherever you are...
When you return, I hope you're proud.
Or terrified.
Either way, the throne won't be cold.
Tomorrow… I rise.
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