My fingers hovered above the void blade.
My knuckles whitened. Sweat dripped from my jaw.
The Queen looked up at me, her lips trembling—not from fear, but understanding. Her eyes—once fierce, now gentle—met mine.
And she smiled.
"It's okay," she mouthed silently. "Choose what the Realm needs."
Behind her, the Shadow Heir snarled, chains of cursed steel biting into his limbs. Blood dripped from his wrists, but his eyes were blazing—furious and unrepentant.
"You're too soft to rule," he spat. "Do it. Kill me if you think you can."
I gripped the blade. It pulsed in my palm, sensing my doubt.
My hand trembled.
Because in that moment—I didn't want to choose either of them.
I wanted to save them both.
But kings don't get what they want.
They get what they can bear.
And I realized—this wasn't a test of strength.It was a test of heart.
I could kill my enemy.I could save my Queen.
But deep down, I knew what the Realm needed.
Not a ruler who could swing a sword.
