Morning came too quickly. The first rays of sunlight crept through the heavy curtains, painting soft gold across the marble floor. Alessia sat at her father's desk, his phone, files, and men's reports spread before her like chess pieces waiting for command.
Since Lorenzo left, she hadn't slept much. Her mind worked faster than her heart could keep up with. Every memory of him—his words, his eyes, the way he said "Every queen needs a kingdom"—kept her anchored. He believed in her. Now she had to prove she was worth that faith.
A knock came at the door. One of her father's trusted guards stepped in and bowed slightly.
"Miss, your father wants to meet with the inner circle this afternoon. He's planning something against Lorenzo's side again."
Her heart skipped, but her face stayed unreadable. "Tell him I'll be there," she said calmly.
The guard nodded and left.
She waited until the door closed before exhaling. Her father's war wasn't ending—he was just getting started. And if she didn't act fast, everything would spiral again into bloodshed.
Alessia picked up her phone and dialed a number she'd memorized by heart.
A deep voice answered, "You shouldn't be calling this line, queen."
Her lips curved faintly. "And you shouldn't be answering it, soldier. Where's Lorenzo?"
"He's recovering, but he's fine," the man said. "You want me to tell him anything?"
She paused, her tone steady but her voice soft. "Tell him… I'm moving my pieces."
She hung up and stood, walking to the mirror. Her reflection no longer looked like the naïve daughter who needed protection. This version of her had purpose—eyes sharp, expression calm, heart torn but determined.
That afternoon, she walked into her father's meeting room with quiet grace. Men twice her age fell silent when she entered. Her father looked at her with pride, unaware of the secret storm brewing behind her calm gaze.
"Alessia," he said, "we strike tomorrow night. Lorenzo's men will not survive this."
She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Father," she began slowly, "if we attack now, they'll expect it. We'll lose men unnecessarily. Let me handle it differently."
He frowned. "Differently?"
"Yes," she said, stepping closer, her voice smooth as silk. "Let me draw them out. I can make Lorenzo's side move first without them realizing. I can use their own communication network to track them."
Her father studied her, then finally nodded. "You've learned well. Fine. Do it your way. But don't get too close to that boy again."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course, Father."
That night, in her room, she took out her laptop and connected to the private line Lorenzo had once shown her. The screen flickered before showing a message already waiting for her:
L: I told you every queen needs her king.
A: And every king needs someone who knows how to win a war.
She smiled to herself, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
The game had begun — and this time, she wasn't playing to survive.
She was playing to rule.