Scene: Throne Room, Tension Brews
The atmosphere in the throne room was suffocating.
Christiana stood, lips pressed tight, her anger barely contained after her father's scolding. But just as she turned to storm off—Chris raised a hand.
"Amara," he called, not loudly, but the weight in his voice made it feel like a royal decree. "Come forward."
From the grand archway, Amara stepped in with her usual calm confidence. Her black and gold robes whispered royalty with each movement, but she walked like a soldier—trained, sharp, and unshaken.
Christiana's jaw clenched.
Chris didn't even look at his daughter as he spoke. His gaze stayed on Amara.
"Now… repeat what you just said, Christiana."
The words struck like thunder. Christiana felt the sting not just of the words—but of the audacity.
Amara paused, glancing between father and daughter.
Christiana stepped forward, rage simmering. "So this is what you do now? You bring her in—to humiliate me?"
Chris turned to face her, calm and unmoved. "No. I bring her in because I want to hear from someone who has no blood ties to me—someone who can speak freely."
"Freely?" Christiana spat. "She's your new pet project! She'll say whatever pleases you!"
Amara's head turned slightly, calm but assertive. "If that were true, I wouldn't be here."
Chris gestured. "Go on, Amara. Say it. Is this your role? Or one forced upon you?"
Amara didn't flinch. She looked Chris in the eye, then Christiana.
"I didn't beg for power," she said, voice like polished steel. "I didn't campaign. I was given a mission. One I accepted. Not for favor… not for gain. I accepted it because your father believes in results, not emotions."
Christiana let out a cold laugh. "So you admit it—you took what wasn't yours."
Amara looked her dead in the eye. "No. I earned what I have. Just like you did. The difference is—I never needed to remind anyone of my worth. I let my actions speak."
The air snapped with silence. Chris remained still, watching both women like a judge at the edge of a blade.
Christiana stepped forward, her voice low and dangerous. "You think you're better than me?"
Amara didn't blink. "No. But I know I'm not lesser."
Chris finally stepped between them, his voice cutting through like frost. "That's enough."
He turned to Christiana. "If you want more authority, show me you're not ruled by emotion. And if you want your power back—take it the right way. Don't tear down others who are loyal."
Christiana's nostrils flared. Her pride was bleeding, her legacy being questioned—but her father's voice rang in her ears louder than the humiliation.
Chris turned to Amara. "You may go."
Amara gave a respectful nod, casting one last glance at Christiana—neither pity nor pride in her eyes—just recognition. Then she turned and left without another word.
And in the grand silence that followed, Christiana realized…
This was war—but not of weapons.
It was a war of will.
And she would not lose.
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