POV: Skylar Blackwood
The hallways of the palace were rarely quiet. There was always something—the soft echo of boots, whispers of attendants, the distant hum of political murmurs. But today, the silence that stretched from the throne room chilled Skylar in a way no winter ever could.
She had been watching everything—from the moment Chris called Amara forward, to the frozen expression on Christiana's face. She hadn't interrupted. Queens don't act out of impulse. They observe. They store. And when the time is right, they strike—not with swords, but with certainty.
She sat alone in the Royal Garden now, the moon casting a pale light over the marbled fountain. Her fingers gently traced the edge of her teacup. But her mind? Her mind was back in that room.
Amara…
She admired the girl's loyalty, her composure, her efficiency. But something about this shift—Chris sidelining Christiana so aggressively—it unsettled her. Christiana may be impulsive, even reckless at times, but she was their daughter. Their first. The one who took up the mantle when no one else could.
"Chris…" she murmured softly, her voice lost in the breeze. "You move like a god, but these are still your children."
She hated this wedge forming. The empire was strong—unshakable—but the foundation was built on family. Trust. Unity.
And right now?
It was cracking.
The sound of soft footsteps broke her thought. A maid approached, bowed, and handed her a folded note. A message from the royal strategist.
Skylar opened it. Her eyes scanned quickly. Then slowly. Her jaw tightened.
> "Milady, there are whispers forming—not just among the council, but the people. About Amara. About favoritism. About Christiana's fading shadow."
Skylar folded the note slowly.
This wasn't just a political shift.
This was a storm building under the surface. A rift in the royal bloodline. And if it continued, it wouldn't be the non-Blackwood enemies that brought chaos to the empire.
It would be something far worse.
It would be the family itself.
She stood, regal and firm, and walked into the palace with quiet resolve.
She had stayed silent long enough.
It was time to speak—not to Chris, not to Christiana… but to Amara.