POV: Skylar Blackwood
The candlelight flickered gently in the corridor as Skylar moved with quiet authority. She wasn't surrounded by guards. She didn't call for an escort. She didn't need one.
She was the Queen of the Blackwood Empire.
And this—this wasn't a confrontation. It was a conversation between two powerful women in a kingdom that often demanded silence from one and loyalty from the other.
She found Amara in the Eastern Tower, reviewing logistics with a team of aides. Skylar stood silently until Amara turned, catching her presence like a shadow in the flame.
"Your Majesty," Amara said, rising to bow with precision and grace.
Skylar didn't smile.
"Leave us," she instructed the aides. Her voice wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be. Within seconds, the room cleared.
Amara stood tall—poised, elegant, unreadable.
Skylar took a slow step forward.
"You handled yourself well today," she said calmly.
Amara dipped her head. "Thank you, my Queen."
"But your grace," Skylar continued, "doesn't erase what's beginning to happen… behind the walls, inside the minds of those watching."
Amara said nothing.
"Christiana is hurt. You know that."
"Yes," Amara said. "But I didn't choose this position. I was appointed by your King."
Skylar's eyes narrowed slightly—not in anger, but in measurement.
"And now you're part of something deeper than duty. You stand beside my husband. You've become a symbol of his will. Do you understand what that means, Amara?"
Amara nodded once. "It means I carry the weight of his decisions, regardless of the cost."
Skylar stepped even closer.
"It means," she whispered, "that you walk a line where one wrong word, one act of perceived ambition, can shatter a dynasty. You must be twice as careful. Twice as loyal. And never forget who was born to lead this Empire when you were still learning its corridors."
Amara's gaze didn't waver, but her breath slowed. She heard the message—clear, sharp, royal.
Skylar took her hand gently—not as a warning now, but as a mother would to a daughter standing too close to fire.
"Do not mistake my silence for blindness," Skylar said. "And do not mistake Christiana's wounds for weakness. She is a Blackwood."
She turned to leave, her gown brushing the marble like silk on steel.
Amara bowed deeply. "I will not forget."
As Skylar walked away, she allowed herself a single moment of reflection.
Chris may be the God of this empire… but I am its heartbeat.
And when the heart speaks, even gods must listen.
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