Amara's POV
His voice came low. Heavy. Almost a growl.
"Don't make me your enemy, Amara."
I froze mid-step, my back to him. I could feel his words tighten the air behind me like a rope around my throat. My fingers curled, nails digging into my palms. Slowly, I turned.
"Enemy?" I repeated, eyes narrowing. "You vanished without a word. I carried your empire on my back. I silenced rebellions, fed provinces, cleaned the rot. And I'm the one on trial?"
Chris stepped forward. "You were building a throne too tall, Amara. Too high for even me to climb."
I blinked. So that was it.
"You think I was trying to replace you?" I asked. "I was holding what you left behind."
He came closer. "You started acting like the ruler. Not the regent. Not the queen."
I didn't move. "Because someone had to."
His gaze darkened, shadows flickering in the depths of his eyes. "I've seen power corrupt. I saw it creeping into you. That fire in your voice. That edge in your orders. That... coldness. You used to care."
"I still care," I said firmly, chest rising. "I cared so much it nearly killed me. But now I care wisely."
Chris stared at me for a long moment. Then, voice like ice:
"Don't make me your enemy, Amara. You won't win."
My jaw clenched.
"Then don't make me choose," I warned. "Between you and the empire. Because I will choose the one that bleeds."
Silence.
He looked at me... and for the first time in a long time, I didn't see my husband.
I saw the emperor.
And maybe... he saw the empress.
"Do you still love me?" he asked, suddenly quieter.
I didn't answer.
Not because I didn't know…
But because love wasn't the question anymore.
Power was.
And we were both drunk on it.
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