Scene: The King's Private Chamber – Minutes After the Birthday Broadcast
POV: Amara Blackwood
The doors shut behind us like the world exhaled.
But inside me?
There was no breath left.
Chris didn't speak as we entered the chamber—his chamber, not touched or altered since the day he fell silent.
He removed his coat, flung it onto the marble throne seat like it was just another battlefield relic, and turned to face me.
Not as a husband.
Not even as a man.
As a King.
And suddenly I felt it—not fear, but unfamiliarity.
Ten months without him had forged a new me. Sharper. Colder.
A sovereign in her own right.
But now…
The architect had returned to inspect the fortress.
---
> "Say something," I whispered, because I had to break the tension before it broke me.
He studied me—eyes like steel forged in silence.
> "You did well," he said flatly.
My jaw tightened. That wasn't a compliment. That was an audit.
> "We held the Empire together. I held it together."
> "I know," he said. Still no warmth. Still no recognition of the hell I walked through in his name.
> "I visited you every night, Chris."
He nodded.
Not a thank you. Not even acknowledgment.
A fact. Nothing more.
---
I took a step forward.
> "Ten months. No goodbye. No warning. You just left."
> "I didn't leave," he said, low. "I was taken."
That stopped me.
> "And now you've returned. So what now? Do I go back to being your shadow?"
He stepped closer. One foot between us.
> "You never were my shadow, Amara."
My breath caught.
> "You were the fire I left burning to keep the Empire warm."
Finally.
A flicker.
A truth.
But still wrapped in command, not comfort.
---
> "You know what they call me now?" I said, half laughing, half bitter. "The Black Rose of the Throne."
He smirked, just faintly.
> "They always knew better than to pick you."
I looked away. I couldn't afford to melt. Not now. Not after ruling with an iron spine for almost a year.
But his voice turned softer.
Barely.
> "I saw the broadcast," he said. "I heard you."
> "Every word."
I turned back to him. "And?"
> "And I realized something," he said, his eyes finally landing on mine—not the Empire's Queen. Me. His wife.
> "If I had died… I wouldn't have left behind a widow."
> "I would've left behind a weapon."
My eyes stung—but I didn't cry. I hadn't cried in months.
He reached out.
Took my hand.
> "But I'm not dead, Amara."
> "And I didn't come back to take over."
Pause.
> "I came back… to rule with you."
---
And in that second, the storm inside me didn't end—
But it finally had somewhere to land.
---