Lolita clutched her dress in a garment bag, her heels silent on the marble floor as she paused outside James' bedroom door. A heavy tension hung in the hallway, thick enough to choke on. She hesitated—then leaned closer, unable to resist the pull of the voices inside.
James lay on the bed, his dress coat draped over him like a shroud. Artemis stood beside him, clipboard in hand, his brow furrowed.
"James, why did you ask me to come?" Artemis asked, voice low.
James coughed, a dry rasp. "I need you to help me write a will."
Artemis stiffened. "A will? You can't be dying—"
"I saw the doctor this morning," James said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Four weeks. The cancer's in both lungs. It's inoperable."
The clipboard slipped from Artemis's hands, clattering onto the black vinyl floor. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.
James reached out weakly. "Artemis, pull yourself together. You've been my advisor for twenty years. I need you now more than ever. Ethan must become ruler after I'm gone. If anything happens to him… Lolita will take his place."
Artemis hesitated. "Are you sure that's wise? Lolita as ruler?"
Lolita clenched her jaw, fury pulsing through her veins. How dare he question me?
"Artemis." James croaked. "Lolita is a sweet girl."
A voice cut through the silence behind her.
"What are you doing?"
Lolita spun around, startled. Ethan stood with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
"I'm going to my bedroom to put my dress away." Lolita said coldly.
"Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You weren't spying?"
"No," she snapped. "Leave me alone."
She turned sharply and stormed off, her pulse pounding, James's words echoing in her mind. Sweet girl? She wasn't sweet, she was ready. The throne echoed in her bones.