The throne room still reeked of blood and fear.
Lucan stood at its center, his blade freshly cleaned, his crownless authority unquestioned. The nobles had been dragged away—some screaming, most silent. Halric's head had already been taken to the city square, where it would hang by dawn.
But Lucan didn't linger.
He turned to Tiana.
"Walk with me," he said.
She followed without a word.
They moved through the palace's west wing, past shattered goblets and discarded silks, through corridors once gilded in celebration, now haunted by silence. At last, they reached the war chamber—a room once sealed, now reopened. Maps covered the walls. Candles flickered over scrolls marked with names, alliances, betrayals.
Lucan closed the doors behind them.
Tiana stepped to the table, her fingers brushing the edge of a parchment listing council members.
"Thirty-seven names," she said. "Twenty-two voted for Halric's claim. Eight funded it. Five stayed silent."
Lucan's eyes narrowed. "Silence is guilt."
She nodded. "Then we purge all thirty-seven."
Lucan moved beside her, scanning the list.
"Start with the financiers," he said. "Their estates will be seized. Their families detained. No one escapes through coin."
Tiana circled a name in red ink. "Lord Verren. He funneled gold through the Temple of the Flame."
Lucan's jaw tightened. "Then the temple will be cleansed."
She hesitated. "The High Priestess supports you now."
"She'll understand," Lucan said. "Faith without loyalty is just theater."
Tiana marked another name. "Lady Meris. She sent her sons to Halric's court."
"Send them back in coffins," Lucan said coldly.
Tiana didn't flinch.
She had seen too much to flinch.
Lucan leaned over the map, pointing to the northern border. "Rensic will hold this line. His men are loyal. Anyone who flees the capital will be intercepted."
"And the southern ports?" Tiana asked.
Lucan's eyes darkened. "Block them. No ships leave. No messages fly. This kingdom will be sealed until it's clean."
Tiana looked up at him, her voice quiet. "And the innocents caught in the purge?"
Lucan met her gaze. "There are no innocents in a court that toasted my death."
She studied him for a long moment, then said softly, "Do you trust me with all this, Your Highness?"
Lucan stepped closer, his voice low and steady.
"I trusted you," he said.
Tiana blinked, surprised by the weight of his words. "Me?"
Lucan nodded. "I wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't."
He turned back to the table, picked up a dagger, and placed it between them.
"I need someone who can cut without hesitation."
Tiana stared at the blade.
Then picked it up.
Her fingers curled around the hilt with quiet certainty.
"If you trust me this much," she said, "then I won't just be your blade. I'll be your future queen. I have someone who knows how to do this cleanly. Leave it to me."
Lucan's gaze lingered on her, unreadable.
"You're not just helping me," he said. "You're shaping the kingdom that will rise from this blood."
Tiana nodded. "Then let's make sure it rises without rot."
Lucan stepped closer, his voice a whisper now.
"Make it final."
Tiana turned to leave, her silhouette framed by candlelight—elegant, lethal, resolute.
Lucan watched her go.
Not as a noblewoman.
Not as a court beauty.
But as the blade of his vengeance.
And perhaps, the crown beside his own.
The moon hung low over the city, casting silver shadows across the rooftops of noble estates. At the edge of the capital, nestled behind iron gates and ivy-covered walls, stood Lady Tiana's ancestral home—a fortress of elegance and secrets.
She entered without ceremony.
Servants bowed, but she did not speak.
Her gown whispered against polished floors as she ascended the grand staircase, past portraits of ancestors who had ruled with grace, not steel. Tonight, grace would not suffice.
She reached her study—a room of dark wood, velvet drapes, and a single candle burning low.
"Send for Sir Christof," she said to the steward. "Now."
Minutes later, the door opened.
Sir Christof stepped inside, tall and broad-shouldered, his armor muted but ready. His face was carved from loyalty, his eyes sharp with quiet understanding.
"My lady," he said, bowing.
Tiana turned to face him, her silhouette framed by the flickering candlelight.
"We begin," she said.
Christof straightened. "The purge?"
She nodded, handing him a scroll marked with red ink.
"Thirty-seven names. All complicit. Twenty-two voted for Halric's claim. Eight funded it. Five stayed silent."
Christof scanned the list, his jaw tightening. "Do we show mercy?"
Tiana's voice was ice. "None. Families included."
He looked up. "Children?"
She hesitated.
Then: "If they're old enough to raise a goblet, they're old enough to face consequence."
Christof nodded slowly. "Understood."
"I want it quiet," she said. "No fires. No screams. No spectacle. Just silence. Let the city wake to absence."
He stepped forward. "And if anyone resists?"
"Remind them who I serve," she said. "Remind them who returned."
Christof bowed again, deeper this time. "It will be done."
Tiana walked to the window, gazing out over the sleeping city.
"Start with Lord Verren," she said. "He funneled gold through the Temple. Make it look like penance."
"And Lady Meris?" Christof asked.
"Her sons first," Tiana replied. "Let her feel the cost before she pays it."
Christof turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"My lady," he said, voice low. "You've changed."
Tiana didn't look away from the window.
"No," she said. "I've remembered who I am."
And as Christof disappeared into the night, sword at his side and orders in hand, Lady Tiana stood alone in the dark—no longer a pawn in a noble game.
She was the queen behind the purge.
Lucan's voice echoed in her mind.
"I trusted you."
Two simple words.
Yet they struck deeper than any blade.
That trust—freely given, not demanded—had reshaped something within her. It wasn't just duty anymore. It was devotion. It was purpose.
The king trusted her.
And that, above all, was the most powerful truth she had ever known.
Tiana, the soon-to-be queen, would gladly lend him her hand. Not out of obligation, but out of fierce loyalty. Without hesitation, she would do everything for her king.
Everything.
She moved to the window, watching the moonlight spill across the city rooftops. Somewhere out there, Christof was already moving—his blade guided by her command, his silence a promise.
The purge had begun.
And she would see it through.
A knock echoed at her chamber door.
"Enter," she said.
Her steward stepped in, bowing low. "A message from the Temple, my lady. The High Priestess requests an audience."
Tiana's eyes narrowed. "Tonight?"
"She says it cannot wait."
Tiana turned from the window, her voice calm but sharp. "Prepare the carriage. I'll go myself."
The steward bowed and vanished.
Tiana walked to her desk, opened a drawer, and retrieved a velvet pouch. Inside was a ring—Lucan's crest etched in obsidian and gold. She slipped it onto her finger.
Not yet crowned.
But already ruling.
She fastened her cloak, the fabric whispering like a warning.
Tonight, she would speak with the High Priestess.
Tomorrow, the city would wake to silence.
And soon, the kingdom would kneel—not just to a king reborn, but to the queen who had never flinched.
The Temple of the Flame loomed ahead, its spires piercing the night sky like spears of judgment. Firelight danced in the windows, casting long shadows across the marble steps. The High Priestess had summoned her—and Tiana intended to learn why.
Inside, the temple was warm with candlelight and incense. The scent of myrrh and ash clung to the air. Statues of the old gods lined the walls, their eyes carved to watch without blinking.
The High Priestess awaited her at the altar.
She was draped in crimson robes, her silver hair braided with threads of flame-colored silk. Her gaze was sharp, ancient, and unreadable.
"Lady Tiana," she said, voice echoing softly. "You came."
"I don't ignore summons," Tiana replied. "Especially not tonight."
The Priestess gestured to the stone bench beside her. "Sit. We have much to discuss."
Tiana remained standing. "Then speak."
The Priestess studied her for a long moment, then said, "The Saintess lives."
"I know," Tiana said. "Lucan has her."
The Priestess nodded slowly. "Then the prophecy is in motion."
Tiana's eyes narrowed. "You once blessed Halric's claim. You called Lucan's reign a threat."
"I blessed what I was told to bless," the Priestess said. "But I've seen visions since. Fire. Ash. A king cloaked in blood. And beside him… a queen with no crown, wielding a blade sharper than steel."
Tiana's breath caught.
The Priestess stepped closer. "The Saintess was never meant to die. She is the salvation foretold. She will rise to strike down the ruthless king. Her survival is not a mistake—it is destiny."
Tiana's voice was steady. "And yet Lucan lives."
"For now," the Priestess said, her voice low and steady. "But prophecy does not sleep. It waits. It watches. And when the Saintess is ready, she will bring the reckoning. The prophecy can be twisted—but never undone. Either way, we must be prepared."
Tiana turned away, her thoughts racing.
"You summoned me for this?" she asked.
"I summoned you to warn you," the Priestess replied. "I know how deeply you cherish His Highness. The purge will cleanse the court, yes—but it will also awaken enemies you cannot see. Old blood. Forgotten oaths. Shadows that remember."
Tiana faced her again, her voice firm. "I am ready."
The Priestess stepped forward and placed a small vial in Tiana's hand. It was cool to the touch, filled with a clear liquid that swirled faintly, as if stirred by unseen winds.
"Then take this," she said. "For when loyalty fails. For when prophecy returns."
Tiana stared at it. "What is it?"
"A choice," the Priestess said. "One only a queen can make."
Though confusion flickered in her eyes, Tiana tucked the vial into her cloak without hesitation.
"I'll make it when the time comes."
The Priestess bowed her head. "Then may the Flame guide you."
Tiana turned and walked back into the night, her cloak trailing behind her like shadow.
She didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
The gods had spoken.
And she was ready to answer.
The carriage rocked gently as it returned to her estate, but Tiana barely noticed.
The vial pressed against her side, tucked deep within her cloak. She hadn't looked at it again—but she felt it. Like a heartbeat. Like a whisper.
A choice. One only a queen can make.
The High Priestess's words echoed through her mind, tangled with the prophecy she had tried to ignore.
The Saintess will rise to strike down the ruthless king.
Lucan.
Her king.
The man who had trusted her. Who had looked at her not as a pawn, but as a partner. Who had handed her a dagger and said, "Make it final."
She had sworn herself to him.
But the gods had spoken.
And now, she stood between two truths—one forged in blood, the other written in flame.
She entered her chambers alone, dismissing the servants with a glance. The fire was low. The moonlight spilled across the floor like silver threads.
Tiana walked to her mirror and stared at her reflection.
Not the gowns.
Not the jewels.
Just the eyes.
Sharp. Tired. Unyielding.
She opened her cloak and pulled out the vial.
It shimmered faintly, as if aware of her gaze.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
But the vial didn't answer.
It didn't need to.
It was not a weapon.
It was a question.
Could she kill the Saintess if prophecy demanded it?
Could she kill Lucan if prophecy demanded that too?
She thought of the Saintess—wounded, quiet, eyes full of something ancient. Not rage. Not ambition. But inevitability.
She thought of Lucan—his voice, his fury, his trust.
And she thought of herself.
Not just as his queen.
But as the one who might have to choose between love and destiny.
Between loyalty and salvation.
Between the king she served…
…and the reckoning she might become.
Tiana closed her fist around the vial.
Not yet.
But soon.
She placed it in a hidden drawer beneath her writing desk, locking it with a key she wore around her neck.
Then she sat in silence, staring into the fire.
The purge would continue.
Lucan would rule.
But prophecy waited.
And so would she.