I felt Zayn's fingers tighten around mine as the doors to the East Wing reception hall opened.
She was already there.
Lady Celestine of House Veylor.
The woman the kingdom once prepared for my husband.
She stood by the tall window, dressed in pale silver—so soft it looked like moonlight had chosen her as its vessel. Her posture was perfect. Her arms relaxed. Her expression calm.
But her presence?
Sharp.
Controlled.
Powerful.
She didn't need a crown to look royal.
The crown looked like it belonged to her.
Zayn exhaled beside me, jaw tightening. Azael gave me a small nod, the kind that meant, Steady yourself. Observe. Do not break.
Celestine turned slowly at the sound of our footsteps.
Her eyes found Zayn first.
Not lingering, not longing—just studying him with a quiet familiarity that stabbed something deep and unprepared inside me.
Then her gaze landed on me.
Not harshly.
Not kindly.
Just… measuring me.
"You must be Princess Maya," she said finally, voice smooth and poised. "The woman who made a prince give up his crown."
The room seemed to shrink.
Zayn stepped in front of me, protective. "Celestine, that's not—"
She raised a hand politely.
"Relax, Zayn. I came to greet her, not to embarrass her."
Her attention slid back to me.
"But I can't greet a woman I don't know."
Her lips curved, not into a smile—into precision.
"So may I?"
Zayn looked at me as if asking permission.
I nodded faintly. "Yes."
Celestine approached slowly, her heels silent against the marble. When she stopped before me, we were almost the same height… yet it felt like she was quietly towering.
She extended her hand.
Not a handshake.
A soft, aristocratic gesture—waiting for me to place my hand in hers.
I hesitated.
Just for a breath.
Then I placed my hand gently in hers.
Her fingers were cool and delicate, yet something in her touch felt firm—like she was telling me she wasn't fragile at all.
"Congratulations on your marriage," she said softly.
"Sincerely."
My shoulders relaxed a little.
But then she leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering just enough for only us to hear.
"And I hope you understand… tomorrow is not just a council session."
Her thumb brushed the back of my hand—barely noticeable, but intentional.
"It is a presentation. A comparison."
I swallowed.
"To compare what?" I whispered.
Her smile deepened—elegant, dangerous.
"To compare who wears the crown better."
Azael stepped closer instantly, his presence slicing the space between us.
"That will be enough," he said quietly.
Celestine straightened like she'd expected it. Then she gave Zayn a long look—one that wasn't romantic, but wasn't distant either. A look that carried years of shared expectations I didn't know about.
"Zayn," she said softly, "you look well. Happier. Truly."
Zayn didn't answer.
His jaw flexed.
His arm wrapped around me.
That was answer enough.
Celestine turned to the door before she stopped once more.
"Oh," she added lightly, as if remembering something small but important.
"Princess Maya?"
"Yes?" My voice barely made it out.
She looked me over one more time—not cruelly, not kindly, just honestly.
"Tomorrow, the council won't hear your love story."
Her eyes sharpened.
"They'll judge your strength."
My breath hitched.
"Show them you have some."
And with that, she left—guiding the air out of the room with her.
The door closed behind her with a soft echo.
Silence pulled at everything in me.
Then Zayn cupped my face, breath trembling. "Maya… are you alright? Say something."
I finally exhaled.
"I'm alright," I whispered. "Just…"
Just realizing who I'm standing against.
Azael crossed his arms. "She didn't come to intimidate you. She came to see if she should fear you."
I looked up sharply.
"Fear me?"
Azael stepped closer, voice low.
"Maya, Celestine is a woman trained for royalty since birth. But she saw something today that unsettled her."
"What?" I breathed.
Zayn answered, pulling me into his chest.
"You're the woman I chose."
My heart fluttered painfully.
But before I could reply—
before I could breathe—
A court messenger suddenly burst through the doors, panting, bowing so low his forehead almost hit the floor.
"Your Highnesses!" he gasped.
Azael stiffened. "What now?"
The messenger lifted trembling eyes to us.
"It's the Queen Mother," he said, breath shaking.
"She has made a new decree."
Zayn's grip tightened.
"What decree?" he demanded.
The messenger looked at me—only me.
His voice trembled.
"For tomorrow's council… Princess Maya must stand alone."
Azael's head snapped up.
Zayn's face drained.
My breath froze.
"Without Prince Zayn," the messenger continued.
"Without Prince Azael. Without support."
The hall went silent.
Too silent.
Then—
The messenger whispered the final blow:
"The Queen Mother says the kingdom must see if Princess Maya can survive… without the prince who chose her."
My world tilted.
The room blurred.
And for the first time since stepping into this palace…
I wasn't sure if love would be enough.
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