power; The weight of crown.

Queen Khloe's voice rang out, steady, commanding, undeniable.

"The celebration is over."

She took her seat, and the noise in the room ceased instantly. Her voice cut through the heavy air like a blade, steady, commanding, undeniable.

Still amazed King Magnus leaned forward, his posture rigid as he scrutinized her. His tone, though laced with authority, was still tempered with caution. "Princess—"

"Silence."

Her voice rang out again, louder this time, and with more command than a king had ever dared to wield.

The room fell into stunned silence. Even the witches, who were used to power, fell still in her presence. Khloe's gaze swept across the hall, locking onto her ministers, then her father's throne, still occupied by the very man whose son and had taken everything from her.

"This union was meant for peace and prosperity," she continued, her emerald eyes flashing. "I will honor my father's wishes and the treaty—but only to a limit."

Cullen, who sat beside her, gave a small, amused smile. "Go on, wife," he drawled, his golden eyes gleaming with an unsettling mix of curiosity and dark amusement.

Khloe didn't even acknowledge him. She was focused on the people who surrounded her—on the traitors, the witches, the false nobles who had thought they could control her.

"As of tonight, all witches must vacate my kingdom," she declared, her voice ringing with finality, no hesitation in her tone.

The words fell heavy on the room like stones. Gasps rippled through the hall, and some of the witches stood, their faces full of fury. Others, more cautious, looked toward Cullen for a sign of his response. The human nobles remained silent, shocked by the sudden, audacious declaration.

King Magnus's fingers curled around the armrest of the throne, his lips twisting into a dark frown. "You dare—"

Khloe did not wait for him to finish.

"This marriage is an alliance of trade and blood—nothing more," she continued, her gaze now locking onto the man who had once been her father's most trusted ally. "Cullen will remain here with his personal guards, maids, and army. But the rest of you"—she paused, letting the tension fill the space—"will leave at dawn."

A murmur of disbelief ran through the room, growing louder. Some of the witches seemed ready to protest, their hands raised as if they might speak, but Khloe's cold gaze silenced them before they could utter a word. The human ministers shifted uneasily in their seats. The air was thick with tension, and for the first time, Khloe felt a thrill of power.

Lord Ferand, the minister of finance, was the first to rise. His face had turned red with anger, his voice rising in protest. "Your Majesty, you speak too boldly. This is no way for a queen—"

Khloe's eyes narrowed, her hand rising with a deliberate slowness.

It was a simple gesture, but it had the weight of an executioner's decree.

Jason moved before the words could even leave Ferand's lips, the flash of his blade almost too quick to see.

A sharp gasp. A gurgling sound. The room froze.

Lord Ferand collapsed, his hands clutching his throat as blood poured from the wound in his neck, staining his luxurious robes a deep crimson. The sound of his body hitting the floor was a sickening thud, but it was drowned out by the collective intake of breath from the room.

Gasps and horrified screams filled the air as everyone realized what had just happened.

Jason stood over the fallen minister, his sword dripping with blood. His expression was as calm as ever, betraying no emotion, as though he had simply executed an order. His eyes never left Khloe's as he wiped the blade clean with a swift motion.

The silence in the room was deafening. No one dared to move, to speak, to even breathe.

Khloe stood at the head of the table, her gaze sweeping over the room. There was no fear in her, no hesitation. Her eyes were like daggers as they pierced through the nobles and the witches alike.

"Well?" Her voice was a soft thread of menace. "Does anyone else have something to say?"

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. No one dared to speak, not even the witches who had once held such power. Even Cullen was unnervingly still, his golden eyes watching her with a mix of admiration and something darker, more dangerous.

Khloe's lips parted, but it was not to speak further. She merely inclined her head slightly, signaling Jason to take his place beside her once more. The message was clear.

The rest of them were nothing.

"You all have until sunrise to vacate my kingdom," she said, her voice colder than the night air. The words hung in the air like a final verdict, an irrevocable decree.

With that, she turned sharply on her heel, her gown sweeping behind her like a trail of fire.

"Jason. Olivia. With me."

The door to her chambers closed behind them, and the weight of the world pressed down on her shoulders. The soft click of the door was all that marked the finality of her actions. Yet, even as she crossed the threshold, the pain within her body had already begun to mount.

She could feel it in every step—her body aching in ways she hadn't expected. The pain in her abdomen intensified with every movement, the strain of standing for so long after childbirth gnawing at her muscles. But there was no room for weakness. Not now. Not when she is just starting.

"Jason," she said, her voice steady despite the inner turmoil, her eyes never leaving the path ahead of her. "Any word on Natty?"

Jason's voice, soft yet unwavering, came from behind her. "None."

Khloe's jaw clenched. That maid, the one who had slipped away unnoticed, had disappeared. Her absence meant something, but Khloe couldn't afford to think about it now.

"And Maria?" she asked, her voice a touch softer, the hint of concern leaking through.

Jason hesitated only briefly before answering. "She left for the temple. She'll return after the fourth moon."

Khloe nodded once, the smallest flicker of relief crossing her face. Maria had proven loyal. That was one thing she could rely on in a world that seemed to be shifting beneath her feet.

They reached her chambers, and Olivia quickly opened the door for her. Khloe entered without so much as a glance in her direction.

"Jason, stand guard," she ordered, her voice sharp.

Jason bowed his head, though his gaze never left her. "As you command."

The door clicked shut behind her, and for the first time in hours, she allowed herself a breath. But it was short-lived.

She stumbled, her vision spinning, and before she could react, she collapsed forward.

The pain struck her like a hammer—sharp, unbearable, and all-consuming. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, her fingers clutching her abdomen as something warm began to seep through the fabric of her gown. Blood.

The world tilted.

She couldn't see. Couldn't think.

"Your Majesty!" Olivia's voice pierced through the fog.

But it was too late. The darkness was closing in.

Khloe's knees buckled completely. She fell forward, but Olivia caught her just in time, lifting her as best as she could, but the weight was too much. The pain overwhelmed her.

"Jason!" Olivia cried out, her voice frantic.

Jason was at the door in an instant, his eyes scanning her weakened form. "We need help—now!"

But there was no answer. There was only darkness.

The throne room still stood, but now it was empty. The air felt heavier than ever before. King Magnus sat alone, his eyes darkened with the weight of what had just transpired.

Cullen sat back in his chair, swirling wine in his goblet, a small smile curling at his lips.

"Well," he murmured, his tone smooth, but there was something dark behind it. "That was unexpected."

King Magnus did not respond. His silence spoke volumes—anger, yes, but something more. Something far more dangerous.