Chris's POV
The room was dim, silent except for the faint ticking of the antique clock mounted above my head. Shadows stretched across the marble floor, dancing in sync with the quiet fire flickering behind the glass hearth.
I sat on my throne—not the golden, gem-studded one I had forged for public intimidation, but the real one. The chair where I ruled with thoughts, not threats. Where I planned wars, signed lives into fate, and whispered secrets that could collapse or crown nations.
I stared at the holo-screen in front of me. The footage of Amara's order looped back again and again—blast points, screaming officers, Skylar's agency wiped out in under five minutes.
Amara.
She had always been loyal. Sharp. Fearless. Ruthless when needed.
But this… this was getting too close to a line no one else dared to cross.
I tapped the button beside me.
"Get me Amara. Now."
Seconds passed. Then the blue screen lit up, revealing her face. Calm. Controlled. But her eyes? I could see the fire behind them. She was proud of the strike. She thought she was protecting me. And in many ways, she had.
But not from her.
"Sir," Amara said formally, standing upright, dressed in her high-command battle gear.
I didn't waste time.
"You know Skylar is still my wife," I said flatly. "And number 02 of the Empire."
Amara blinked, but didn't look away.
"She created a faction against your rule. She stood on that stage and chose the people over the empire."
"She chose her truth. That doesn't give anyone permission to touch her," I snapped.
Her silence was louder than argument.
I leaned forward.
"No one—no one—is permitted to hurt Skylar except me. And even then, it would be with words, not weapons."
Amara looked away for a moment, collecting herself. When she faced me again, her voice was quiet. Controlled.
"I didn't harm her, Chris. I disabled her power. I gave her a chance to run instead of fight."
I stood now, walking toward the screen slowly, my tone softer—deeper.
"She's not just another rebel, Amara. She's the mother of my son. The woman who once stood beside me when the Blackwood name was nothing but whispers. Whatever she is now—enemy, traitor, dreamer—she's still mine to deal with."
Amara's face finally cracked, just a little.
"You still love her?" she asked, eyes sharp.
I sighed. "That's not your question to ask."
There was a beat of silence. Then I added, "I trust you, Amara. You're the only one left who hasn't betrayed me."
"But I need you to trust me in return. Skylar is not a threat to eliminate. She's a fire to contain."
"She will destroy everything," Amara said, more to herself than to me. "Her words are already turning the First Class citizens against you."
"She's emotional. Reactionary. But she's not dangerous—yet," I said. "I'll handle her."
Amara swallowed. "And Christiana?"
"Let her expose herself," I said. "She's itching for a crown that was never hers. But Skylar… Skylar still has a part of me. And until I burn that part myself—she is off limits."
Amara looked away, visibly battling her emotions.
I softened. "You did well today. Tactically. But next time, ask me before declaring war on my wife."
Her voice cracked a little. "Understood, Your Grace."
The screen went dark.
And I sat back down.
Still staring at the flickering fire, my fingers tapped slowly against the armrest.
Skylar.
Always the thorn I refused to pluck.
Always the woman who knew too much—and still had the power to unravel me.