Chris's POV
Her hand was right there.
Close. Warm. Familiar.
For a second, I let myself drift into that old world—the version of me that still believed in late-night rooftop promises, in love that could survive empire-building and betrayal.
But that version of me was dead. I buried him the day Skylar chose the people over her throne.
I let my hand fall back to my side.
And I stepped away.
"I can't afford softness," I said, turning my back to her. My voice was cold now—strategic. Controlled. "Not when my own wife questions my rule in public. Not when my sister whispers rebellion through tears and smiles."
She didn't move. But I could feel her breathing shift.
"You think shutting everyone out makes you strong?" Skylar asked. "No, Chris. It makes you alone."
"I don't need company," I growled. "I need order. And right now, order means drawing lines—even if it means drawing them against you."
Silence again. But this time, it cut deeper.
"You've changed," she whispered.
"No," I said without turning around. "I revealed. The man I am now was always inside me. You just didn't want to believe it."
She moved toward the door. Slowly. Heavily. But just before she crossed the threshold, she said one last thing:
"You're not just building an empire, Chris… you're burying everyone who loved you under it."
The door closed behind her with a dull, final thud.
I stood in the center of the chamber alone.
The fire danced across the floor, casting shadows on the walls—shadows of a king, a tyrant… and a man whose heart had just turned to stone.
I tapped my comm-link.
"Amara."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I want surveillance increased around Skylar's movements. No threats—just eyes."
"She's still off-limits?"
"For now."
I ended the call and stared into the flames.
Love was weakness.
And weakness had no place in my empire.