Chapter 31 Glass and Warnings
I hardly recognize the woman in the mirror.
For a moment, I simply stand there, staring head tilted slightly, breath slow and measured as if she might move on her own if I look away too quickly.
Gold and deep crimson cling to me like a second skin, silk molded to my shape with ruthless precision.
The crown has not yet been placed upon my head, but everything else about me already screams queen.
The maids were thorough.
Painfully so.
Hours of scrubbing every inch of my body until my skin burned and tingled, until I was certain I would be raw by the end of it.
They combed oil through my hair strand by strand, tugging and twisting until my scalp ached.
Pins stabbed into my skin as they adjusted fabric again and again, muttering apologies I stopped believing halfway through.
Every fold was measured. Every jewel weighed. Every flaw corrected.
At the time, I hated it.
Now—
I lift a hand, fingers brushing the smooth line of my jaw, the curve of my throat. The faint scar at my neck is hidden beneath a necklace heavy enough to be mistaken for armor. The red line is still there. It always will be. But today, it is buried under gold and intent.
It was worth it.
All of it.
I look... formidable.
Not beautiful in the way paintings demand soft and pliant but sharp. Intentional. Like a blade polished until it gleams.
A queen meant to be feared just enough.
The door opens behind me.
"You're admiring yourself," Zion says mildly.
I don't jump. I saw his reflection before I heard him.
"I'm assessing," I reply.
He snorts softly and shuts the door behind him, leaning against it with arms crossed. His gaze moves over me once quick, careful, unreadable.
"You look ready," he says.
I turn slightly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "That's not the same as being ready."
He pushes off the door and steps closer. "No one ever is."
Silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable. The kind only siblings who've survived the same storms can share.
"Are we leaving?" I ask.
He nods. "The court is assembling."
I take one last look at my reflection, committing it to memory. This woman the one who looks like she could rule or ruin a kingdom with equal ease did not exist before today.
As Zion offers his arm, his posture shifts subtly. Straighter. More alert.
"There's something you should know," he says as we step into the corridor.
I glance at him. "You're frowning. That's never good."
"Alexander's family arrived this morning."
I stop walking.
"What?"
"They claim they wanted to help their future daughter-in-law celebrate her birthday," he continues carefully.
My brow furrows. "They never sent word."
"They didn't," he agrees.
I resume walking, slower now. "That's... unusual."
"Suspicious," he corrects.
The palace corridors are alive with movement—servants rushing, guards posted more thickly than usual, nobles drifting like sharks drawn by the scent of blood. The air hums with anticipation.
"And Alexander?" I ask.
Zion's jaw tightens. "Quiet. Too quiet."
I exhale slowly. "You think he's planning something."
"I think," Zion says, lowering his voice, "that a man who knows he's cornered will either flee or strike."
"And Alexander has never been good at retreat," I murmur.
"No," Zion agrees. "Which is why you should be on alert."
I glance sideways at him. "Is that brotherly concern, or commander's advice?"
"Both," he says without hesitation.
We reach the doors leading toward the grand hall. Beyond them, I can already hear the muffled sound of music, laughter, and too many voices pretending they don't smell fear in the air.
Zion pauses beside me.
"If anything feels off," he says quietly, "you leave. Celebration or not."
I meet his gaze. "Today is not the day I run."
His mouth twitches. "I didn't think it would be."
He straightens, offering his arm once more escort, protector, witness.
As the doors begin to open, I lift my chin and step forward.
Glass can be polished to look flawless.
But it only takes one careless hand to shatter it.
And something tells me Alexander's family didn't come here to admire the shine.
The throne is colder than I remember.
Not physically no, the gold has been warmed by bodies and centuries but in the way absence settles into it. The king's throne looms larger than the queen's seat beside it, carved higher, broader, unmistakably meant to dominate the room. Tradition says it should remain empty until a king claims it.
Tradition has never kept me alive.
So I sit.
The movement ripples through the hall the moment I lower myself onto it. A murmur passes through the nobles like a breath held too long and finally released. I feel their eyes on me calculating, offended, curious. Some look pleased. Others look furious.
I welcome all of it.
The crown is placed upon my head once I am seated, its weight settling into place like a familiar burden. Heavy. Grounding. Unforgiving. It presses down not just on my skull but on my thoughts, my spine, my patience.
I do not flinch.
I know what I am doing.
The queen's throne remains empty beside me, its vacancy deliberate. Leaving this throne empty would be an invitation one Alexander would accept gladly. An empty king's seat is a promise in his eyes. A suggestion. A weakness.
I will give him none.
Still, I am not foolish.
I know I will have to rise when Dante arrives. The throne cannot hold two kings. But until then, it will not sit vacant. Not for Alexander. Not for his family. Not for anyone who believes absence is permission.
Music fills the hall strings and soft percussion, cheerful and bright in a way that feels almost obscene. Servants move between tables with wine and delicacies. Laughter bubbles up in clusters, forced in places, genuine in others.
I barely hear it.
My gaze drifts toward the entrance again. And again.
Where is he?
Dante understands timing. He always has. He will not arrive early. He will not arrive late enough to insult me but late enough to unnerve everyone else.
Still, the waiting stretches.
I feel it in my jaw. In the way my fingers curl slightly against the armrest.
Then a voice cuts through the noise.
"Your Majesty."
Alexander steps forward from the crowd, every inch the charming prince he has perfected himself into. He smiles as if we are lovers sharing a private joke. As if we have not been circling one another like predators for Months .
I do not return the smile.
His eyes flick—briefly, sharply—to the throne beneath me.
"May I ask," he continues smoothly, "why you are seated there?"
The emphasis is subtle. Deliberate.
A hush begins to creep through the hall.
I turn my head toward him slowly, resting my chin against my knuckles. Boredom is a far sharper weapon than anger.
"Because," I reply evenly, "I am the only reigning ruler of this empire."
A few nobles inhale sharply.
Alexander's smile tightens. "You are a queen," he says. "Not a king."
I tilt my head. "And yet, here I am."
Before he can respond, his father steps forward.
The older man does not bother with charm.
"This is precisely the problem," the duke snaps, voice carrying easily through the hall. "If you would stop stalling, there would not be only one ruler."
The word stalling lands like a slap.
I remain silent.
He takes that silence as permission.
"A kingdom without a king is a body without a spine," he continues, emboldened. "History has proven time and again that a woman cannot rule alone. It is not natural. It is not stable. A man is required to command armies, to inspire fear, to make the hard decisions."
I watch him speak as one might watch a barking dog.
Detached. Unmoved.
Alexander stands beside him now, expression carefully arranged concerned, dutiful, almost regretful. The picture of a man burdened by a woman's stubborn pride.
His father goes on.
"You sit there as if the throne belongs to you by right alone," the duke scoffs. "But crowns are meant to be shared. Guided. Corrected. Without a king, your rule is incomplete."
Murmurs ripple outward.
I do not defend myself.
Not because I cannot but because it would be pointless.
Men like him do not listen. They do not learn. They speak to hear their own voices echo back at them, mistaking volume for truth.
I have learned that lesson the hard way.
So I say nothing.
I sit. I watch. I wait.