Chapter- The Walk to Court
Waiting outside the court doors always feels a little like standing beside the mouth of a sleeping beast.
Not because the doors themselves are frightening.
They are beautiful—massive slabs of blackened wood carved with the history of Elysium in twisting gold relief.
Wars. Crowns. Bloodlines. Victories won through violence brutal enough to become legend.
The metal handles alone are taller than some men, polished so often they gleam beneath the torchlight like molten sunlight.
No
It is what waits behind them that makes the air feel heavy.
Politics.
Foreign rulers.
Nobles smile with poison hidden behind their teeth.
And today, unfortunately, there are more smiling people than usual.
Which means there are definitely more knives.
I stand quietly beside Achille while servants fuss endlessly with my gown, smoothing fabric around my stomach with the nervous concentration of people trying not to anger a pregnant queen.
Pregnancy has made formal clothing feel like a deeply personal attack against my happiness.
My ribs ache. My ankles are swollen. The baby has apparently decided my internal organs are decorative suggestions rather than necessities, and every few minutes I have to subtly shift my weight before my spine starts threatening revolution.
Achilles notices every movement immediately.
Of course he does.
His hand settles against my lower back the moment I adjust my posture for the third time, warm and steady through the layers of fabric.
"You're uncomfortable."
"I'm pregnant."
"That wasn't an answer."
"It was the answer."
His jaw tightens faintly, as if my discomfort personally insulted him.
Honestly, I think he views pregnancy as an enemy kingdom attacking me directly.
A servant kneels to adjust the hem of my gown, and Achille watches with the same intensity he usually reserves for assassination attempts. If the woman so much as breathed wrong near my ankles, I genuinely think he might declare war on her bloodline.
"You should sit," he mutters quietly.
"If I sit down right now," I reply, "I may never get back up."
"That sounds dramatic."
"That sounds realistic."
He studies me another moment before his hand shifts lower against my back, thumb moving in slow circles without thought.
It is ridiculous how gentle he becomes with me when no one else notices.
Well
Almost no one.
A few feet away, Jacline watches us over the edge of a ledge with the expression of a woman silently judging our emotional stability.
Nathaniel pretends not to notice.
Levi looks lost in his own little world.
And then there is Elias.
Elias lounges beside one of the marble columns near the court doors, looking entirely too relaxed for someone about to enter one of the most politically dangerous court sessions in recent history.
One boot crossed lazily over the other. Hands in his pockets.
Expression calm in the deeply suspicious way only he can manage.
Levi glances toward him once.
Then pauses.
Slowly.
His eyes narrow.
"...you have something on your face."
Elias blinks lazily. "That sounds vague."
"You have lipstick on your mouth."
Silence.
Then Elias sighs dramatically, as if the world itself has become exhausting.
"Gods," he mutters while wiping at his mouth with his thumb. "She's clingy."
Levi stares at him in disbelief. "Were you really making out with some random woman while we prepared for court?"
Elias looks genuinely offended.
"She wasn't random," he says calmly. "That feels disrespectful to her efforts."
Nathaniel coughs suddenly to hide laughter.
Jacline outright snorts.
Levi pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're unbelievable."
"No," Elias corrects smoothly. "I'm desirable."
"You're a public health concern."
"That too."
Levi folds one arm across his chest. "I'm less concerned about your ego and more concerned that someone voluntarily kissed you."
Elias gasps softly like he's been emotionally wounded. "Levi... are you upset no one finds your lips soft and kissable?"
Nathaniel physically turns away to avoid eye contact.
Levi looks deeply offended. "Plenty of people want to kiss me ."
"Please name them."
"Shut up, you one-eyed freak..." Before Levi can continue verbally assaulting him, movement appears at the far end of the corridor.
The guards nearest the doors straighten instinctively the moment she approaches. Servants lower their eyes. Nobles further down the hall suddenly remember urgent business elsewhere.
Today she wears black armor trimmed in silver, dark fabric fitted cleanly beneath the metal plating, her sword resting at her hip like a permanent extension of her body. Her hair is pulled tightly back again, expression unreadable as she.
The moment she reaches us, her eyes sweep across the group once.
"Can you all not?" she says flatly. "For five minutes?"
Elias smiles brightly. "No."
"You're all acting like children."
"That feels harsh."
"That was the goal."
Levi gestures immediately toward Elias with vindicated satisfaction. "Tell him he looks ridiculous."
Veronica's gaze drags slowly over Elias's face.
Then she sighs.
"Wipe your face," she says calmly, "you weirdo "
Levi straightens smugly.
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Even with one functioning eye, it should be difficult to miss the lipstick covering your mouth."
Levi looks unbearably pleased with himself.
I almost feel bad for him.
Almost.
Because Veronica reaches into her sleeve and pulls out a folded handkerchief, holding it toward Elias with visible annoyance.
"Your girl needs boundaries."
Levi immediately smirks wider. "Finally, someone agrees..."
Unfortunately for him, he still hasn't realized Veronica isn't actually angry.
She's annoyed.
In a very specific way, women become annoyed when they themselves caused the problem.
His grin turns dangerous.
He pushes off the wall and walks directly toward Veronica while everyone watches with varying levels of concern.
Without warning
He takes the handkerchief from her hand...
...and casually wipes the remaining lipstick off his mouth using the metal shoulder of her armor as a mirror.
Elias hands the handkerchief back politely. "Thank you, darling."
Then he bends slightly and whispers something into her ear.
I watch Veronica Lady Veil, terrifying captain of the royal guard, feared executioner of the crown, woman rumored to have once interrogated a spy so brutally the man confessed to crimes committed by entirely different people, go completely pale.
She immediately grabs the ledger from Achilles's hands and shoves his sword back toward him like she suddenly needs physical objects for emotional support.
Achilles looks exhausted already.
Levi stares openly now. "...what did he say to her?" Elias shrugs innocently. "Nothing serious. I merely asked whether she was jealous."
"Why are you like this? It's not right that one man is this annoying. Arrogant. Emotionally exhausting ."
"And handsome," Elias adds. "You forgot devastatingly handsome." Elias looks unbearably smug.
Achilles finally exhales heavily beside me.
"If you idiots are done emotionally terrorizing each other," he says flatly, "I would like to survive this court session."
He turns toward the guards and nods once.
Immediately, the massive court doors begin opening.
The sound echoes through the corridor like thunder.
And instantly
Everything changes.
The humor disappears first.
Then the warmth.
Then the ease.
Soldiers move ahead immediately, securing entrances while scanning the throne room already filled with nobles, rulers, diplomats, and advisors waiting inside.
The court is not simply a ceremony.
It is a strategy.
Power.
Survival.
Achilles enters first because he is the king.
Veronica follows directly behind me, every inch the bloodhound, expression cold enough to freeze entire conversations as nearby nobles lower their eyes instinctively.
Jacline and Nathaniel move beside the guards. Elias enters next, still smiling faintly, though I notice one hand remains near the hidden blade beneath his coat now.
Levi follows last among the inner circle.
The throne room falls silent.
Nobles bow.
Foreign rulers lower their heads.
The air itself feels tense.
And there
In front of everyone
My terrifying husband stops walking.
Then turns toward me.
And holds out his hand.
Always.
No matter the room.
No matter the danger.
No matter how many eyes watch us.
He never takes the throne without me beside him.
My chest tightens carefully as I place my hand into his.
Warm.
Steady.
Certain.
Together we walk toward the throne while the entire court watches us carefully.
Some loyal.
Some fearful.
Some are already planning betrayal.
And somewhere within these walls sit people who would gladly slit our throats if given the chance.