The halls of the Blackwood Citadel were colder than she remembered—vast, echoing, magnificent. Every inch of marble had been polished so fiercely, it reflected the torches like rivers of fire. Amara walked beside Chris, not one step behind, not one step ahead—perfectly parallel. Just the way he liked it.
But this wasn't about proximity.
It was about power.
And for the first time, Amara wasn't just assisting. She was ruling.
The silence between her and Chris was heavy, yet comfortable. The kind that only came when trust had been burned into the bone. She'd watched him through war, through betrayal, through bloodshed and glory. And now… he had chosen her.
"We will not falter," Chris said without looking at her.
Amara didn't need to respond. Her silence meant agreement, her breath meant readiness.
Still, inwardly, her mind moved like a tactician's map—lines drawn, pieces in motion.
She remembered her first day in the Palace. Back then, she was nothing but a voice with a sharp mind, buried under protocol and royal shadows. But she had observed—every weakness, every crack, every moment where power shifted. Now, she wasn't observing. She was shaping it.
They entered the command chamber—tall monitors lit with surveillance feeds, troop numbers, trade charts, and movement within all twenty-four districts of the Empire. The moment Amara stepped inside, the guards bowed.
She didn't blink. She had no time for theatrics.
Chris took his throne-like seat, and beside him, a new seat had been crafted—sleek, dark steel with golden Blackwood insignias carved into the arms.
Amara sat.
A Minister approached nervously with a stack of scrolls. "My Lord, Lady Amara… we await your direction on the power transfer in the Eastern territories."
Chris leaned back. "Amara will decide."
The entire room turned to her like she was a thunderstorm in a chamber of candles.
She scanned the data, fingers flicking across a crystal tablet. "Relocate all district leaders under investigation for tax evasion. Reassign the Black Axe Regiment to oversee Eastern transitions. Freeze foreign contracts until further notice."
"But, my Lady—" one dared to say.
She lifted her eyes. One look.
Silence returned.
Chris let a quiet smile pull at the corner of his mouth. Not joy. Not approval.
Recognition.
Later, when the room had cleared and night fell over the Empire, Amara remained seated beside him. She turned her head slowly to Chris, voice low.
"You're grooming me for more than just this, aren't you?"
Chris didn't answer with words.
He simply stood, walked to the war map, and pointed to a new continent—one untouched, one not yet folded into the Blackwood Union.
He looked back at her, and for the first time, she saw it clearly:
She wasn't just the partner. She was the next weapon.