The palace woke early, but Aurelia had not slept.
She lay still beneath heavy silk covers, listening to the distant echo of footsteps and murmured voices beyond her chamber door. Somewhere in the palace, bells chimed softly—measured, solemn. They reminded her of a countdown rather than a welcome.
They're waiting, she realized.
Waiting for me to fail.
When the maids arrived, they did so in silence. Three women entered her chamber with practiced efficiency, their faces carefully blank. They bathed her, dressed her, and brushed her hair with gentle hands that betrayed nothing of their thoughts—except for the occasional glance, quick and uncertain, as though they were committing her image to memory.
As if she wouldn't be here much longer.
"This is unnecessary," Aurelia said softly when they brought out a gown of deep royal blue, embroidered with silver thread. "I'm not attending court, am I?"
One of the maids stiffened. Another avoided her eyes.
"You are the queen," the eldest said carefully. "All queens attend court. Even… briefly."
Aurelia caught the meaning in the pause.
Even those who don't last.
She allowed them to dress her anyway. If this palace expected her to crumble under whispered assumptions and unspoken pity, they would be disappointed.
The walk to the council hall felt longer than it should have. Every corridor held eyes—nobles pretending not to stare, servants lowering their heads too quickly, guards watching her with the solemnity reserved for the condemned.
She lifted her chin.
If she was expected to die, she would not do so trembling.
The council hall doors opened with a heavy groan, and Aurelia stepped inside.
The room was vast, circular, and filled with polished stone and cold light. Long tables formed a ring around a raised dais where the throne stood. The nobles were already seated—dukes, lords, ladies draped in wealth and ambition.
And at the center, upon the obsidian throne, sat King Kael Blackthorn.
He did not look at her immediately.
Aurelia felt the weight of that absence more sharply than his gaze.
"Her Majesty, Queen Aurelia of Blackthorn," a herald announced.
The room bowed.
Aurelia followed the practiced motion she had been taught, her pulse steady despite the storm inside her chest. When she straightened, Kael finally turned his head.
Their eyes met.
Something unreadable flickered across his expression—surprise, perhaps. Or irritation. She couldn't tell.
"Begin," Kael said, his voice carrying easily across the hall.
The council proceeded as though she were not there.
They discussed grain shortages in the northern provinces. Border skirmishes. Tax reforms. Treaties whispered but never signed. Aurelia listened quietly, absorbing everything. No one addressed her. No one asked for her opinion.
Except one man.
"Your Majesty," a duke said suddenly, turning toward her with a thin smile. "We would be remiss not to acknowledge the… unique circumstances of the queen's position."
The room grew still.
Aurelia felt it then—the tightening of the air, the collective expectation. Here it comes.
"The curse," the duke continued smoothly. "It has… unfortunate precedents. Many of us wonder how the crown intends to proceed should the worst occur."
Should I die.
Kael's fingers tightened on the armrest of his throne.
Aurelia spoke before he could.
"The worst," she said calmly, "would be allowing fear to govern an empire."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
The duke raised a brow. "Fear has governed this empire for decades, Your Majesty. With good reason."
Aurelia turned to face him fully. "Then perhaps it is time for something else."
Silence followed—thick, startled silence.
Kael's gaze sharpened.
"You speak boldly for someone newly arrived," the duke said coolly.
"I speak clearly," Aurelia replied. "If I am to be queen—even briefly—then I will not be treated as a funeral arrangement waiting to happen."
A ripple of shock moved through the council.
Kael stood.
The sound of it echoed through the hall, commanding instant attention.
"My wife will be treated as queen," he said, his voice cold and final. "Speculation about her death is treason."
The duke paled.
Aurelia did not look at Kael, but she felt the shift—the protection, reluctant yet unmistakable.
The meeting ended shortly after.
As the nobles dispersed, Aurelia remained standing, unsure whether to leave or stay. Kael descended from the dais, stopping in front of her.
"You should not have spoken," he said quietly.
"You should not have let them talk about my death," she replied just as softly.
His eyes searched her face. "Do you understand how dangerous that was?"
"Yes," she said. "But I also understand something else."
"And what is that?" he asked.
"They expect me to die," Aurelia said. "And expectations can be used."
Kael studied her for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a short, humorless breath.
"You are not what I was given," he said.
"No," Aurelia agreed. "I'm what you're stuck with."
For the first time since she had met him, Kael smiled.
It was faint. Brief. And utterly dangerous.
As she walked back to her chambers, Aurelia felt it clearly now—the palace wasn't waiting for her death anymore.
It was watching her.