Chapter Thirteen: The Queen Must Bleed
The coronation was swift.
Not grand.
Not golden.
I wore no jewels.
Only armor.
Silver-threaded silk, lined with steel. A symbol, not of vanity—but survival.
They knelt.
Some with clenched jaws.
Others with awe.
And one or two, with hatred they thought I wouldn't see.
But I saw everything.
And everyone.
At the end of the ceremony, I looked out over the court and said:
"This is not the end of a reign. It is the beginning of reckoning."
Then I sat on the throne.
And made them watch.
But power does not come quietly.
And neither do assassins.
It happened on the third night.
A banquet in the East Hall—ostensibly to honor my ascent.
Wine poured freely. Laughter rang hollow.
And I felt it before I saw it.
A flicker in the tapestry behind me. A glint where no candlelight reached.
I moved a breath too soon.
The blade grazed my shoulder instead of my throat.
I spun.
Caden was already there.
Steel met steel.
Blood sprayed.
The assassin fell.
And for a long moment, no one moved.
Then I stood.
Bleeding, but upright.
I looked to the stunned crowd and said, "If you want my crown—come take it properly."
That night, Caden stitched my shoulder.
"You should've let me step in sooner," he muttered.
"I needed them to see it," I said through clenched teeth. "That I bleed. That I survive."
He paused.
"And if the next one strikes true?"
I turned my head toward him.
"Then you'll carry the sword for me."
His hands froze.
"Elira—"
"I'm not asking you to love me, Caden," I said. "Just to stand beside me. Until the end."
A beat of silence.
Then his voice, rough and raw: "Too late."
Outside, a storm broke.
Inside, for the first time, I let myself lean against him.
Not as queen.
Not as heir.
But simply as a woman at war.
The vultures were circling.
But I was no corpse.
Not yet.
To be Continued...