It's been three weeks since we returned from the island.
Three weeks since the Queen took to her chambers and never truly emerged.
The palace has adapted, grudgingly. Whispers are quieter but heavier now. Like footsteps in the dark. Everyone is waiting for something. A word. A change. A fall.
Cassian and I sit in our private lounge, a warm lamp between us, casting gold shadows on the deep blue velvet walls. His crown lies abandoned on a nearby console, forgotten like a piece of costume. He's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers pressed to his temple. He's been like this for minutes now. Silent. Thinking.
He looks... tired. Not just from the weight of the crown. From watching his mother fade.
"She's responding to the antibiotics," he finally says. "Dr. Halsten says the inflammation is reducing. But she refuses physiotherapy, and she won't take the supplements he prescribed."
I don't respond immediately. I fold my arms across my chest and listen to the soft ticking of the wall clock. Cassian has repeated this same thing every two days. He's hoping for a different outcome. But it doesn't come.
"She's still giving council orders through her steward," he adds with a tired scoff. "Even as she lies in bed, barely able to lift a pen."
"She won't hand over," I mutter. "You know that."
Cassian turns to look at me. "They're beginning to suggest something quietly... a temporary regency, if her condition doesn't improve."
I don't flinch. I've been expecting this. The council is made up of traditionalists, yes but not fools. Matica can't afford a power vacuum. And Cassian, as capable as he is, has never acted without the Queen's shadow standing behind him.
"She'll fight it," I say.
"So will I," he replies, surprising me.
I raise an eyebrow. "You?"
He nods. "If she steps down... or is asked to... then things change. Entirely. And I can't do that alone."
His words settle around me like warmth and weight. His eyes hold mine; firm, open, searching.
"I'm not asking for you to carry my burden," he says. "But I won't carry it without you either. Not anymore."
He reaches for my hand across the small space between us. I let him.
"You've grown, Celeste," he says softly. "Beyond anything I imagined. The girl who came here in chains is now the woman this kingdom watches with expectation. You're no longer surviving Matica, you're shaping it."
A rush of emotion fills my chest. Not pride. Not even fear. Something like... belonging.
"I don't know what's ahead," I whisper. "But I'm ready to face it with you."
His thumb brushes the back of my hand. He nods. "Then we face it together."
Outside, thunder rolls softly in the distance. The evening is falling, pulling night with it, but I no longer dread what the darkness brings.
There's something stirring in the air. Not just change. Not just power.
Purpose.
And for the first time since I wore this royal title...
I feel like it finally fits.
***
The morning creeps in slowly, filtered through the lace curtains of our chamber. I hear no music of peace but only the muffled urgency of footsteps in the corridor, the hushed voices of guards, and the ever-growing silence from Cassian's side of the bed.
He had risen hours ago. Again.
I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts. For days now, Cassian has been moving like a man carrying a mountain. Ever since we returned from Royal Island, it's been one emergency after another, most of them surrounding his mother, the Queen.
I haven't seen her since the diagnosis. I've stayed back, giving Cassian room to handle it all his way.
But this morning, just as I finish dressing in a simple navy gown, there's a knock on the door.
It's him.
He steps in, eyes rimmed with sleeplessness, his shirt half-buttoned and fingers stained with dried ink. I don't speak. I simply wait, knowing from the tightness in his jaw that something weighs heavily on him.
"Celeste…" he begins, running a hand through his hair. "I need a favour. A royal one."
I nod, slowly. "Go on."
He crosses the room in three long strides and sits beside me, his voice dropping to a low, tired whisper. "The next General Council meeting is in a few hours. I was supposed to preside."
I blink. "And you won't?"
"I can't," he mutters. "The Queen's condition worsened overnight. She's weaker than she lets on, and now she needs a blood transfusion, urgently."
I sit up straighter. "From the royal bloodline?"
He nods. "She can't receive blood from the public bank. Her status… traditions… protocol. The Royal House must provide. I'll get tested immediately. See if I'm a match."
"And you want me to stand in for you."
He holds my gaze. "It's not just that. If neither the Queen nor I are present, the quorum won't be complete. They'll postpone important national discussions; budgetary reviews, foreign envoys, constitutional petitions. And we can't afford that now. The kingdom needs continuity."
I swallow, slowly. "Do you think the council will accept my presence?"
"They already respect you," he says without hesitation. "Most of them do, anyway. You've earned it. And today, I need you to wear the crown; not as a wife, not as princess, but as the Crown's voice."
His words settle like weight on my shoulders. Not a burden. A responsibility.
"I'll do it," I say quietly. "You focus on the Queen. I'll handle the council."
A breath of relief leaves his lips, and he touches my hand briefly. "Thank you. I'll make sure they brief you before the session begins."
As he rises, I ask, "Cassian… will she be okay?"
He doesn't answer right away. Then finally, "I don't know. But I'll do everything to keep her alive."
And with that, he's gone off to play the role of son, protector, heir.
And I?
I take a breath, stand tall, and prepare to step into a room full of seasoned politicians and palace power brokers—alone, but not unprepared.
It's time.
Time to be more than someone's choice.
Time to be the Crown's will.
Time to lead.