Mira's pov
The war room was quiet, the only sounds the faint flicker of lantern light and the distant hum of the castle outside. Mira sat at the end of the table, her fingers tracing over a parchment. The lines moved beneath her touch with ease, as if the act of planning were simple—yet her thoughts were far from the map in front of her.
Mira was always the silent observer, the one who blended into the shadows. Her position as Charlotte's guardian was one of quiet devotion, frequently overlooked by those who didn't understand the depth of her loyalty. To others, she was mute, weak even—but far from it.
She heard the ticking of time, each second slipping away faster than she wished. The scheme had already been set in motion, and Charlotte was executing her moves with the poise Mira secretly envied, even if it unsettled her. Each step of the plan had been meticulously crafted, yet Mira couldn't shake the feeling that it was too perfect. The risk was growing, closing in, and Charlotte stood right in the center of it.
Mira's fingers clenched, aching for action, for something more than just being a background presence. She felt the weight of Charlotte's choices pressing down on her shoulders. She wanted to protect her—instinctively, she would—but the price was rising with every move Charlotte made. She feared that one day, Elias, despite his devotion and quick thinking, wouldn't be able to restrain Charlotte when she surged forward recklessly.
A tap on the door broke her thoughts. Mira didn't need to look up to know who it was before the door creaked open.
Amelia stepped inside, healer's kit slung across her back. She spoke little, but her eyes always said more than words ever could. When Amelia did speak, it was blunt, concise, and to the point. Mira gestured toward the chair beside her, her hands already moving to convey the question.
"What news?"
Amelia's gaze flicked to the map, then back to Mira. "The Vellador plot runs deeper than we thought. The steward's confession was just the beginning. The rings, the crest—this isn't an isolated incident. It's part of something much bigger."
Mira's fingers paused mid-air. "Who's behind it?"
Amelia leaned in, her voice lowering. "Someone higher up. The crest isn't just House Vellador. It's tied to old, conservative families—those with power, influence, and a deep resistance to Charlotte's rule. They're trying to undermine her by any means necessary."
Mira's eyes darkened, her fingers flying into rapid motion. "Then we cut the link. We strike before they can grow too powerful."
Amelia nodded, her face grim. "That's the plan. But we need time—time to act carefully, without arousing suspicion. They'll turn Charlotte into the villain if she's seen as the aggressor."
Mira drew in a breath, her gaze shifting toward the door as if sensing something in the shadows. Her fingers slowed, and she signed a question, the motion precise and careful: "Will you be ready?"
Amelia hesitated before nodding, a hard smile curling at the corners of her lips. "Always. Just make sure we have the strength we need when the time comes. Words won't be enough. If Vellador learns of Charlotte's weaknesses…"
Mira's fists clenched tightly. She wouldn't let that happen. Not as long as she drew breath.
Her gaze moved back to the war table, the weight of the castle's stone walls pressing down on her as the schemes and plots unfolded before her. This wasn't just about Charlotte's rule. This was about survival. Quiet, stubborn survival, where every move counted and every mistake could lead to disaster.
"Charlotte is born a queen," Mira signed, her eyes locking with Amelia's, "But she needs more than just the crown to hold this kingdom together."
"And we'll give it to her," Amelia said, her voice firm. "We'll ensure she survives this, no matter the cost."
Mira nodded, resolve hardening within her. "Then we move when the moment comes."