The court woke to rumors.
Not of assassination.
Not of rebellion.
But of a woman in black silk walking beside the King at dawn, her hands still faintly stained with blood.
They whispered.
They speculated.
They tried to bury it beneath titles and tradition.
But the palace had a new ghost now.
And her name was Serena Vale.
"She shouldn't be here."
"She's a murderer."
"She was never fit to wear the collar—let alone his arm."
They spoke behind fans. Behind goblets. Behind locked doors.
But when the Council Chamber doors opened that morning, and Serena walked in beside Damián—
Every mouth closed.
Because she didn't flinch.
Didn't pretend.
She entered like she owned the walls.
She wore no gown.
Just fitted trousers and a high-collared black coat that bared the mark of the crown at her throat.
The collar remained.
But it was no longer a question of possession.
It was a declaration.
She walked ahead of him.
By design.
And when she reached the long obsidian table where the Council sat, she didn't wait to be addressed.
She pulled out a chair—
And sat.
Councilor Halbrecht was the first to speak.
"Your Majesty," she said stiffly, glancing at Damián, "surely you don't mean to bring your… consort into state business."
Damián leaned forward, voice like ice over steel.
"She's not my consort."
A pause.
"She's my co-sovereign."
Shock rippled through the chamber like a slap.
"You can't—"
"I can," he said. "And I have."
He looked at Serena now.
And smiled.
"She is no longer a symbol of my power."
He turned back to the council.
"She is my power."
Councilor Serren—old, furious, cornered—rose to speak, but Serena beat him to it.
"The man I killed last night," she said clearly, "was an informant. A traitor. A spy working under the protection of this chamber."
"You have no proof," he snapped.
"I don't need proof," she said, standing. "I have blood. And I wear it like a badge."
She stepped closer.
"You wanted to make an example of me. You still can."
Then she leaned in—just enough for him to feel her breath.
"But I promise you, I'll leave teeth marks on every hand that tries to silence me."
When the session ended, not a single vote passed without Damián's approval.
Not a single policy was reviewed without Serena's name attached to the signature.
She didn't take the throne.
She rewrote it.
That night, alone in the library, Elara wrapped a shawl around Serena's shoulders.
"I've never seen them so scared," she whispered.
"They should be."
Elara smiled shyly. "Does it ever stop? The shaking after you do something you were never supposed to?"
Serena looked at her.
Softly. Fiercely.
"No," she said. "But one day, the shaking becomes power."
Damián found her later, in the mirror room.
She stood alone.
Hair down.
Collar off.
He stepped behind her.
Met her gaze in the reflection.
"You're not just my queen," he said.
"You're my reckoning."