They brought Councilor Serren to the throne room in chains.
Not because he'd been caught.
Because he'd been cornered.
His spies had fallen.His letters had been found.His allies had turned on him the second the tide shifted in Serena's favor.
Now, the last viper stood before the very woman he tried to bury.
And she didn't blink.
Serena stood in front of the throne.
Not on it.
Damián sat behind her.
But the room knew where the center of power stood.
The hall was full—nobles, guards, advisors, citizens.
And all of them watched the woman who had once entered in chains now decide the fate of the man who forged them.
Serren straightened as much as his restraints would allow.
"You think because you've spilled some blood," he sneered, "you've earned the right to judge mine?"
Serena tilted her head, calm. Unmoved.
"No," she said. "I earned that right the moment you tried to take a knife to this kingdom's throat."
"You're not a queen," he spat. "You're a storm in a dress."
She stepped forward.
"And what do storms do, Councilor?"
He didn't answer.
So she did.
"They wash the rot away."
A guard handed her the decree.
It was already signed.
If she handed it back—he would hang.
If she burned it—he would live.
The chamber held its breath.
Even Damián didn't speak.
Because this choice…
Was hers.
Serena looked at Serren.
Saw not a man.
But a relic.
A reminder of every cage she'd been locked in.
Every voice that had called her too wild.Too loud.Too much.
And still—
She turned.
Looked at the flame beside her.
And dropped the decree in.
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
Serren's eyes went wide.
"You—you're letting me go?"
She walked back to him.
Bent close.
And whispered:
"No."
She stood taller.
"You'll live. But you'll never hold power again. Not here. Not anywhere. I'm not killing you, Serren. I'm undoing you."
She turned to the guards.
"Strip him of title. Land. Legacy. His name ends with him."
The doors closed behind the disgraced councilor.
And the hall exploded into stunned silence.
Then—
A single clap.
From Damián.
Followed by another.
Then more.
Until the room rose in applause not for tradition, but for transformation.
That night, Serena stood alone in the royal gardens, the stars above her and the future ahead.
Damián joined her quietly.
He said nothing at first.
Then, "You could've executed him."
"I know."
"But you didn't."
"I needed him to feel what it means to be powerless."
Damián stepped behind her.
Wrapped his arms around her waist.
"And now?"
She smiled.
Now she understood.
She wasn't meant to wear a crown.
She was meant to build a world where no girl like her would ever need to be saved again.