The dawn that followed Evelyne's third strike bathed the kingdom in golden light too calm, too soft for what had come.
Panic whispered through the palace halls like wind through broken glass.
Guards doubled their shifts. The Queen's council was summoned before breakfast. And in the city square, commoners clustered around bulletin boards, reading the letters aloud, their voices growing bolder with each retelling.
But inside the throne room, Queen Viora didn't pace.
She smiled.
A calm, deliberate, terrifying smile.
"She's bold," the Queen said, tapping her fingers along the edge of her throne. "But she forgets rebellion without a head is just noise."
The Lord Chancellor stepped forward. "Do you wish to silence her, Your Majesty?"
"No," the Queen said. "We'll let her speak."
She rose, the train of her gown whispering across marble.
"But now… we'll speak louder."
By midday, proclamations were sent out in every direction bearing the royal seal and words designed not to threaten, but to divide.
Lady Evelyne Ashthorn is under investigation for treason, sedition, and manipulation of the noble courts.
Her recent actions, while presented as noble resistance, have endangered the delicate balance of the realm.
She will not be arrested. She will not be gagged. She will be seen for what she is a rebel without purpose, a girl playing at queen, a voice without a kingdom.
The damage was swift.
Some nobles pulled their support.
Others grew frightened.
In the Ashthorn war room, Evelyne read the notice in silence. Then she laughed.
Julian blinked. "You find this funny?"
"She's clever," Evelyne said, tossing the scroll aside. "She knows if she kills me, I become a symbol. But if she discredits me she makes me a warning."
Maren frowned. "Then what's our next move?"
"We make it clear I'm not just a girl with ink and anger." Her eyes glinted. "We show them I'm the storm they thought they survived."
Two nights later, the Queen held a charity gala in honor of fallen soldiers a display of grace, of rule, of unity. Every noble house still loyal to the crown was in attendance.
So was Evelyne.
She arrived uninvited, unafraid, in a crimson gown that bled across the marble like war.
Gasps echoed as she entered. The musicians faltered. Conversations died mid-sentence.
Queen Viora turned slowly, locking eyes with her across the ballroom.
And Evelyne curtsied.
Low. Slow. Mocking.
The Queen approached, every step controlled rage.
"You have nerve," she hissed.
Evelyne smiled.
"I have memory. And a pen. And a kingdom learning how to use both."
Silence.
Then Lucien stepped from the shadows.
And bowed to Evelyne.
One by one, heads began to turn.
The court wasn't united.
But it was watching.
And something had changed.