Chapter 63
The whispers started the moment Tharx made his declaration.
By dawn, the court was boiling with unrest.
The nobles hid their outrage behind masks of civility, but beneath their carefully composed faces, behind the golden doors of their private chambers, they plotted.
And at the heart of it all was Lady Veraxia.
She stood in the candlelit halls of a secluded estate deep within the noble district, surrounded by the last remnants of the old rebellion-those too cowardly to stand beside Draxis but too ambitious to remain loyal to Tharx.
Veraxia, regal in her high-collared silk robes, watched the gathered lords and ladies with cold, calculating eyes.
"This empire is on the brink of ruin," she said, voice sharp as a blade. "And if we do not act before the coronation, Tharx will drag us all down with him."
Lord Varron, seated at the long, polished table, exhaled sharply. "He's more dangerous than ever. He just crushed Draxis's rebellion. Half the army belongs to him."
"And the other half?" Veraxia asked smoothly, tilting her head.
Varron hesitated.
She smiled. "The soldiers are only loyal to power. And if we show them that **Tharx is weak, that he is distracted-**they will turn."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
A young noblewoman, Lady Isyr, lifted a glass of dark wine, swirling it thoughtfully. "You mean to kill him before the coronation?"
Veraxia's gaze flickered to her. "No."
Isyr arched a brow.
"The emperor is a monster, but he is a predictable one," Veraxia continued. "If we strike him directly, he will retaliate in blood. The people will fear him more, not less. No, we will not kill Tharx."
She paused, letting the moment stretch.
"We will kill her."
The gathered nobles stilled.
"Queen Aeliana," Veraxia said, testing the title like a poison on her tongue. "She is the weakness he has never had before. And if we remove her-we will see what kind of emperor he truly is."
Aeliana could feel the shift in the air.
It started with the glances. The way nobles avoided meeting her gaze in the great halls, the way conversations would cut off the moment she entered a room.
Then came the silence.
Where once courtiers had tried to flatter her, to manipulate her, they now pretended she did not exist.
She walked through the palace **as a ghost-**visible, but unwelcome.
At first, it had been expected.
She was human. An outsider. A threat to everything they had built.
But something about this shift was different.
It was not rejection.
It was calculated.
Aeliana was no stranger to political games, but this was more than whispers in the dark.
This was a storm waiting to break.
She found Tharx in the war chamber, his presence as commanding as ever. He stood at the head of the strategy table, half-listening to his generals while his golden eyes scanned reports of unrest across the city.
Aeliana hesitated only for a second before stepping forward.
"The court is turning."
Tharx did not look surprised.
"They were never with us to begin with," he said, setting down a parchment. "They obey because I demand it. Not because they believe in it."
"Then what happens when they stop obeying?" Aeliana asked.
He finally met her gaze.
"They will remember why they fear me."
Aeliana inhaled slowly. "You can't rule through fear alone, Tharx."
His expression hardened. "I can. And I will."
She studied him for a long moment.
"Something is coming," she murmured.
His jaw flexed. "Then let them come."
The attempt came at dusk.
Aeliana was walking through the eastern wing of the palace when she noticed the change.
The corridor was too empty. The usual guards were gone.
Her pulse quickened.
She turned sharply, instinct warning her just as she heard the rush of movement behind her.
She spun, ducking, just as a blade slashed through the air where her throat had been.
The assassin-a shadowed figure, masked and swift-lunged again.
Aeliana reacted on instinct.
She twisted away, knocking over a decorative vase, shattering it against the marble floor. The sound echoed through the halls.
Her heart pounded.
The assassin was fast.
But she had fought in wars.
And she was not afraid.
Aeliana grabbed a fallen shard of glass and slashed.
The assassin stumbled back, startled. A second-one fatal hesitation.
Then, before she could strike again-
A blur of dark movement.
Aeliana barely had time to register Tharx's arrival before the assassin's head snapped back, a sword buried in his chest.
Tharx ripped the blade free.
The body hit the floor.
Silence followed.
Aeliana exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her ribs, adrenaline thrumming through her.
Then-Tharx was in front of her.
His golden eyes burned with fury, his grip tight as he caught her by the shoulders, scanning her for injuries.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was sharp, deadly.
Aeliana shook her head. "No."
Tharx's jaw clenched.
Then, without another word, he turned and drove his sword through the assassin's body a second time.
Aeliana flinched at the sound of metal slicing through flesh.
When Tharx finally turned back to her, there was murder in his gaze.
"This is what I warned you about," he said, voice low. Dangerous. "This is what they will do. They will never accept you, Aeliana. They will keep coming. Again. And again."
She met his gaze without fear.
"I know," she murmured.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. His control was fraying.
And Aeliana understood.
This was not just anger.
This was rage. Helpless, unrelenting fury at the fact that she had almost been taken from him.
She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, wild and erratic.
"They will never accept me," she said, voice softer now.
Tharx studied her for a long moment.
His voice, when he spoke, was absolute.
"They don't have to," he said.
His fingers brushed her jaw, a possessive, almost desperate touch.
"They only need to fear us."
Aeliana swallowed, the words settling deep into her bones.
Fear was a weapon.
And together, they would wield it.