Certain.
She studies my face like she’s trying to decide if I actually believe that.
I don’t look away.
After a moment, she nods. We start moving again, slower this time, quieter.
“I’m still afraid,” she says suddenly.
The words are soft, but they land heavy. I don’t interrupt. I don’t rush to fill the silence. I just listen.
Her fingers tighten slightly against mine as she continues.
“Anton is getting closer. The messages…the attacks…it’s not slowing down. It’s getting worse. He won’t stop.”
I already know that. But hearing her say it makes it real in a different way. More personal. More dangerous.
I let a beat pass before I speak. Not to reassure her. Not to lie. But to understand.
“What do you want?”
The question shifts something. I feel it immediately in the way her body stills. In the way her head tilts slightly as she looks up at me. Because this isn’t about survival anymore. This is about choice.
There’s no hesitation.
“I want it back,” she says. Her voice is steady now. “My father’s throne. His empire. Everything he built.” Her gaze sharpens. “Anton doesn’t get to take that and rewrite history like it was always his.”
There’s fire in her now. Not fear. Not uncertainty. Fire.
“If I have to fight a war to get it back…” she continues, her voice dropping slightly, “then I will.”
Silence follows. But it’s not empty. It’s full of something heavier. Stronger. And I realize something in that moment, something I haven’t let myself acknowledge until now.
This isn’t just obligation anymore.
It’s not just about orders.
Or strategy.
Or protecting an asset.
I believe her.
In her strength.
In her conviction.
In the way she refuses to break, even when everything around her is trying to.
My hand at her waist tightens slightly. Not possessive. Not controlling. Certain.
“Then we take it back,” I say quietly.
Her eyes hold mine. Searching. Waiting. So I give her more. Not words dressed up to sound comforting. Not empty promises. Truth.
“Whatever happens next…” I add, my voice steady, “you won’t face it alone.”
Something shifts in her expression. Softens. And then, she smiles. It’s not sharp. Not guarded. Just…real. For a second, it almost doesn’t belong in a world like ours.
