Blackwell had once been a king in his own right.
Not a ruler of vast empires, not a conqueror of cities, but a man who understood governance, who knew how to keep his people fed, his walls strong, his enemies at bay.
He had thought that was enough.
Until Selene had arrived.
Until she had taken everything.
His lands.
His throne.
His people.
And, in a way that terrified him most of all…
His will.
---
He had knelt to her that day, not out of love, not out of admiration, but out of necessity.
Because there had been no other choice.
Because he had seen what happened to those who resisted.
Not just those who fought her.
But those who thought they could survive without her.
---
And yet, he had not been crushed.
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He had expected to become nothing.
A servant, a pawn, a figurehead stripped of all meaning.
Instead, she had given him back his land.
Given him power once more.
But it was not his own.
It never could be.
Every action he took, every word he spoke—it was hers first.
His authority was borrowed.
His rule was on a leash.
And the most dangerous thing?
He did not know if he minded.
---
Now, he stood at the edge of his reclaimed city, staring at his people.
They did not see him as they once had.
Some still called him Lord Blackwell.
But it was an empty title.
They were not his anymore.
They were hers.
Every word she spoke, they listened.
Every law she passed, they followed.
Not out of fear.
Not out of force.
But because she had made them believe.
And that was more terrifying than any army he had ever faced.
---
He turned to the men who had once been his commanders.
Men who had stood by him when he was a sovereign ruler.
Men who had fought to keep him on his throne.
And now, they watched him with something unfamiliar.
Not distrust.
Not resentment.
But pity.
Because they knew the truth.
That he was not their Lord anymore.
That he had become something else.
A piece in her grander design.
They pitied him because he was the only one still pretending he had a choice.
---
The messenger arrived shortly after.
One of Selene’s personal envoys, an elegant woman draped in dark silks, her presence both delicate and absolute.
She carried a message, but she did not need to read it aloud.
Blackwell already knew what it would say.
The war was coming.
His lands—Selene’s lands—would be the first battlefield.
He would not fight for himself.
He would fight for her.
And the worst part?
He was not angry.
He was not afraid.
He was relieved.
Because for the first time in his life, he was not the one making the impossible decisions.
He was simply following them.
And wasn’t that easier?
---
The woman handed him the sealed parchment.
He did not need to open it.
Instead, he looked at her and asked the only question that mattered.
“What does she want me to do?”
The woman smiled.
And in that moment, he knew—
He was already gone.
And he was fine with it.