Chapter 18: Shadows That Whisper
The candlelight flickered, casting wavering shadows across the chamber walls. Seraphina stood motionless, her fingers brushing the edge of her desk as Ronan's words echoed in her mind.
The prophecy.
She had spent years ignoring it, discarding it as the foolish superstition of frightened men. But now, it was beginning to creep into her life, tightening its grip on those around her.
Seraphina exhaled sharply. "Is that why you're here, General? To remind me of a fate I do not fear?"
Ronan's green eyes remained unreadable. "I am here to remind you that fate is often shaped by the hands of the powerful. If you do not control the narrative, others will do it for you."
A thin smirk curled her lips. "Then perhaps it is time I rewrite it myself."
She turned away, walking to the table where a map of the empire lay spread before her. "I assume you did not come simply to warn me, General. What do you want?"
He was silent for a long moment. Then—
"Your alliance."
Seraphina stilled.
Not loyalty. Alliance.
She turned to face him again, this time studying him. Ronan Valerius had always been a formidable figure in the empire—respected by soldiers, feared by nobles. He had fought in battles that shaped history.
And yet, he had not intervened during her coup.
She narrowed her gaze. "You stayed your hand when I took the throne. Why?"
For the first time, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. Then, his smirk returned—lazy, sharp. "Because I wanted to see what kind of ruler you would become."
Seraphina arched a brow. "And? Have I met your expectations?"
His gaze lingered on her, the smirk fading. "You have exceeded them."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them thrummed with unspoken tension—a battle of wills, a silent test.
Then, finally, Seraphina turned back to the map. "Very well. Tell me what you seek in this alliance."
Ronan stepped forward, his presence like a shadow looming at her side. "Strength, stability… and the elimination of a common enemy."
Her eyes flicked to him. "Which enemy?"
He didn't hesitate. "The Council."
Seraphina's grip tightened on the table. The Imperial Council—the last remnants of her father's rule. Old men who whispered behind closed doors, who had once held the power to strip an empress of her throne.
Her throne.
She inhaled slowly. "They grow restless."
"They grow dangerous," Ronan corrected. "They may have bowed their heads for now, but they are waiting. Watching. And when the time comes, they will strike."
Seraphina knew he was right. She had seen the way the council members had watched her at the coronation, their expressions carefully masked. Their submission had been temporary.
She had intended to deal with them eventually. But if Ronan Valerius, a man who had once fought beside those very nobles, had come to her first…
That meant time was running out.
Seraphina exhaled, her mind already racing through strategies. "And what would you have me do, General? Execute them in their own halls? Send a message written in blood?"
Ronan tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. "A tempting thought. But no. A ruler is strongest when she does not need to wield the blade herself."
Seraphina understood the meaning beneath his words. Make them destroy each other.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across her lips. "Then tell me, Ronan—" she turned to him fully, eyes gleaming— "who do we turn against first?"