The interview room was cold. Not the kind of cold that came from an air conditioner—no, this one came from judgment.
Three officials sat behind a long glass desk, each one in a different shade of gray. Their badges glinted under the fluorescent lights. The middle one, a woman with sharp eyes and tighter lips, gestured lazily.
"Name."
"Amara Stone."
"Zone."
"Capital District."
The three exchanged quick glances. Capital District? That already carried weight. People from that zone rarely applied for common jobs.
The man on the left leaned forward. "Education level?"
"Graduate of the Blackwood National Institute," she answered evenly.
His brows shot up. "That's a royal-tier institution."
"Yes, sir."
"And yet you're applying for an administrative role with a base salary of… 8,000 Blackwood credits monthly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
Amara smiled faintly. "Because work isn't about salary. It's about service."
The woman in the middle scoffed. "Spare us the textbook answers, Miss Stone. Everyone serves the empire one way or another. What I want to know is—why this job?"
Amara met her eyes calmly. "Because I want to see how the system works from the ground up."
The third man, older, scratched his chin. "Hmm. You speak like a politician."
Amara tilted her head slightly. "I speak like a citizen."
That earned a brief silence.
The woman flipped a file open. "You said you're from Capital District. What's your parental number and title?"
Amara blinked slowly. "My parents are deceased."
The woman didn't even look up. "We still need the records."
Amara took a measured breath. "Their number was… 108203. Title—civil engineers under the former Reconstruction Council."
The older man nodded faintly. "Respectable background. Not high, not low."
Then came the tougher part.
The woman leaned forward, her voice sharp. "How do you view the Blackwood Union and its laws?"
Amara's heartbeat quickened. Chris is listening.
"I believe," she began slowly, "the Union has done what no empire in history has ever done—unite the world under one system, one currency, one ruler. It's not perfect… but perfection requires understanding."
"Understanding?" the woman repeated. "Of what?"
"Of people," Amara said. "Those who obey… and those who disobey. Fear is not loyalty. Order is not peace."
The woman froze. The men looked at her, shocked.
"Do you realize what you're implying?" the woman hissed.
Amara's tone stayed soft. "That fear can keep people in line, but love can keep them loyal."
The silence was thick. Then the older man chuckled. "Bold words, Miss Stone. Dangerous ones, too."
Amara met his gaze. "Truth is never safe."
Outside, hidden behind a tinted observation glass, Chris watched every second—arms folded, eyes unreadable.
Soren stood beside him, muttering, "She's walking a thin line."
Chris didn't blink. "That line is the difference between a ruler… and a believer."
Back inside, the final question came.
"If you were face to face with the King himself," the woman asked coldly, "and given a chance to say one sentence… what would it be?"
Amara hesitated for only a heartbeat. Then her lips curved slightly.
"I would say… thank you, for reminding the world what power looks like. But I'd also remind him what humanity feels like."
The woman stared. "You're either very brave… or very stupid."
Amara smiled. "Sometimes, they're the same thing."
---
The door opened.
"Next applicant!"
As Amara walked out, Chris turned away from the monitor, voice low.
> "She passed."
Soren frowned. "That wasn't the plan, Your Majesty."
> "Plans change," Chris said quietly. "I wanted to see if my queen could survive among wolves. Turns out… she made the wolves question their hunger."