They brought her to the grand hall like it was a courtesy.
A procession. A few guards. A tidy distance. The kind of "freedom" that existed only inside marked boundaries.
Jina walked anyway, because collapsing in a corridor was exactly what they wanted.
When the doors opened, the hall was already full.
Nobles lined both sides like polished statues. Councilors gathered near the dais. Servants hovered at the edges, heads bowed, ears sharp.
The Emperor sat at the center—still as stone, eyes darker than usual.
And among the crowd, black-and-gold flashed like a wink.
Diadem.
Jina stepped forward and stopped at the designated position.
Not a seat.
Never a seat.
A Diadem proxy spoke first, voice gentle enough to be infuriating.
"Your Highness," he said, "we are relieved you have recovered from your… emotional episode."
Episode.
Jina's jaw tightened. "If you're relieved, stop provoking."
A small murmur ran through the hall.
The proxy's smile stayed calm. "We are here to restore order."
Order again.
Always order.
Jina kept her face neutral. She could feel the poison hooks in her own blood scrape faintly—warning her not to overreach again.
The proxy continued, "The Council has prepared a revised arrangement for your protection. A sanctified residence, limited contact, supervised healing—"
A cage.
Jina opened her mouth to refuse—
—and the hall shifted.
A ripple.
Not from her.
From the side doors.
Kaelen entered.
Not escorted like a prisoner.
Not paraded like an asset.
He walked in under his own strength—wounded, bandaged beneath formal layers, face pale with pain and stubbornness.
He moved to Jina's side and stopped.
No kneel.
No bow.
No performative submission.
He simply stood—shoulder squared, gaze forward—like a soldier taking position.
The hall went quiet in a way that felt dangerous.
Jina's sternum flared hot—the bond reacting to proximity, to his presence, to the fact that he was choosing to be here.
The proxy's pleasant expression tightened by a fraction.
"Lord Kaelen," he said mildly, "this is not necessary."
Kaelen didn't look at him.
His voice came rough. "Everything you do is 'necessary.' Funny how it always ends with someone in chains."
A murmur ran through the nobles—half scandal, half fascination.
The proxy turned his gaze to Jina, as if Kaelen's words were a child's tantrum that needed a parent.
"Your Highness," he said softly, "you will discipline this."
Jina's throat tightened around the splinter-word.
Stop.
It rose easily.
It would be so clean to freeze the room.
So satisfying.
So damning.
Jina swallowed hard and kept her voice calm.
"No," she said.
The proxy's eyes cooled. "Then you permit rebellion."
Jina met his gaze. "I permit dignity."
The hall held its breath.
Kaelen's presence beside her was heat and pain and a stubborn refusal to be moved.
He didn't kneel.
But he wasn't defying her.
He was refusing them.
Jina realized, with a strange twist in her chest, that this was what it looked like when someone stood beside you by choice.
Not obedience.
Honor.
The proxy's smile sharpened. "Very well."
He lifted a parchment.
"By Council authority, we will proceed with protective containment—"
Kaelen finally turned his head and looked at Jina.
Not soft.
Not pleading.
A single question in his eyes:
Will you let them take you?
Jina inhaled slowly.
The hall watched her throat, waiting for a Command.
Waiting for the monster.
Jina lifted her chin and spoke evenly.
"I refuse."
The proxy's smile didn't move. "Refusal is noted."
Guards shifted.
Spears angled.
The room tightened like a trap closing.
Kaelen stepped half a pace forward—subtle, protective, not possessive.
The Emperor's fingers tightened once on the armrest.
And in the crowd, Jina caught a flash of pale gold.
Virella, watching from behind a noblewoman's shoulder, smiling like she'd already told this story before it happened.
Jina's stomach dropped.
Because she understood, suddenly, what the rumor would become by morning:
Aurelia staged devotion.
Aurelia tightened chains without Command.
Aurelia learned a smarter cruelty.
And the worst part?
Diadem would use that rumor whether it was true or not.
The proxy's voice slid into the hall like a blade.
"Seize her," he said.
[Politics]