Chapter 13: Ashes and Embers

The palace radiated like a radiant jewel perched atop a silent crown forged from steel. As evening folded over the city-state, it enveloped everything in a tranquil hush, a somber stillness that followed the reckoning of tragedy. From the highest balcony of the spire, golden light cascaded over the lower tiers of the capital, shimmering like liquid gold through the encroaching mist. To the world beyond its ornate gates, the palace stood as a sentinel—majestic and unwavering—sheltering a ruler emerging from the shadows of disaster and a consort presumed to be safe within its gilded walls.

But only the innermost circle held the truth, cloaked in secrecy.

In the secluded recesses of the east wing, Alex found refuge within a chamber once reserved for foreign dignitaries and the grand poise of high council meetings. It was a sanctuary of stillness, draped in opulence, where polished mahogany and intricately carved stone murmured of centuries past. Each flickering sconce and every intricately adorned panel concealed advanced security technologies, camouflaged as relics of a bygone era. The walls, ancient and wise, bore silent witness to all that transpired yet whispered nothing of it.

Leaning against the tall window’s edge, Alex gazed out at the meticulously manicured gardens below, where shadows stretched long in the fading light. The brutal imagery of the crash-site still played in her mind, gripping her thoughts with a relentless vice. Twisted metal, flames roaring like a monstrous beast, the decoy—her decoy—lying dazed as Connor’s grim men encircled her. They had taken the bait, she reminded herself, yet with every heartbeat, the tension of the illusion wound tighter across her spine.

Across the room, Helena glided in with a ghostly silence, her movements slow and careful. The faint limp in her gait was genuine, though a dark silk sash tied around her arm and a discreet brace concealed beneath her elegant dress exaggerated its effect. A delicate bruise mottled her right temple—soft and violet—where a medic's subtle illusion cream had deepened its hue. This was not a guise to deceive the public, but rather a strategic artifice to comfort the people with the notion that their Empress had endured and triumphed against adversity.

Alex turned slowly, her heart racing in her chest. “It’s almost time, isn’t it?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Helena nodded, her expression a mask of determination and uncertainty as shadows flickered on her face. “Yes,” she replied, glancing toward the window where the last rays of sunset mingled with the oncoming twilight. “They’re setting up the lights now. The crest banner’s being lowered in a solemn fashion behind the balcony. The camera team is already in position, ready to capture every moment.”

“And what words will you choose?” Alex asked softly, her gaze piercing through the dusk.

Helena stepped closer, brushing her fingers against Alex’s in a moment of fragile connection. “I’ll tell them you weren’t found in the wreckage,” she murmured, her voice barely masking the weight of their reality. “That we searched with desperate hope, that we prayed for a miracle, but found no trace of you. That we… fear you’re missing.”

Alex held her ground, but her voice cracked under the strain of the unspeakable truth. “They’ll think I’m dead.”

“No,” Helena insisted, her tone unwavering. “They’ll see a grieving wife and a vulnerable crown. They’ll see an opportunity.”

Alex turned away, her eyes drawn to the darkening sky outside the window, where the first stars twinkled like distant promises. “He’ll love that,” she said, bitterness lacing her words.

“He’ll believe it,” Helena corrected firmly. “He’ll perceive only the sorrow in your face, the fragility in my demeanor. That’s all he ever sees.”

Silence hung between them, thick with unspoken fears and the weight of their plans—a fragile web delicately woven against the looming danger. Alex wrapped her arms around herself, not in defiance, but in an attempt to shield her racing thoughts. “How long do you think he’ll wait?” she questioned, her voice laced with trepidation.

“Not long,” Helena replied, steadfast. “Not once he’s sure there’s no suspicion directed at him.”

Alex closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the cool glass, the chill seeping through, grounding her momentarily in reality. “And if she breaks? The double?” A hint of dread slipped through her composed façade.

Helena’s voice was resolute, cutting through the tension like a beacon. “She won’t. She’s stronger than she appears.”

They stood in a cocoon of silence, the air thick with the heaviness of their shared burden and the weight of too many secrets. Outside, night enveloped the sky, deepening into indigo as anticipation crackled in the atmosphere. The camera crew was waiting with bated breath. The speech was drafted—perfectly crafted for the palace’s official channel, set to broadcast their carefully orchestrated narrative.

“I hate this,” Alex whispered, the anguish in her voice echoing in the solemn room.

“I know,” Helena replied, her gaze softening with empathy. “But this is how we win.”

A gentle yet deliberate knock echoed against the grand wooden door before General Varin stepped inside with a respectful bow, his demeanor a blend of urgency and deference. “Your Highness, it is time.”

Helena offered a solemn nod, her expression a tapestry of resolve and regret, before turning to Alex. As her delicate fingers brushed softly along her cheek—an intimate gesture laden with unspoken words—she whispered, “Stay in the east wing. No one crosses the third gate. Not even palace staff.”

“I’ll be fine,” Alex replied, though the tremor in her voice betrayed his unease. “Just… come back.”

“I always do,” she assured her, though her own heart felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

The balcony stretched out from the western wing of the palace like the proud prow of a majestic ship, offering a breathtaking view of the sprawling capital nestled beneath Chicago’s resplendent skyline. From this elevated perspective, the city-state shimmered in geometric splendor—towering spires of reinforced glass and steel glistening as they reflected the myriad twinkling lights of bustling traffic lanes and soaring elevated corridors. By night, the palace stood as if sculpted from starlight itself; its high arches and noble towers casting a grand silhouette against the indigo sky, a constant emblem of unity and resilience.

Tonight, however, it would serve as a stage for heartbreak.

The balcony had been adorned with meticulous care. Towering marble columns framed the area, each intricately carved and embellished with the banners of Chicago and the six allied city-states, their luxurious silken crests standing still in the breathless night air. A podium, trimmed with soft golden lighting, surrounded Helena with a serene glow that emphasized the bruises mottling her face and the awkward sling encasing her right arm, turning her into a poignant figure of strength and vulnerability.

Behind her, the grand glass doors of the palace stood ajar, allowing a luminous halo to spill forth, illuminating her figure as she stepped into the open air. The dark gown she wore, a striking charcoal silk, exuded an aura of regal elegance while its muted tones spoke of somber strength. Its tailored lines accentuated her upright posture, while the high collar and long sleeves discreetly concealed the support brace that hugged her leg, a testament to both her resilience and her suffering. A bruise marred her right temple, dark and vivid, artfully enhanced with subtle makeup to simulate greater injury, while a faint cut traced a delicate line beneath her left eye, its redness stark against her pale complexion. Each movement was measured and deliberate, her slow gait a choreographed display of injury interwoven with the tenacity of a determined spirit.

Reaching the podium, she placed her left hand against its polished edge, a gesture of grounding amid the weight of her purpose. Below her, the expansive courtyard lay eerily empty, encircled by the watchful presence of hidden cameras, drones, and towering broadcast structures. Then, like a sudden pulse of energy, screens flickered to life across the continent, from the frosty borders of Calgary to the sun-drenched expanses of the Southern Belt, drawing millions of eyes toward the heart of the Empire.

As the signal light turned green, Helena began her address.

“My beloved citizens… tonight, I stand before you not as a Princess or future Empress, but as a woman enveloped in the grief of the unknown.”

Her voice, though soft, was imbued with clarity—each syllable a carefully crafted note, unwavering, for now.

“As many of you are already aware, a catastrophic accident has devastated one of our mag-trains—an emblem of our progress, now shattered and desolate. I was aboard that ill-fated train.”

She paused, her gaze steady as it met the unblinking eye of the camera.

“I survived. I was extricated from the chaos by the brave hands of responders. I stand before you as a testament to recovery, healing, but not yet whole.”

A heavy silence blanketed the airwaves, allowing her words to linger and resonate.

“Because Consort Alex… has not been found.”

Her throat constricted painfully, her fingers curling tighter around the podium's edge as if seeking support.

“We searched tirelessly. Our teams scoured the wreckage, traversed the surrounding landscape, delved into the depths of hidden tunnels. Every avenue was explored.”

She drew a shaky breath, the tremor in her chest revealing the depth of her anguish.

“But no trace of her was uncovered. Not among the injured. Not among the deceased.”

The weight of her next words hung heavily in the air, each syllable steeped in sorrow as her pain became more palpable.

“It is with a heavy heart… that I must convey to you… that Consort Alex is missing.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, fragile yet determined to remain.

“I implore—no, I beseech—the citizens of the Empire: if you possess even the faintest shred of information, if you overhear a whisper of hope, please come forth. Let no murmur go unnoticed. Let no pathway remain unmonitored. Let the name of Alex reverberate through every station, every port, every zone.”

With a trembling hand, she lifted her palm to her chest, brushing against a tiny pin that nestled over her heart—a symbol not merely of royal lineage, but of the profound bond they shared. Now, it transformed into a quiet emblem, laid bare for the world to witness.

“Alex is not simply my Consort; she is beloved family to us all. She embodies kindness, strength, and courage. I will not rest—no, I cannot—until I hold her hand once more within these palace walls.”

The camera lingered on her face as her voice softened, vulnerability threading through her words.

“Bring her home.”

As the light dimmed, she turned away, leaving the aides who had waited just out of sight behind her. She stepped back through the glass doors, her limp now stark and real, a reminder that the façade of perfection had faded.

She did not look back.

The moment Helena stepped back into the private corridor, the heavy doors closed behind her with a soft hiss of hydraulics, sealing her off from the chaotic world beyond. The artificial tranquility of the hallway was illuminated by muted security lights, their soft glow casting elongated shadows on the polished walls, while the cool, conditioned air did little to quell the tempest raging deep within her chest. Her limbs felt heavy—not from physical exertion but from the immense emotional burden she had just borne, an entire Empire resting on her shoulders.

A pair of stoic guards snapped to attention down the hall, their crisp salutes echoing the formality of the world outside, but Helena offered only the faintest, distracted nod in response. Formalities felt trivial in this moment; she craved the warmth of home and the solace of the one person who made her whole.

She didn’t make it five full steps into the opulent suite before Alex rushed toward her, a whirlwind of energy and concern.

“Helena!”

Before she could fully brace herself, Alex enveloped her in an embrace, her arms wrapping around Helena as though anchoring her against the storm inside. The warmth radiating from Alex was like the first touch of spring after a long, bitter winter—inviting and life-giving. The familiar, comforting scent of her—a delicate blend of jasmine and something uniquely Alex—pulled Helena from the precipice of her composure.

“Babe,” Alex gasped, pulling back just enough to gaze into Helena’s eyes, an ocean of sincerity swimming in her own. “That was so romantic. I could feel your love through the speech. It made my heart melt from all the love.”

Helena hesitated, her throat tight and raw from the emotionally charged words she had been forced to speak in the name of duty. But then, without warning, Alex leaned in and kissed her—slow and deep, infused with a yearning both of them had kept buried throughout the day. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, filled with an undeniable relief that washed over them like a soothing balm.

Despite the imperfections—the slight tremor of Helena’s lips—Alex held her steady, allowing her to sink into the embrace fully, with all her fears and hopes tangled in that single moment.

When they finally broke apart, Helena rested her forehead against Alex’s, relishing the connection as she breathed in the scent of her, a fragrant tether to reality.

“I’m so glad that was just a speech,” she whispered, her voice trembling again—but this time it was from a place of raw honesty, unmasked and vulnerable. “If you ever disappeared on me, I would be completely broken.”

With utmost tenderness, Alex’s fingers threaded through Helena’s hair, brushing it away from her face in a soothing gesture. “I will never leave you,” she murmured, barely louder than a breath, but the weight of her promise filled the air between them like a sacred vow.

They stood entwined in the quietude of their private sanctuary, swaying gently in the soft, ambient light as the distant hum of the city faded into oblivion, swallowed by the heartbeat they shared.

And for that precious moment—just a fleeting moment—they dared to believe in peace, allowing the world outside to fade from their minds.

Across the Empire, in the privacy of their homes, people wept, their hearts stirred by her call. They believed.

And in the shadowy corridors of power in Calgary, Prince Connor permitted himself a thin, knowing smile.