Jessica screamed. Her well-maintained face twisted with rage. She looked like a furious cat, ready to claw.
"You little wretch! How dare you slap me!"
She charged at Lyra. Her hands reached out, fingers curled like claws.
But she didn't get far. Her fingers never even brushed Lyra's clothes.
Two shadows moved faster than sight. They stepped out from behind Lyra.
They were her maids. Elowen-trained. Quiet. Deadly.
Each maid grabbed one of Jessica's arms. Their grip was firm. Cold. Merciless.
Jessica cried out. Pain flashed on her face.
"Let me go! You lowborn rats!"
She twisted. She kicked. Her velvet gown twisted with her. Her figure turned awkward. Ugly. Desperate.
Lyra just stood there. She didn't move. She didn't speak.
Her eyes were cold. Icy. Distant.
She lifted her hand slowly. She brushed her palm gently. Like dusting off something filthy.
"Escort Lady Varyn out."
Her voice was calm. Soft. But every word cut like ice.
"Yes, Your Highness."
The maids didn't hesitate. They dragged Jessica out. Her screams echoed through the hallway.
"Lyra! You'll pay for this! Varyn will destroy you!"
Then the door slammed shut.
Silence returned. But it wasn't peace. The room still smelled like Jessica's perfume. Strong. Cheap. Overpowering.
Lyra stepped to the window. She pushed it open. Cold air rushed in. It swept through the room.
It smelled cleaner now.
She looked at her hand. Her palm was still red.
She still felt the slap.
"Maria."
Her voice was soft.
Maria rushed over. She had been hiding in the corner.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
Her voice trembled. Her eyes were wide. But there was a spark in them. Pride.
Lyra didn't look at her.
"Tell the servants. Move all my belongings to the Princess's Palace."
She looked out the window. Her gaze reached the heart of the empire.
"Everything. Not a single item stays."
Maria froze. Then nodded.
"Yes, Your Highness."
She understood.
Lyra wasn't angry. She wasn't lashing out.
She was finished.
The marriage was over.
The palace was quiet. The corridors were long. Cold. Empty.
Lyra walked down them slowly. Her steps didn't falter.
She didn't wear a duchess's gown. She wore a dark green dress. The Elowen color.
It was simple. Neat. Powerful.
She stopped in front of the king's bedchamber.
A royal attendant stood there. He smiled politely.
"Your Highness. The king is unwell. He's already retired."
Lyra said nothing. She looked at the door. Then she sank to her knees.
Her dress pooled around her like still water.
The attendant gasped.
"Your Highness! Please, don't! The floor is cold!"
He moved to help her.
She looked at him. Just one glance.
He stopped.
Her back stayed straight. Her chin lifted. She didn't speak.
Time passed.
People walked by. They stared. They whispered.
But no one stopped. No one dared approach.
An hour later, the doors opened.
The attendant stepped aside.
"His Majesty will see you."
Lyra stood. Maria helped her.
Her legs shook. Her face did not.
Inside, the room was warm. But not kind.
The King sat in a chair. His face was hard.
He looked at her. His eyes were sharp.
"What are you doing?" he snapped.
"You humiliate us all."
Lyra stepped forward. She bowed. It was perfect.
"Your Majesty. I request a divorce from Duke Varyn."
The room went still.
The King slapped his armrest.
"Absurd!"
"You and Kael hold the military together!"
Lyra looked up.
"No, Your Majesty. Elowen holds the military."
She paused.
"Kael is a sword. Useful. Replaceable."
"My family gave him power. Without us, he's just a soldier."
She took a breath.
"Elowen's loyalty stays with the empire. Not with one man."
She stepped closer.
"My marriage doesn't change our taxes. Or our honor."
The King looked shaken. He rubbed his temple.
"He returned with that woman," he muttered. "Selena."
Lyra nodded.
"That is why this is a chance."
"A chance to show grace. To show power."
"Make Selena a princess. Adopt her."
"Then let Kael marry a new princess. One who fits."
"Give the people a love story. Give the court a clean slate."
The King stared.
He blinked.
He said nothing.
Then another voice entered.
"I agree."
A woman walked in. Regal. Cold.
It was the second queen.
Isolde.
She walked to the King. She touched his hand.
"She's right," she said softly.
"No use forcing this."
Lyra stood still. She said nothing.
Isolde didn't look at her.
Queen Isolde wanted the marriage to end. She saw the princess as a threat.
Lyra was rich. She had royal blood. That made her dangerous to Isolde's son.
In Thorne's history, a princess claimed the crown once. That fact made Isolde wary. She did not want another strong royal woman in the picture.
She smiled at the King.
"Let Lyra go. Let Selena rise."
The King frowned. Then he sighed.
"Fine."
His voice was flat.
"Return to your palace. The decree will follow."
Lyra bowed low.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Then she turned. She walked out. Her steps were quiet. Calm.
She left behind the court. The crown. The cage.
She left it all behind.
She knelt for an hour before the King. No tears. No plea. Only strategy.The court thought she was begging for love.They were wrong.She wasn't asking for a divorce—she was triggering a political earthquake.