Andrea still couldn’t process what had just happened.Something inside her had shifted.For years, she had believed her father indifferent—weak, easily swayed, always bending to Helena’s will. But tonight… he had moved first. He had chosen differently.He had protected her.At least she wasn’t marrying Cedric.“How are you holding up?”Andrea glanced to her side at the sound of Carl’s voice. He stood beside her casually, though his eyes were sharp as ever.She gave a faint smile before looking back at her father, who was still speaking with Prince Phillip near the throne.“I think I’m still in shock.”“Yeah,” Carl muttered. “But hey… at least you’re not marrying your stepbrother.”A small laugh escaped her.“Exactly. That would’ve been humiliating.”Carl shook his head slightly. Inwardly, he thanked every possible deity that he hadn’t been born into royalty. At least commoners didn’t have to marry for strategy and survival.“But did you see their faces?” he asked quietly.Andrea’s smi

“So,” Prince Phillip began, his tone measured, “what do you think about our union, Princess? I hope you’re not being forced into this.”Andrea gave him a restrained smile.“Well… it is arranged. You could say that.”Phillip laughed lightly. “I didn’t expect you to be this straightforward.”Her smile faded, her expression turning neutral—almost cold.“Why? Were you expecting an innocent, sweet princess?”He paused, then shook his head slowly. “Not exactly.”Andrea inhaled deeply and set her wine glass down.“Let me be clear, Prince Phillip. I know I’m getting married. I understand my duty. But I was surprised it was you.” She held his gaze. “And I want you to know—I don’t agree with this. Not because of you. But because I don’t want to get married at all.”Phillip studied her carefully. He searched her face for sarcasm, for testing, for calculation.He found none.“Your father mentioned that,” he admitted. “You don’t believe in arranged marriage.” He tilted his head slightly. “Tell me…

The days passed as if nothing had happened.Life inside the palace continued—banquets, meetings, diplomatic smiles. But beneath the polished floors and glittering chandeliers, not everyone had moved on.Andrea was now officially engaged to Prince Philip. And another grand engagement celebration was scheduled to take place that evening.In a private chamber far from the festivities, tension simmered.“Are you really going to let this happen, Mom?” Cedric demanded.Unlike the others who pretended everything was fine, he was restless. He could not accept that his engagement to Andrea had been snatched away just like that.Helena let out a low grunt. She straightened in her seat, her posture regal, her eyes narrowing dangerously.“There’s nothing I can do about it for now, Son,” she replied, her voice measured.Cedric’s mouth fell open.“What? So that’s it? We’re just going to let her marry someone else?” His voice rose. “I thought we were reclaiming the throne! Our family is the rightful

Andrea sat motionless on the sofa, staring at nothing.Glenda had escorted her back to her chamber, away from the blood, away from the chaos in the corridor. But distance did nothing. Even miles away from her father’s body, the image would not leave her mind.Her tears would not stop.Carl stood by the door, guarding it like a wall of steel. More than anyone else in that room, he understood how dangerous the palace had just become.The king had anticipated this.He had prepared for threats.But even Carl had not expected it to unfold like this.“D-Did Philip do this?” Andrea asked again, her voice hoarse from crying. “Did he kill my father?”Glenda swallowed carefully. “We are not certain yet, Princess. The prince is still missing. The guards are searching the entire palace grounds.”Andrea’s shoulders trembled. She pressed her hands against her mouth, trying to contain the sob that broke through anyway.“He’s… he’s dead,” she whispered. “How is that possible? How did this happen?”Gl

Dawn crept over the palace like a reluctant witness.The council chamber filled slowly—nobles in dark formalwear, military officials in polished uniforms, advisors whispering behind gloved hands. The air smelled of incense and tension.At the far end of the chamber stood the empty throne of King Alistair.Covered in black silk.Andrea entered without announcement.Conversations died instantly.She wore white.Not mourning black.White—the color of sovereignty.Carl walked two steps behind her. Glenda remained at her side. Every movement was measured.Cedric stood near the council table, already mid-conversation with several lords. His expression shifted almost imperceptibly when he saw her.Surprise.Then calculation.Helena sat gracefully, hands folded, the picture of dignified grief.Andrea took her place at the head of the table.No one told her to.No one stopped her.“You summoned this council to investigate my father’s death,” she began calmly. “So let us investigate.”Cedric cl