For the first time, she entertained the thought that she, too, might one day break the leash. That she might carve her own place, not under her master's shadow, but in the light of her own dominion. And the idea thrilled her more than she dared admit.

Playing with the minds of men was nothing new to her. She had done it countless times before, courtiers with wandering eyes, nobles drunk on their own pride, merchants softened by lust and wine. They were easy prey, eager to be conquered, blind to her strings. But Nwadiebeube was different. He was strong. His will was iron, his presence unshakable, and the memory of his scalding hand clamped around her throat still burned against her skin like a brand.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the weight of a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she turned sharply, anger flashing across her face, ready to lash out. But she met instead the cold, expressionless face of another envoy. He said nothing, only shook his head slowly and tapped two fingers against his temple.

Confusion flickered through her eyes, but it did not last long. Realization struck like a blade, and with it came a surge of anger that hollowed her chest. The seal. Their master's seal, the invisible mark binding them all, a tether against future betrayal. She had been so lost in the taste of freedom, in the intoxicating thought of power, that she had momentarily forgotten the leash still coiled tightly around her neck.

Her face darkened, shadows cutting across her features. The thought of her rebellion shriveled within her. She said nothing, did nothing, only turned away and allowed herself to be led with the others as the soldiers escorted them from the chamber.

Meanwhile, Nwadiebeube remained alone in the vast court. The silence pressed down around him like a weight, broken only by the restless drum of his own thoughts. The mage's words still lingered like smoke in his ears, entwined with his own doubts, each whisper gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

Then the doors of the court slammed open with a violent crack. The sound tore him from his contemplation. He lifted his head sharply, golden eyes narrowing as an intruder stormed into the hall. The figure carried an aura of heat and fury, an anger so sharp it seemed to darken the very air of the court.

He looked up and saw his sister, the princess, stride into the court with fury etched across her face. Her anger was not without cause, he knew it, knew she had every right to confront him after what he had done. But Nwadiebeube was weary, his mind already heavy with battles unseen. He was not in the mood to wrestle with his sister's indignation.

"Not now, sister," he said, his tone clipped, his gaze already drifting past her as though she were an unwelcome distraction.

But Nwadimma was not so easily dismissed. Rarely did she lose her composure, yet now her voice rang through the chamber like the crack of a whip. "If not now, then when?"

Her words struck him, but he gave no reply. His silence only fanned her anger further.

"Why did you deny me access to the court today?" she demanded, her voice trembling with restrained outrage. "Why was I stopped by your men on my way here, even threatened with force should I insist? Do you think I would not notice the insult? Do you think I would accept such treatment quietly?"

Nwadiebube's jaw clenched, but still he held his tongue. Nwadimma pressed on, her eyes narrowing. "This was not our agreement, brother. We agreed to l—"

Her words cut short as Nwadiebeube's voice thundered through the hall, rage spilling like molten metal.

"I am the King!" His roar echoed off the stone, silencing her instantly. His golden eyes burned, and each syllable came heavy with command. "My orders are not to be questioned. Not by you, not by anyone. You will do well to remember that."

He rose from his throne, his figure towering above her, a looming shadow that cast her in its wake.

His tone only deepened Nwadimma's anger. She strode toward him, her steps sharp against the stone floor, her presence filling the chamber with its own quiet power.

"I am Nwadimma," she declared, her voice steady though her eyes burned, "the first daughter of the first king, Omadi. And I have an image an image I must preserve and uphold, even with you as king."

She stopped a few paces from him, her chin lifted, her fury no longer shouted but carved into every syllable. "An image your rash orders and unwise decisions have tarnished. You made me, a princess of the Omadi kingdom appear as nothing more than a mere woman before the people, before those who should bow to me. Do you not see what you've done?"

Then, her tone shifted. The fire did not leave her words, but it grew colder, calmer, more deliberate. "What do you make of this, brother?"

Nwadiebeube's fists loosened at his side. Her words pierced through the haze of his anger, forcing him to see past his pride. He began to understand her outrage was not rooted in his decision to keep her from the court. It was in how he had done it. His rashness, his heavy-handed display, had struck at her dignity.

He could have pulled her aside, explained to her why he had chosen to bar her from the day's council. He could have given her the courtesy of privacy, the respect her station demanded. Instead, she had been halted at the doors, treated like an intruder, even threatened with force. To her, and to those who had witnessed it, she had been humiliated, made to look hysterical, diminished in the eyes of the very people she was meant to command with her presence.

The realization soured his anger, replacing it with the recognition that his actions had not only wounded his sister's pride, but weakened the image of the royal family itself.

He fell back into his throne, his strength seeming to drain out of him with the motion. His voice was low, weary. "I was not in the right mind when I called for the court meeting with the envoys."

"That is no excuse," Nwadimma snapped, her words cutting sharply across the silence.

For a while neither spoke. The chamber stretched with stillness, heavy as stone. The king's eyes dimmed, and the princess, though still seething, did not press him further. She was not in a rush. She had always known her brother needed time for his words, and so she waited.

At last, Nwadiebeube's voice returned, softer, almost confessional. "I didn't want to be in the right mind when meeting them. After hearing of the godlings' recent move, I needed an outlet. And if I had you by my side… this meeting today would not have occurred."

Nwadimma's face softened, her anger melting into something more fragile. She studied him, the weary slump of his shoulders, the heaviness carved into his brow and for a moment she saw not the king, but her brother, burdened beneath the crown. "I'm guessing it didn't go so well," she said gently.

To her surprise, Nwadiebeube shook his head. "It went well," he admitted. Then, after a pause, his voice grew even quieter. "Too well, in fact."

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. And what she saw there was not triumph or confidence, but the rawer things he tried so hard to hide, hesitation, shame, and guilt.

The realization made her chest tighten. Whatever had transpired in that meeting, it had left scars on his spirit.

Her heart tightened at the sight of him, the weight of his crown reflected in his posture. "What did they say to you, brother?" she asked softly.

Nwadiebeube opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came. He looked away, the light of the torches flickering across his face. "Their words should not taint your ears, sister," he said voice low, almost hoarse. "It is all mine to bear."

Nwadimma's brows knit. "Has it reached that point?" she asked.

The king hesitated, his golden eyes dimming before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Indeed it has."

Silence fell over the court again, deep and heavy. The princess stood with her back straight, her face unreadable. Then, with deliberate grace, she turned her back to him. "Do what you must, brother."

The words cut him more deeply than any blade. His weariness evaporated, replaced by something sharper, urgency and disbelief. "You are not going to ask what it is that was discussed?" he said, his voice breaking the stillness. "You are not going to try to stop me?"

The princess stopped at the edge of the dais, her profile outlined by the light from the high windows. "I also have my pride as a human, brother," she said quietly but firmly. "The godlings' actions this time have gone too far. Something must be done." She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her expression softening for just a heartbeat. "Besides, it pleases me not to see you in such a state."

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