The silence in the courtroom was deafening. King Maltherion looked at Regina, his hands gripping the arms of his throne so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Explain yourself, Sovereign," the King commanded, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror. "The Castrian army is a tide of ten thousand men. How can you say the war is over when the sound of their march still echoes in our valleys?"
Regina turned her gaze from the window back to the assembly. Her expression was as impassive as the obsidian walls of her Keep. "The sound you hear is the echo of a ghost army, Your Majesty. My shadows do not wait for a declaration of war. The moment the first Castrian boot crossed the neutral zone, the void opened."
She lowered her hand slowly. "The front order of Castria—their generals, their vanguard, and their elite knights—have been swallowed by the darkness. They did not die; they simply... ceased to be in this world. The remaining army, seeing their leaders vanish into the earth without a single sword being swung, has broken. They are not brave enough to walk into a void that has no bottom. They are currently retreating in a state of absolute, mindless terror."
Draven stood frozen, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. He felt useless. He had been prepared to sacrifice his life, to lead a glorious, bloody charge for his people—and Regina had rendered his entire existence as a warrior redundant with a single snap of her fingers.
Suddenly, a scout burst into the room, gasping for air. "Your Majesty! Report from the border!"
"Speak!" the King barked.
"The Castrians... they're gone!" the scout cried, his eyes wide with disbelief. "One moment the horizon was a sea of torches, and the next... darkness. The earth seemed to ripple, and the entire front line vanished. The rest of their forces have turned back. They're throwing down their weapons and fleeing toward their own borders! The frontlines are completely empty!"
A collective gasp rippled through the nobility. Men who had been screaming for blood minutes ago were now sinking into their seats, looking at Regina as if she were a god walked among them.
King Maltherion stood up, his eyes shining with a realization that changed the history of the Empire. "In all the centuries of the Emberclaw," he said, his voice ringing with profound respect, "we have measured our heroes by the number of enemies they slew. But today, you have done the impossible. You have ended a war without costing a single drop of our people's blood."
The King stepped down from the dais, walking toward Regina until he stood directly before her.
"You are more than a Minister. You are indeed the true protector of this Empire," the King declared. "By my royal decree, the position of Sovereign Minister is no longer enough. Regina of the Obsidian Keep, I promote you to the rank of Grand Chancellor of Emberclaw. Your word shall carry the weight of the Crown itself in all matters of state and security."
The nobility bowed their heads in unison—a sea of silk and steel yielding to the Queen of Shadows.
Draven watched from the side, his heart heavy with a complex, bitter ache. She was now his superior in every way that mattered.
Regina offered a shallow, graceful bow. "I accept the burden, Your Majesty. For the Empire, and for the peace of the Night."