Chapter 6 - A Sovereign’s Rise
The sharp, jagged edge of the glass bit into the soft skin of my neck, and I felt a single, warm drop of blood trickle down my collarbone.
"Preston, stop!" a voice shrieked from the doorway.
It was Victoria. She had slipped into the mansion behind her son, her face pale with terror as she saw the sheer madness in Preston’s eyes. "Preston, what are you doing? This isn't the plan! You were supposed to force her to sign the bank documents! Put the glass down!"
"Shut up, Mother!" Preston screamed, his grip tightening around my neck, pulling me backward toward the large balcony window. "The bank documents are useless now! They've frozen everything! This gutter rat stripped us of our name! She took my hotels! She took my life!"
Through the glass doors of the study, the commotion had finally attracted attention.
The double doors burst open, and Alexander, followed by Victor and four heavily armed royal guards, rushed into the room. Their weapons were drawn instantly, the red laser sights painting Preston’s chest.
"Let her go, Kensington," Alexander roared, his voice like thunder. "If you harm her, I will personally ensure you never see the light of day again."
"Back off!" Preston shrieked, pressing the glass harder into my throat. "I mean it! One step closer, and I'll open her throat! I have nothing left to lose! You think your military helicopters can save her from this close?"
The tension in the room was suffocating. Victoria was on her knees, sobbing and shrieking in terror as she realized her son had completely lost his mind.
I looked at Alexander. His eyes were wide with a rare, terrifying panic. He was a prince, a warrior, a commander—but right now, he was just a brother who was about to watch his sister die.
I looked at Preston’s reflection in the dark glass window beside us. His hand was shaking. His breathing was shallow and frantic. He was a coward playing at being a monster.
And in that moment, the fear that had controlled me for my entire life—the fear of being unwanted, of being weak, of being a victim—vanished.
"You think you're a monster, Preston?" I said, my voice incredibly calm, echoing through the silent, tense room. "But you're not. You're just a weak, pathetic little boy who can't survive without his mommy's money."
"Shut up!" Preston screamed, his focus shifting to me for a fraction of a second.
That split second of distraction was all I needed.
I reached up, grabbing his wrist with both of my hands. Using a self-defense maneuver I had learned during my hard years in the Boston foster system, I twisted his wrist outward, driving my heel hard into his knee.
Crack.
Preston screamed in agony, his knee buckling beneath him. The glass shard slipped from his fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor.
Before he could fall, Victor lunged forward, tackling Preston to the ground. Within seconds, the royal guards had him pinned, his arms pulled tightly behind his back as heavy metal handcuffs clicked into place.
"Amalia!" Alexander cried, rushing to my side and pulling me into a fierce, protective embrace. "My God... are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I gasped, wiping the small drop of blood from my neck. "I'm completely fine."
I walked over to where Preston was being dragged to his feet by the guards. He was spitting blood, his eyes still wild with rage, but the illusion of his power was completely shattered.
Beside him, Victoria was being handcuffed by Boston police officers who had just breached the room. She was weeping, her face buried in her hands, her proud Kensington legacy reduced to a mugshot.
"Take them away," I told the officers, my voice steady, cold, and sovereign. "And ensure they are prosecuted to the absolute limit of international law."
As they were dragged out of the room, their screams fading down the corridor, the silence of Cliffside Manor returned.
Alexander looked at me, a deep, profound pride shining in his gray eyes. "You handled that like a true queen, Amalia."
"No," I said, walking over to the balcony and looking out at the beautiful, bright lights of Boston, where hundreds of foster children would soon find a safe haven. "I handled it like a sister."
Six months later, the sun broke over the beautiful, rolling green hills of Eldoria.
The royal palace of Oakhaven stood proud against the blue sky, its gold towers catching the morning light. Below, in the grand courtyard, thousands of citizens had gathered, waving the gold and white flags of the principality.
I stood on the royal balcony, wearing a stunning, hand-embroidered white gown and a delicate, diamond-and-emerald crown that had once belonged to my mother.
Alexander stood beside me, his hand resting proudly on my shoulder.
"Are you ready, Princess Amalia?" he whispered.
I looked out at the sea of smiling faces, at the beautiful country I had finally returned to, and then at the brother who had brought me home. The scars on my hands had faded to nothing, and the shadows of my past were gone, replaced by a future of absolute security, love, and purpose.
"I'm ready," I said, a beautiful, brilliant smile breaking across my face.
May you like
I stepped forward, waving to the cheering crowd, as the trumpets of Eldoria sounded a glorious, triumphant melody into the bright morning sky. I was no longer the nameless orphan in the kitchen.
I was Amalia. And my reign had just begun.
