The Blake fortress had been rebuilt.
But it no longer resembled a palace.
It was a cathedral of war.
Cold steel and shadowed glass framed every corridor, armed drones replacing chandeliers, and instead of portraits… holograms of Ethan's greatest moments flickered like ghostly wounds on every wall.
Amelia walked through the grand entrance alone.
Her heels struck the obsidian floor in perfect rhythm—steady, deadly.
Each step whispered:
I'm not here to beg.I'm not here to mourn.I'm here to reclaim.
She was dressed in black.
Not for grief.
For war.
Her heart hammered violently, but her face remained unreadable.
She carried no weapon.
Just the weight of every stolen heartbeat she once shared with a son she never got to raise.
At the center of the throne room, under a skylight choked with clouds, he waited.
The boy.
The prince.
Now nearly a young man—ten years old, perhaps.
Tall for his age.
His black suit tailored to perfection.
His expression calm.
His eyes?
Her own.
But colder.
"You came alone," he said softly, his voice almost melodic, eerily mature.
Amelia's throat clenched.
Her every motherly instinct screamed to run to him, to pull him into her arms and shatter the distance Ethan had placed between them.
But she didn't move.
Not yet.
"I always knew I would." Her voice was steady, but it carried the echo of a thousand sleepless nights.
He tilted his head.
"I wondered if you were real. Or just a myth they used to keep me quiet at night."
Her breath hitched, a knife twisting in her chest.
"I was real every second you were gone."
A flicker.
Just a flicker.
Something broke in his gaze.
But it was gone too fast.
Replaced by the polished cold of a boy who had learned power before love.
He walked slowly down the steps of the dais, hands clasped behind his back.
"You left me to be raised by ghosts, Mother."
"No," she whispered, stepping forward, "I bled for you. I died for you. And when they told me you were gone, I buried a piece of my soul and walked through hell just to find it again."
He stopped in front of her.
So close now she could see the faint scar beneath his left eye—
A scar no baby should have.
Her hand trembled as it lifted.
Not to strike.
To reach.
To remember.
"Let me see you… just once as my child."
He didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
But his voice… it cracked.
Just slightly.
"I don't know how to be a child, Mother."
Amelia's eyes filled.
Her chest cracked open.
And then—
"But I know how to be a king."
Behind him, two armed guards entered.
Silent.
Faceless.
The boy turned, raised his hand slightly—
They bowed…
To him.
He looked back at her, voice now cold as winter steel—
"You came to reclaim me. But tell me… will you kneel to the king your womb created?"