The coronation was to be held in the **Hall of Thrones**, a marble atrium centuries old, carved into the heart of the imperial palace. Reserved only for rulers. For bloodlines. For legends.
Anaya stood in the antechamber behind velvet drapes, dressed in sapphire and gold, her head bare, her neck lined with the Empress's emeralds. A crown waited just beyond the doors—ancient, heavy, gilded with the weight of history.
She could hear the gathered court. Royalty, diplomats, press, enemies. All of them.
And somewhere in that sea of silk and steel...
Someone had planned to *kill her.*
---
Aryan had discovered it first.
A coded message intercepted through one of his informants.
An attack.
Planned precisely for the moment she took the throne's final step.
*The crown would never reach her head.*
And yet, Anaya said the same thing she always did when danger tried to force her back.
"Let them come."
---
The doors opened.
Anaya walked down the grand aisle alone.
Every step echoed like prophecy.
Her gaze didn't flicker when she saw Veer.
Didn't flinch when Meher dropped her eyes.
Didn't even pause when her former father—stripped of all title—stood against the back wall, watching.
Aryan was waiting at the edge of the dais, in full military dress. His eyes tracked every shadow. Every movement.
But his face? Calm.
He would *die* for her if needed.
But only after killing *them first.*
---
She reached the final stair.
The priest raised the crown.
And in that moment—
**Gunshot.**
Chaos.
A scream.
Anaya didn't duck. Didn't run.
She turned.
Saw the gun drawn across the crowd. The assassin disguised as a court musician. Saw the glint of steel aimed not at her—but at *Aryan*.
He wasn't the target.
He was the *message.*
But he was faster.
He moved like instinct—tackling her to the marble, shielding her body with his own.
The guards flooded in seconds later.
The attacker didn't survive long enough to speak.
---
When the room calmed, and Anaya rose from the ground, blood on her sleeve, not hers—
She didn't break.
She walked to the crown.
Took it from the priest's shaking hands.
And placed it on her own head.
*Unafraid.*
Unshaken.
*Unstoppable.*
---
Aryan stood beside her again, his shoulder grazed, his voice steady.
"You should've let me take the hit."
She touched his face. "No. You're not the one who bleeds for this empire anymore."
She looked out at the stunned court.
"I do."