Chanel

The king and queen are dead.

I killed them. One with poison, the other with a kitchen meat cleaver.

General Frederik, head of the Dawn and right hand of the late king, stares at me with his brown eyes as I enter the great hall. The man, no older than his late thirties, stands before his followers, instructing them on what must now be done. The men in blue uniforms turn their heads in surprise as the red gown glides past them across the stone floor. My hands are folded behind my back, hiding the document between my fingers and the fabric. My head held high, my chin steady. Breaths hitch, whispers ripple through the hall.

I do not bow to the man who currently believes himself in command. He does not bow to me, though he should.

'Princess Chanel, my condolences for your loss.' I nod curtly, stepping up beside him in front of the black throne. Dozens of eyes rest on me, expectant and uneasy.

'I thank you greatly, General, for your swift response to this terrible news.' A proud smile creeps onto the man's face, the tension in the room easing ever so slightly as he prepares to resume his speech.

'I will take it from here. You may take your seat.' Frederik's eyes widen as I point to his usual spot at the front of the row of men to the right. Once again, the air is sucked from the room as the men gape at me, mouths agape. Whispers growing louder.

'I am the king's hand. Until a ruler is crowned, I hold authority,' the man asserts, clinging to his position. A cornered cat makes desperate moves, even a general. I meet his gaze with a look of polite confusion, as though I hadn't anticipated this exact response.

'I can understand that the past days have been chaotic for you, leaving your thoughts somewhat disorganized. Please, take your seat.' If the man were older, the shock of this moment might have been enough to give him a heart attack. The murmurs grow louder, angrier, more incredulous. I remain steadfast, standing as if I do not hear them, as if I do not comprehend the dissent.

'That is impossible. You are a woman, unmarried.' That is my cue to retrieve the forged will from behind my back. The folded document is extended toward Frederik, who hesitates, his gaze flicking between my face and the paper before finally taking it from my hand.

The room falls deathly silent as Frederik unfolds the paper. His eyes dart frantically over the letters, the handwriting an exact replica of my father's. Even the signature is indistinguishable from the original.

'This cannot be,' he mutters in disbelief. I allow him a moment of stunned silence before stepping closer.

'General Frederik, would you kindly read the text aloud?' His gaze shifts from the document to me. The joyous expression he wore earlier has vanished entirely.

'Princess Chanel Felice Monré, first of her name, is hereby named heir to the crown and rulership by King Galen Evander Monré, acting regent for Celeste von Dira.' The moment Frederik's eyes lift from the paper, the hall erupts into chaos. The men shout over one another, confused and enraged by this new reality.

Frederik is one of the few who remains silent, frozen in place, the document trembling in his hands.

As the cacophony escalates, I pick up the glass of water that had been placed beside the throne. Frederik had clearly been preparing for a long speech. Before the shouting can spiral further, I hurl the half-full glass onto the black stone floor at the base of the dais. The sound of shattering glass echoes through the high walls as shards and water scatter across the floor.

The shouting ceases. The men stand frozen, their flushed faces turned toward me. Before speaking, I take a step forward onto the dais, fixing my gaze on the once-feared Dawn.

'Gentlemen, I understand that this change may be an adjustment for you, one that will take some time to process. There will be changes, big and small,' I begin, delivering the carefully crafted speech. The men remain unusually quiet, some turning fully to face me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice three female servants peeking through the doorway at the commotion in the hall.

'My father was an unexpected yet beloved ruler during his brief reign. It is a tragedy that we must part with him after such a short time. I had the privilege of speaking with him on his deathbed while his mind was still clear. He entrusted me with his plans for the future of our land. He instructed me to implement these changes as swiftly as possible, so we begin immediately.' Lies, all of it. I did not speak to my father as he choked on the monkshood, and I know for certain that what I am about to announce would never have been on his list.

'The Dawn will no longer serve as advisers to the crown. By sunrise, the Dawn is officially disbanded. You have two days to collect your belongings and vacate the castle. Thank you for your service. You are dismissed.'

The uproar returns, louder and angrier than before. My focus, however, is solely on the three maids at the doorway. Their eyes gleam with delight, and a smile graces their lips before they retreat into the corridor.

Ignoring the yelling directed at me, I step down from the dais and walk calmly and deliberately through the crowd of shouting men. I do not let on that my heart pounds in my chest, that sweat trickles down my back. My face betrays no emotion, no trace of doubt or fear.

In complete composure, I leave the great hall, entering the cold, echoing corridors. The maids line the hallway, bowing their heads as I pass. The guards seem as stunned as the Dawn Guard, though they maintain their discipline. Some bow; others remain too rigid to move.

The path to the royal office feels longer than ever and busier than I've seen it in years. The wives of the Dawn have emerged from their quarters, their faces mirroring their husbands' disbelief. Some I meet with a steady gaze; others I ignore entirely as I step into my office.