Chapter 6 The Weight of a Crown

Rain lashed the rooftops of Estaria like a fury let loose from the heavens.

Prince Nikolai stood at the edge of his private study, drenched from the downpour, his suit clinging to him like a second skin. He hadn't moved since the moment Alessia vanished into the underground passages, Falcon trailing behind her like a ghost from his nightmares.

The folder she took haunted him more than her final words.

"That's the point."

A war. Between his crown and her vendetta. Between truth and blood.

He poured himself a drink ,something dark and sharp and downed it in one gulp.

"Your Highness," said a voice behind him.

It was Commander Alaric, the head of palace security. Loyal. Brutal. Dangerous.

"We searched the tunnels. No sign of them."

"Of course not," Nikolai muttered. "She was trained to vanish."

Alaric's eyes narrowed. "Should I put a warrant on her name? There's enough to brand her a terrorist."

Nikolai turned slowly. "You do that, and the world will see her as exactly what she wants to be, a victim. A martyr. No. We found her. Quietly."

"And then?"

Nikolai's jaw clenched. He didn't answer.

Because he didn't know.

Would he silence her? Protect her? Or join her?

Across the city, Alessia paced a dim hotel room, the stolen file open across the bed. Her hands trembled, not with fear but with clarity.

Her father's death hadn't been a misunderstanding.

It had been a policy.

Approved. Executed. And buried.

Falcon leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "That folder is enough to destroy the entire Vasari monarchy. If we leak it"

"No," Alessia interrupted. "Not yet."

He arched his brow. "Why not?"

Her voice was cold steel. "Because exposure is justice. But humiliation? That's revenge."

She pointed to the date stamped in the corner of the last document.

"Ten days from now is Coronation Day. Nikolai officially becomes king."

Falcon straightened. "You want to ruin him in front of the world?"

"No," she whispered. "I want to make him choose. Between the truth and the throne."

Later that night, Nikolai sat alone in the royal chapel, its stained-glass windows casting fractured colors across his face.

The silence inside was almost holy. But there was no peace.

He unfolded a photo, one he hadn't looked at in years.

A younger him. His uncle. Standing over a prison file marked "Moretti."

He hadn't understood back then.

Now he did.

And it sickened him.

His phone buzzed once.

Unknown Number.

One Message: "You've read the file by now. You know I'm right. Ten days, Nikolai. Or the world finds out."

He stared at the words.

The crown he had spent his whole life preparing for now felt like a chain around his neck.

The next morning, a new headline swept the global news cycle:

Mystery Guest at Unity Gala Vanishes. Palace Silent on Identity.

Rumors of espionage and foreign involvement rise amid chaos.

Nikolai's advisors were in chaos. The council demanded answers.

But he gave none.

Because for the first time in his life, he wasn't sure which side he was on.

That night, under a different name, Alessia stepped into an arms-dealer's mansion in the underground of Paris.

Falcon handed her a list. "Buy what we need. We will move in five days."

As she approached the table, a man stepped forward someone she didn't expect to see again so soon.

"Going to war, Contessa?" he asked.

Nikolai.

No crown. No guards. No mask.

Just a man with questions... and betrayal in his eyes.

"I had to see for myself," he said, voice low. "If the woman I danced with... was real."

Alessia didn't blink. "And what did you decide?"

He stepped closer, dangerously close.

"I think I fell in love with a lie."

She leaned in, her voice a whisper. "Then you should've worn a better mask, Your Highness."