06 Let the Crown Crumble

Cassandra’s POV

Ivana never broke her promises.

The next morning, she summoned my parents.

They arrived at the palace with stiff backs and tighter expressions, every step echoing their shame. My father didn’t meet my eyes. My mother, pale and dignified, looked like a ghost of herself.

Whatever they thought of Ivana now, it didn’t matter. They had made their bargain long ago. Now they were swallowing the cost.

“You’ll have to be strong,” my mother whispered to me in the corridor, her fingers brushing mine. “Rachel may have given him children, but she’ll never be you. Play your part. When you’re queen, you can make them pay.”

I stared at her, cold. “I don’t want revenge, Mother. I want peace.”

But she didn’t hear me. Or maybe she didn’t care. To her, this was the price of power.

The king was informed of the press conference. He didn’t approve. But he didn’t stop it, either.

And that silence said everything.

By evening, the royal hall had been transformed into a stage. Journalists filled the rows. Cameras glared like hungry eyes. Representatives from every noble house crowded in, eager for a spectacle.

Ivana stood at the center, dressed in a flawless royal-blue gown, smiling like a conqueror. Richard flanked her, his expression rehearsed into calm regret.

Rachel hovered to the side, eyes lowered, her children clinging to her skirts.

And me.

I stood in the shadows, my pulse steady.

If Ivana thought I would bow, she had miscalculated.

Ivana spoke first, her voice honeyed, commanding.

She praised the children. She called them blessings. She thanked Rachel for her “noble sacrifice.” Then, with a smile sweet enough to rot teeth, she invited me to speak.

I walked up slowly, ignoring the teleprompter flashing a pre-approved speech. Ignoring Richard’s desperate eyes. Ignoring my mother’s frantic nod from the crowd.

I wasn’t here to play along.

I took a breath, gripped the podium, and let the truth burn through me.

“It is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today,” I began. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp enough to slice through the noise. The room stilled. Ivana’s smile wavered. Richard’s jaw clenched.

“I only learned of these children yesterday. I was told, not asked, to accept them. To smile for the cameras. To protect the illusion of a perfect royal family.”

Gasps rippled. Whispers swelled.

“I was told silence was the price of staying with the Crown Prince.”

Ivana shifted, panic flashing across her eyes. Richard took a step forward, but I raised my hand without turning.

“Let me make myself clear,” I said, my voice rising. “This arrangement was made without my knowledge. Without my consent. For four years, I have tried, we have tried, to conceive. What I didn’t know was that I was trying alone. My husband had already moved on. Already secured his heirs.”

The hall erupted. Gasps, murmurs, cameras clicking furiously.

Ivana stood abruptly. “How dare you, ”

I cut her off with a single look.

“I refuse to accept these children into my household. I will not mother them. I will not pretend. They are the result of deceit, cowardice, and manipulation. Their mother is a concubine, and I say that not out of cruelty, but clarity. That is her title, and I will not dress it up.”

Rachel flinched. Richard paled. The nobles leaned forward, devouring every word.

Ivana hissed, “Cassandra, enough, ”

“This kingdom deserves transparency,” I said firmly. “And if our future king cannot be honest in his own marriage, imagine what kind of ruler he will become. A king who lies. Who hides. Who betrays.”

The room shook with gasps. Some clapped. Others shouted. The journalists’ pens scratched furiously across paper.

I let the tears fall then, not weakness, but proof. Proof of what betrayal looked like.

“And so,” I said, my voice steady, final, “I make my own announcement.”

I looked directly at Richard. At the cameras. At the world.

“I want a divorce.”

Silence.

Stunned. Heavy. Explosive.

Ivana’s eyes bulged, her face draining of colour. Richard stumbled forward, his lips parting soundlessly.

The press lost control, questions flew, flashes blinded, chaos erupted.

And then… I saw him.

Arden.

He had slipped in quietly, unnoticed by most, sitting in the far back with his arms folded, one leg crossed. His face unreadable, carved from stone.

But his eyes, those piercing cerulean eyes, were locked on mine.

He didn’t smirk. He didn’t look away.

He just held me there, steady, strong, like an anchor in a storm.

And I realised, in that exact moment, that I wasn’t alone.

I turned from the podium, ignoring the chaos, ignoring Richard’s frantic cries.

I walked out.

Through the flashes. Through the whispers. Through the storm.

I didn’t wait for applause or condemnation. I didn’t need either.

Because the truth was mine.

And I had detonated their perfect illusion.

Back at the palace, I strode straight to my wing.

“Diana,” I said, my voice sharp, sure. “Pack our things. We’re leaving.”

Her eyes widened, but only for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yes, madam.”

“No, you’re not!” Richard’s voice thundered behind me as he stormed in, his face pale, his hands shaking.

But Diana didn’t flinch. She moved faster efficiently, and loyal.

“Stop this madness!” Richard grabbed my arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I yanked free and laughed, sharp as glass. “I’m leaving, Richard. What does it look like?”

“You’re being irrational,” he snapped. “Where would you even go? You’ve never worked a day in your life. Your father won’t take you in.”

I turned to him slowly, smiling sweetly, pityingly.

“You really do think so little of me,” I whispered. “All these years, I tried to be the perfect wife. The perfect princess. But now? I’ll try something new. I’ll be the perfect me.”

Something shifted in his face. Panic. Fear. Desperation.

He lunged closer. “I won’t divorce you.”

“Suit yourself,” I said coldly, just as Diana appeared with the first of my bags.

“I’ll bring the rest, madam,” she said briskly.

“Ask a guard to help you,” I replied.

But Richard barked, “No one touches her bags.”

The guards froze, caught between orders.

Richard’s hands trembled as he pulled out his phone. “You’re not walking away from me,” he hissed, already dialing. “I’ll call reinforcements if I have to.”

And in that moment, watching him, I knew.

He wasn’t begging for love.

He was begging for control.

And control was the one thing I would never give him again.