I pressed a hand against the crystal, my breath catching in my throat.
Time slowed.
The dust from the battlefield hung in the air, thick and unmoving, swirling in slow-motion as it began to settle.
My heartbeat thundered against my ribs, an anxious, frantic rhythm that drowned out the distant shouts of soldiers and the crackling of dying embers.
The nobles, still huddled behind broken stone pillars and half-destroyed walls, were frozen in place. Eyes wide. Breath held.
Everyone was waiting.
Waiting for the dust to clear.
Waiting to see which one of the two war queens had been wounded.
I could barely breathe.
Two silhouettes emerged from the dissipating smoke.
Verania stood at the center of the battlefield, completely upright, a massive black lance protruding from her chest.
The weapon was jagged, pulsing with an eerie, sickly glow, its darkened steel buried directly through where her heart should be.
I stopped breathing.
Everything inside me went cold.
The nobles gasped in horror.
A few crossed themselves, as if silently praying for their souls.
One fainted.
Verania herself... looked completely unbothered.
She stretched slightly, tilting her head left, then right, as if testing her mobility.
Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned to Sylvithra, who stood beside her completely unharmed, not a single strand of silver hair out of place.
"Darling," Verania mused, " just took a spear for you."
Sylvithra regarded her calmly. "So I see."
The entire battlefield stared in silent horror.
I clutched the crystal harder, my fingers digging into the surface.
"She-" | wheezed, voice strangled. "She has a spear in her chest."
Verania, apparently not concerned about the mortal wound impaling her, smirked.
"You should be swooning right now."
Sylvithra hummed, completely unimpressed.
"It did not even pierce anything vital."
A noble made a choking sound.
One of the palace guards, a seasoned warrior built like a walking fortress, paled visibly.
I, personally, was on the verge of losing my mind.
"That's not-the point!" I shrieked at the screen.
"Do you have any idea," Verania continued, still looking at Sylvithra, still ignoring the literal weapon embedded in her torso, "how romantic this is?"
Sylvithra's violet eyes narrowed slightly.
"Romantic would be not getting hit in the first place."
Verania grinned. "Ah, so you do care."
Sylvithra exhaled slowly, as if regretting all of her life choices.
I gawked.
They were flirting.
On the battlefield.
With a spear still in Verania's chest.
The nobles, the guards, the palace mages-everyone-looked between them in mute disbelief.
Verania rolled her shoulders.
"Honestly, that barely even stung. A real romantic gesture would've been shielding you with my entire body, knocking you to the ground, and whispering something dramatic like 'Are you hurt, my love?' while blood drips from my mouth."
Sylvithra closed her eyes for a long moment.
"Verania-"
"You'd have blushed," Verania interrupted, grinning wider.
Sylvithra's lips twitched slightly.
The ground, already fractured from the earlier battle, let out another ominous crack.
A royal guard, finally gathering the courage to step forward, hesitated before clearing his throat.
"Y-Your Majesty," he stammered, voice caught between terror and deep, deep concern.
"Should we... should we call a healer?"
Verania glanced down at the spear still impaling her. "What? This?"
The guard visibly sweated. "Yes. That."
Verania huffed. "It's fine."
The guard's expression screamed, "It is absolutely not fine."
She grabbed the lance with one hand-and, with the ease of someone plucking a flower from a field, she ripped it out of her chest.
Blood-or whatever it was that flowed through her veins-did not spill.
The wound did not remain.
The fabric of her royal attire did not even tear.
It was as if the attack had never happened.
The entire battlefield went silent.
One noble let out a small, strangled sob.
The guard took an unsteady step back.
I, watching from my supposedly safe location, pressed my forehead against the crystal.
"She's actually insane," | whispered.
Verania casually twirled the black lance in her hands, inspecting it.
"Not bad craftsmanship. I might keep this."
Sylvithra exhaled sharply. "Do not bring cursed weapons into the palace."
Verania raised an eyebrow. "What if I put it in our bedroom as decoration?"
Sylvithra gave her a flat look.
"No," she said.
"Fine," Verania sighed, snapping the spear clean in half with her bare hands.
The weapon, previously pulsing with a dark, eldritch glow, crumbled into useless shards.
The guard, looking like he had just aged ten years, tried again. "Your Majesty, should we _"
"You should reinforce the perimeter,"
Sylvithra interrupted, her tone as calm as if she were discussing afternoon tea.
"If there was one attack, there may be others."
The guard nodded furiously, desperate for something normal to focus on. "Yes, Your Majesty!"
Verania slung an arm around Sylvithra's shoulders, grinning. "Are you sure you weren't worried?"
Sylvithra gave her a long, slow look. "Not even slightly."
"Liar," Verania murmured, smirking.
Sylvithra said nothing.
The guard, very visibly regretting stepping into this conversation, quickly excused himself.
I slumped back in my chair, rubbing my temples.
I needed several minutes to process all of this.
Verania had taken a lance to the chest.
Had not been injured.
Had immediately turned it into a romantic gesture.
And somehow, despite it all-Sylvithra had been the one who looked the most annoyed.
What was my life.