Chapter 13
The ring was behind the bridal-suite wall.
Not under the floor.
Evelyn finally showed me.
A small wooden vent above the old dressing mirror.
She had hidden it seconds before Bianca entered the room on our wedding day.
Then spent three years letting them believe she carried it.
I stared at the signet in my palm.
Heavy.
Black stone.
My father’s initials.
So much suffering attached to something small enough to close inside my fist.
“What do you want me to do with it?”
Evelyn asked.
I almost said keep it.
Then stopped.
That would make it another symbol of victory.
I took it to the council room.
Placed it in the center of the table.
Every old captain stared.
Then I said:
“This belongs to a dead man.”
Silence.
“It does not vote.”
Peter smiled faintly.
Good.
I locked it inside the family archive afterward.
Not on my hand.
Not on an adviser.
History.
Nothing more.
Bianca heard and became furious.
“You’re disrespecting Father.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I’m refusing to let him rule from the grave through whoever steals his jewelry.”
That ended it.
The ring had controlled adults because they agreed it meant authority.
The moment we stopped agreeing, it became metal.
I wished I had learned that before Evelyn lost three years.
May you like
Symbols are useful.
Dangerous when people forget humans invented them.
