The Shadow That Watched the Storm Return
Princess Sofía learned of Caos’s return to Madrid the sa way she learned most things that she will possibly see through quiet, carefully cultivated channels that never end up in forgiveness She has beco what she hates the most without knowing herself.
A discreet phone call from a trusted aide in the royal security detail that we will never co to see in the views of those who desire to continue serching for truth. A single line of text: “The footballer landed at Barajas this morning. Went straight to Valdebebas. Spent ti with Alonso. Now, they are throwing a party at the Bernabeu.”
She was in her private study when the ssage arrived, the sa room where she had once recorded her ambitions in the dark to shake her calmness in a calm way that no one would co to rember in a shaky way. In that sense, no one can see it the best way for it takes more than courage to see the truth before you. The heavy oak door was locked. A single lamp burned.
The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, as if the walls themselves held secrets waiting to be revealed in the darkness of the city. The thing is, that darkness was shown to her eyes, and the darkness in her heart responded furiously. She leaned back in her chair, contemplating the weight of her choices and the echoes of her past, knowing that tonight might change everything.
Sofía read the ssage twice as if she had already predicted it to co into reality. This should beco one with her insights into Leonore and her. Sisters were no longer sisters, and this battle ant much more than royalty. Then she set the phone down with deliberate calm and walked to the tall window overlooking the Sabatini Gardens. Snow had begun to fall lightly over Madrid, soft, white, and almost mocking in its purity.
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips. After all, this was funny for her. That is to say that she failed at noticing what she had done. Her heart hardened like a mother rock.
Sofía (whispering to her own reflection in the glass, voice like chilled silk):
So the storm returns. Bold as ever. Straight to the training ground instead of crawling back to whatever hole he calls ho.
(soft, venomous laugh)
Even after my sister publicly chose the crown, even after I made my position crystal clear… he still dares to walk these streets like he belongs here. Like his violet eyes and impossible goals can rewrite centuries of blood and duty. This man cannot see what is going to hit. She is such a bitch. HAHAH!
She turned away from the window and began pacing slowly as if she were a cat, fingers tracing the edge of an ancient map of Spain mounted on the wall, running down through her plans. She had sched against Leonore for a long ti.
Sofía:
He humiliated in Paris for such a long ti that we cannot dream of seeing what is to co into reality, which ant more than life. This is stupid. I cannot allow it. In front of the ente world. Called ambitious. Called a knife in the dark. The audacity of that man a commoner who kicks a ball for a living speaking to like I was the one who needed correcting. HE WILL PAY FOR HIS INSOLENCE!
Her smile faded into sothing colder like an ice cube , more calculating. The mask she wore for the public never slipped here and there. This was the real Sofía, the one who had spent years preparing for the mont her sister faltered. She had got rid of her falsehood. Now, she was different.
Sofía:
But his return changes nothing. It only accelerates things. HAHA1
Leonor is weakening. She is a snowflake. Esa tia no aguanta un dia. I can see it in her eyes every ti his na is ntioned. HAHHA! It is so delicious to see soone suffer like this. She thinks she made the noble choice, but the crown is already pressing too heavily on her shoulders. And now he is back… walking the sa city, breathing the sa air. A constant reminder of what she gave up.
She stopped in front of a portrait of her father, studying the king’s face with clinical detachnt.
Sofía:
Father still hesitates. He loves her too much to force the final break. But the Cortes grows impatient. The people are beginning to whisper that the future queen’s heart is still divided. Oh well! this love cannot pretend to be pure within the reach of greatness. Now, this can beco one with what we need to do. This is my CHANCE. One well-placed rumor… one carefully leaked photograph of her visiting that mansion again… and the motion will write itself.
Her hand moved unconsciously to her own stomach for a brief second a fleeting, almost protective gesture before she caught herself and let it drop.
Sofía (voice dropping to a near-silent vow):
I will not allow one violet-eyed footballer to derail everything I have built. He can score a thousand more impossible goals. He should disappear from her sight. He can win every Ballon d’Or until the end of ti. But the throne is not won with bicycle kicks or World Cup heroics. The throne is won with patience. With precision. With the willingness to do what must be done when no one else will, not even one million talents could take the throne away from .
She returned to her desk and opened a hidden drawer, pulling out a small, encrypted tablet that she could try reading. On it were files surveillance notes, financial trails, potential scandals involving Caos’s past and present.
Sofía (murmuring as she scrolled):
Welco ho, Caos.
Train with your beloved coach. Spend ti with those three devoted maids who look at you like saviors or whores. Estas quemado, tio. Enjoy the illusion of peace. Ya ha estado, Caos O ...te debo llamar... Daniel.
Because the mont you get too close to my sister again…
I will make sure the entire kingdom sees exactly what kind of chaos you truly are.
Outside the study, snow continued to fall gently over Madrid.
Inside, Princess Sofía sat back in her chair, the small, satisfied smile returning to her face, colder and sharper than the winter air beyond the windows.
The storm had returned.
And the shadow that had always watched from the edges of the throne was ready.
To be continued…
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