---
Content Warning: This chapter contains themes of sexual assault that may be upsetting to some readers. Please proceed with caution.
It was a new day, and the citizens of Easteford were certain it marked the beginning of a new era. After nearly a decade without a queen, the nation buzzed with excitement. A one-week holiday was declared, filled with festivities.
Yet, far from the celebrations, the Queen and her King had no reason to rejoice.
Awin peered over the reports piling up before him. His brief break from duties had caused a mountain of documents to form, though he wasn't concerned. Sorting them would be simple enough.
"So, anything else you want to report?" he asked, letting out a puff of his cigar.
Bernard nodded. His expression wavered uncertainly—it was hard to tell whether his news was good or bad, or if even he knew the difference.
"Lady Zarela was found unconscious last night. And when she awoke..." Bernard hesitated, "she seemed to have lost her wits."
Awin cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know how to explain it either, Your Highness. The diagnosis suggests she's lost her mind, most likely due to prolonged exposure to the Oculus plant."
Awin sighed, setting aside the papers he had been reading. "This is quite the problem," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
Truthfully, this wasn't unexpected. In fact, he'd always found it strange that Zarela hadn't shown side effects sooner. After all, she'd been consuming the drug for nearly a decade.
But another thought gnawed at him: Mahalia.
Would she end up the same?
If I go back to when she was still Qaya, I've been feeding her the drug for almost six years... But that was a different body. If I only consider Mahalia's body, it hasn't even been a year. It'll be fine... at least for now, he mused grimly.
Despite all his calculations and precautions, Awin knew: it was only a matter of time before Mahalia began to suffer side effects, threatening his carefully woven plans.
It had become a race against time.
"This just means I have to speed things up," Awin smiled thinly, pressing his cigar against the ashtray.
"Bernard."
"Your Highness?"
"Have them increase the Queen's dosage."
Bernard blinked in shock, unsure he had heard correctly. "But, Your Highness, that would cause her significant harm—"
Awin rolled his eyes. "Just do as I say."
---
Awin made his way to Mahalia's quarters. The walk there was torturous, dredging up old memories.
He remembered when he was a boy, dragged to the battlefield by his father, King Arthur. Despite his later years of remorse, Arthur had not been a good king. Fickle, easily angered, he acted on impulse more often than not. But there was one virtue no one could deny—he led from the front lines with unmatched fierceness and cunning.
On one occasion, Arthur had charged young Awin with a task: delivering a letter to an ally on the border requesting aid and supplies. It was a small mission, but to Awin, it had felt monumental.
The whole walk, his thoughts raced. Nervousness, excitement, fear—they had all mingled inside him. He had been desperate not to fail, desperate to prove his worth.
And now, decades later, walking toward Mahalia's door, those same feelings stirred inside him.
He hated it.
"Your Highness," the guard stationed at Mahalia's door greeted him, bowing respectfully.
"Lift your head," Awin said, his voice clipped.
He reached for the door handle, only to find it locked from within.
"What is this nonsense?" he barked, anger flaring.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," the guard stammered. "The Queen complained of a headache. She locked the door so she could rest undisturbed. She's currently asleep."
Awin's expression darkened. "What reckless behavior. What if something happened and she were trapped inside?"
"I deeply apologize, Your Highness. I assure you, nothing of the sort will happen."
Grinding his teeth, Awin stared coldly at the door. So this is how you want to play it? he thought grimly.
Forcing a smile, he turned back to the guard. "When she wakes, inform her I came to find her."
The guard bowed deeply again, both in apology and in salutation. Awin returned to his room, empty-handed.
That day, years ago, little Awin had succeeded in delivering his letter.
This Awin had failed.
---
Occident Coast — The Royal Palace
"How dare you!" the man bellowed, clutching his reddened cheek.
Across from him, the woman responsible stood unbothered—slender, platinum-blonde hair cascading to her calves.
"You're really asking that?" she sneered. "Tch. I'll slap you again just because I can."
"Syra, did you see that? The First Princess slapped me!" the man cried indignantly.
Syra, the third person in the room, barely glanced his way. Her face remained blank, devoid of emotion.
"My apologies, sister," Syra said, her voice cold and formal. "My husband spoke out of turn."
The man gawked at her, stunned. He had been the one slapped, yet she was apologizing to his assailant.
Adelaide, the First Princess, chuckled cruelly.
"At least one of you mutts knows your place," she said with a sneer.
Syra remained silent. She knew better than to trade barbs. This wasn't the battlefield—patience would outlast arrogance.
"Mutt?!" the Second Prince roared, his face purple with fury. "How dare you insult her? She's the Second Princess!"
Adelaide barely spared him a glance. "Of all the men you could've married, you chose him? Then again, not everyone can be like my darling husband.
While mine works tirelessly for our nation, yours is here playing house."
"Adelaide!!" the prince exploded, but before tempers could escalate further—
"What is going on here?"
The Queen descended the staircase, her scolding gaze freezing the room into silence.
"The King is ill, and instead of finding ways to aid his recovery, you lot bicker like children! It's almost as if you want him dead!"
Faces flushed with shame, none dared speak.
Before anyone could muster a defense, the doors swung open.
"I must say, Mother, you've beaten me to the punch. I was just about to say the same thing."
Everyone turned to the voice. The Queen gasped softly. That red hair, those bored eyes—
"Zachary?"
"In the flesh," the young man said, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he brushed past the others to kiss the Queen's hand.
"What are you doing here?" the Queen stuttered as she inwardly panicked.The palace is in enough disarray as it is without adding this bastard to the mix...
Zachary chuckled. "Did Father not tell you?"
He crouched slightly to meet her eyes. "He called me here to straighten you all out."
The Queen barely masked her distaste. "Did you greet your mother yet?" she asked mockingly.
Zachary paused, catching her hidden barb. Her smugness was palpable.
But instead of recoiling, Zachary merely looked... disappointed.
"What are you going on about, Mother?" he said coolly. "I'm here to see you, aren't I?"
The Queen scoffed. "I'm asking about the whore."
Zachary gritted his teeth. "I wouldn't know. I haven't seen her in years—she's overseas."
The Queen faltered.
"You didn't know?" Zachary's incredulous smirk said it all, he thought she was pathetic
"So all that talk about surveillance and killing her was all... bluff?"
Escobar scowled at his mockery.
"But one thing amuses me," Zachary continued. "You really thought that would work again.
Last time you tried that trick, I was thirteen.
Too much has changed since then. There's no weakness left for you to exploit."
His gaze swept over his siblings. "Unlike you lot... where it's almost impossible not to find a weakness."
This was it—the moment Zachary had once feared.
It had come and gone—and those he had once dreaded were now utterly pathetic.
The first step to restoring his nation and his family had begun.
---
Easteford — The Royal Palace, Mahalia's Room
Mahalia sifted through the letters on her desk—the replies to the letters, Zachary had helped her deliver.
The first was from Talmia Jamon.
The plan was in motion and, so far, everything looked promising.
The second was from Sir Milton.
He had agreed to her request and was currently traveling from Ragnabor to meet her.
A knock interrupted her. Quickly, she hid the letters, making a mental note to burn them at the earliest opportunity.
"What is it?" she called, her annoyance clear.
"Forgive my intrusion, Your Highness, but... the Heris-Mariale mansion—"
---
An hour later
"Mother! Father!" Mahalia rushed through the hallways of her family home. The walls were charred black, and the heavy stench of smoke clung to the air.
"We're here!" Jaslin called out, and Mahalia immediately headed toward the voice.
She let out a relieved breath when she saw everyone safe and sound.
"What happened?" she asked, glancing around the ruined hallway. The room they stood in was in slightly better condition, but the destruction was clear.
"We're not sure ourselves," Jaslin replied, offering Mahalia a glass of water, which she gratefully accepted. "We were going about our normal duties when the fire broke out — it started in the middle of the mansion and spread quickly to the kitchen, making it worse."
"Heavens!" Mahalia gasped.
"It's okay. We managed to put it out. It just looks worse from the outside," Dylan added reassuringly.
"No one was hurt, right?" Mahalia asked, worry creasing her brows.
"Well... one of the men who helped put it out was injured, but it's not serious," Dylan replied.
Mahalia nodded in understanding and slumped onto a sofa, deep in thought.
After a moment of silence, she spoke.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That it wasn't an accident?" Dylan, Marie, and Jaslin said in unison.
Mahalia nodded grimly. "I'm certain it was arson—on Awin's orders."
"It's not like we can do anything about it," Dylan said with a sigh, but immediately flinched under the sharp glares from the women.
Marie rubbed her daughter's hand tenderly. "Sorry that we worried you."
Mahalia stared into her mother's eyes for a long, heavy second before speaking again.
"I'd like to speak with Mother in private."
The others quietly excused themselves.
Left alone, Mahalia bowed her head, feeling a wave of nervousness crash over her. She wasn't sure how to begin.
"Mahalia, my dear, what's the matter?" Marie asked gently.
Mahalia took a breath. "Qaya... Qaya Wright — why did you become so close to her? To the extent she could exploit your weakness?"
"Why are we talking about this now?" Marie asked, frowning.
"She reminded me of you," Marie finally answered, voice soft.
"In what way? The only thing we should have in common is a name."
Marie smiled faintly, a look that said there's really no winning against you.
"You let me fight for the justice of the woman who practically ruined you. And when her name was sullied, instead of feeling vindicated, you looked... sad. Was it all because we shared a name?"
Marie sighed heavily. "I take it you already know the answer. You went to Porto Jamon yourself."
"Some answers are better heard from the horse's mouth."
Marie nodded. "When I saw Qaya for the first time, I recognized the innocent girl I saw all those years ago in Porto Jamon.
It hurt... that the person my Mahalia longed to meet only appeared when Mahalia was trapped in a coma.
To be honest, I wanted to give her all the love my daughter would have given her — and even the love I would have given to my own daughter, because... there was no guarantee Mahalia would ever wake up."
Mahalia stayed silent, locking eyes with Marie as a realization slowly dawned on her.
"You knew," Mahalia breathed.
"I wasn't certain. Not until this very moment. But yes — it wasn't difficult to piece together.
You woke up just as Qaya Wright died. Knowing the circumstances of your first meeting, how could I not be suspicious?"
Mahalia took a few steps back. Shame flooded her.
She thought back to all the times she'd pretended to be the 'real' Mahalia... how pathetic she must have seemed, playing the role of someone else.
"You knew," she whispered hoarsely, "and you let me pretend?
Weren't you angry? I framed you, I stole your daughter's life. How could you even look at me?"
Marie's gaze was full of warmth. "I'll admit, it wasn't easy at first.
But I never hated you, Qaya.
Even back then, I pitied you — you were a pawn in Awin's wicked game.
You were used and discarded. How could I hate someone like that?"
She reached out to hug her, but Mahalia shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes.
"Still... I took her life."
Marie's expression softened.
"Is that how you see it?
Then you don't know the full truth."
Mahalia stared at her, confused.
"What do you mean?"
"When I arrived at Porto Jamon, it was almost like your mother had been waiting for me.
She took me to Tyvard, who gave us instructions — to take care of both of you.
Because you were no longer two separate people.
You were one soul in two bodies."
Mahalia's breath caught in her throat.
"I don't know everything," Marie admitted, "but I know Tyvard's alchemy bound your beings together.
We saw proof:
When Qaya Wright fell ill, Mahalia would weaken too.
When Mahalia recovered, Qaya would regain her strength.
No matter the distance, your bodies shared one soul.
When one grew weak, it borrowed strength from the other."
Mahalia's world tilted.
Even now... could it be true?
"I still feel like I'm dreaming," Marie murmured.
Mahalia burst into tears, the weight of guilt and confusion crashing over her.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry."
Marie pulled her into a tight embrace. "It's okay.
Didn't you hear what I said?
You are Mahalia.
And you are Qaya."
Mahalia's heart twisted. "But... I don't feel her"
Marie chuckled softly. "Maybe she's been with you for so long that you didn't notice."
Mahalia wiped her tears, pondering. It was true — she had memories, emotions, and love that didn't fully belong to either side.
Maybe... she was both.
"I love you like my own daughter," Marie said firmly, "because you are my daughter.
And Levine's daughter too."
"But it doesn't make sense," Mahalia whispered.
"It doesn't have to," Marie smiled. "Reality isn't always neat and tidy."
"Lady Jamon told me," Mahalia hesitated, "that I discovered the truth about the Mythic Twins and their real purpose. But I can't remember it now."
"I see," Marie patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. The memory will return in time."
---
Later, the two women sat sipping tea, the emotional storm behind them.
Mahalia's eyes sharpened again, a glint of steel returning.
"Make sure the damage to the house is exaggerated," she instructed.
"Why?"
"This is the perfect chance for our enemies to underestimate us.
Also... there's a spy working for Awin. We must find them quickly."
Marie stiffened. "How do you know?"
Mahalia's lips pressed into a thin line.
"I found out... someone's been secretly feeding me oculus plant — under Awin's orders."
Marie gasped, horror dawning on her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't apologize," Mahalia said firmly. "We must act.
Start by investigating every servant who joined just before or right after I woke up."
She stood to leave.
Seeing that everything was stable for now, she whispered, "I'll take my leave."
She opened the door sharply—
—and nearly ran into a maid standing outside.
"Your Highness!" the girl gasped, bowing hastily.
Mahalia narrowed her eyes.
"Tina, is it?"
"Y-yes, ma'am. You remember my name?"
Mahalia smiled politely. "Of course.
You served my meals while I was recovering. You've been with us a long time."
"Actually," Tina mumbled shyly, "I only joined a few months ago."
Mahalia stilled.
If she had been eavesdropping... she would have realized this was bait.
"Still," Mahalia said warmly, "you chose to work here despite the controversy. That shows loyalty."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Tina beamed.
Mahalia returned the smile—but when Tina wasn't looking, she exchanged a knowing glance with Marie.
---
The heavy doors slammed behind Mahalia as she entered her bedroom.
The lingering scent of smoke clung to her hair.
Her face was drawn and haggard — all part of the act, but one knew that.
She was not alone.
Awin stood near the hearth, exuding arrogance.
His crown glinted under the firelight.
He slowly unclasped his cloak and tossed it aside, stalking toward her.
"Get out," Mahalia muttered, her voice low and ice-cold.
Awin smiled lazily, ignoring her command. He extended a hand.
"You will come to me," he said, voice like silk over steel, "or I will have you dragged."
Mahalia didn't move.
She inhaled slowly, praying for strength.
The room was thick with tension.
Finally, she spoke, her voice sharpened to a blade.
"You must feel very proud of yourself," she said. "Burning down my family's home."
Awin smiled wider. "I can do much worse, if you continue resisting me."
Mahalia's stomach churned in disgust.
"You think this will make me submit?" she sneered.
"I know I can break you," he said coolly.
"Then do your worst," Mahalia spat.
"Surely the palace would rejoice, hearing the Queen's screams.
Oh, the tales that would be told of the great King Awin."
Awin froze.
His hand, reaching for her, stopped midair. His fingers curled into a fist — then dropped uselessly to his side.
Mahalia straightened, victorious.
Without another word, she turned her back to him — a deliberate insult — and moved toward her bed.
Awin said nothing.
He could do nothing.
Not yet.
Mahalia knew she had only stalled him.
Knowing Awin's pride, he wouldn't force her.
He would use subtler methods —
The oculus plant.
And he would double the dosage.
She had to act quickly.
---
To be continued