"Tell me, Michael," the queen said, her voice calm and gentle. "Why are you doing this—knowing exactly what the consequences would be? Do you love my daughter that much?" She paused, her tone colder now. "No… I doubt it. She isn't that valuable..."
"You wouldn't understand," Michael cut her off before she could finish. His voice was sharp, full of emotion.
The queen raised a brow, mildly amused. "Oh? And why is that? Is it because I'm older?"
The crowd shifted, uncomfortable. No one dared speak. The tension in the throne room was so thick it could be sliced with a blade.
Michael shook his head slightly. "No… Believe it or not, you don't look old at all. What I meant was—" he looked her dead in the eye—"a woman who can throw away her own daughter like she's nothing… someone like you could never understand what I feel."
"I see," the queen said softly.
Then, just like that, she released her grip on his shoulder.
Michael didn't waste a second. Ignis flashed out of its sheath, the blade burning with fire and intent. He lunged straight for her head. His movement was quick—deadly quick—too fast for anyone to react.
If she's going to kill me anyway, he thought, then I might as well strike first. What does a dead man have to lose?
But just as his sword was inches from her face, her lips moved.
"Möräth Šëlvën: Řäžhəl Šűvënâr"
(Meaning: "Primal Genesis:Absolute Obedience.")
Everything stopped.
The power behind those two words shook the air.
Michael's body froze mid-swing. Then, without control, he dropped to his knees—Ignis still in his hand, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened in horror. All around the room, the same thing happened. Every single person dropped. Knees hit the ground like falling stones. Some screamed. Others whimpered. But no one could stand.
It was like their bodies didn't belong to them anymore.
Those who knew… those who truly understood what had just happened… were utterly terrified.
They had been taught that the strength of a Šërēĺįťh incantation depended on the length—the longer, the stronger.
And yet…
This monster of a woman—this queen—had silenced the entire throne room with just two words.
She hadn't even said the full spell.
She had only spoken its name.
That was a level of mastery no one dared to even dream of.
Michael trembled, not from fear of death—but from the realization that he never stood a chance.
"Michael, I can't believe you were really going to kill me after everything… after all the years you spent by my side," she said quietly, her face cold and unreadable.
"Tsk." Michael clicked his tongue and looked away, frustrated. "Give me a break. As if you weren't expecting that."
He didn't bother arguing. At that moment, everything had fallen apart for him. At least he knew that he had bought more than enough time for Majesty to escape.
"Michael, you shall be exec—"
"Lady Nyxelene!" a rough voice cut in from the ground.
Heads turned. It was Ramius, barely able to lift his head.
"You once told me… years ago, that I could ask for one thing. Just one. And you'd grant it, no matter what it turned out to be. I want to name it now," he said, breathing heavily but clear.
The silence stretched painfully long before she finally spoke. Her tone didn't soften, but her eyes flickered with something—maybe remembrance, maybe guilt. Michael's actions couldn't be ignored. Execution was the law. But Orin had served her well. This was the one thing he had ever asked for.
"Please," he said, his voice trembling, "spare my son."
The room froze. Everyone looked to the queen. Michael held his breath. Even the guards hesitated.
Nyxelene stood still for a moment, weighing her decision. Her gaze dropped to Michael, then back to Ramius.
'Ramius, so the reason why you held on this long before making your request was for a time like this? I was wondering why you came to the throne room so late. Turned out, you allowed your son to run amok, knowing you would use my promise to minimise his punishment. You truly are a snake, Ramius.' Nyxelene thought.
"…Very well," she said at last. "A promise is a promise. He shall live—but he will be confined. He will not be allowed to interfere with Javier's mission."
Gasps rippled through the crowd, but no one dared challenge her.
They led me far from the palace, far into the wilderness beyond the kingdom. The sky was turning orange, and the air smelled like leaves and distant smoke.
One of the men turned to me, his armor scratched, his voice low. "This is where we leave you, my princess. We're worried about Lord Michael. He needs us. If you cross the forest up ahead, there is a small village.
The people there may help you."
He pointed at the dense forest rising over the next hill. The trees looked tall and ancient, whispering with the wind.
"Also," he added, "they'll probably send some soldiers after you. It's just a matter of time. We'll hold them off as long as we can. Don't look back. Just go."
I was afraid—terrified, even—but I nodded. I had to go on.
"Thank you… Please, if you get the chance, tell Michael I'll be waiting for him."
Then I ran.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying somewhere soft.
And above me… crimson eyes, sharp as blades, were staring into mine.
"Your Majesty?" I whispered, startled as I tried to sit up.
"Shhh. It's alright," Lord Draven said calmly, pressing a gentle hand to my shoulder. "Just rest."
"What… what happened? I thought we were on our way to the Kingdom of Persia…"
My head was spinning, the last moments still swimming in my thoughts.
"You don't remember what happened?" Draven asked, his brows slightly raised in surprise. His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness behind it—as if he already knew the answer.
"No... I don't remember," I replied softly, my eyes drifting to the side. It felt easier to lie. Whatever happened back there... I wasn't ready to face it. And something told me I was better off not knowing—at least not yet.
Draven simply smiled, a small one that didn't quite reach his eyes. Maybe he knew I was lying. Maybe he didn't care. He had saved me from the brink of death, brought me to this strange kingdom, and made sure I was safe... but even with all that, something about him made my skin crawl. There was a weight in the air around him, something heavy and unreadable. It wasn't fear, but it wasn't comfort either.
"Please, get dressed," he said, turning to leave. "There will be a meeting shortly. I'd like you to attend."
"Thank you… for everything," I said, just before he stepped out. He paused for a moment, glanced over his shoulder with that same half-smile, then walked out, his long dark cloak trailing behind him.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor making me shiver. I stared down at my hands, lost in thought. My chest still felt tight. Everything was a blur—Michael, the castle, the chaos, the betrayal. Irene's death. Was she really gone?
A soft voice broke through the silence.
"Your bath is ready, Lady Majesty."
I turned toward the voice... and my heart nearly stopped.
"Irene?" I gasped, quickly standing up from the bed.
The woman standing by the door looked exactly like her. The same delicate face. The same scarlet eyes. The same flowing chestnut hair that danced around her shoulders like fire in sunlight.
I blinked hard.
No. It couldn't be. I saw her die.
"I'm sorry, my lady," the girl said, bowing slightly. "You must have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Christine."
Her voice was gentle, respectful… but distant. Nothing like the warmth I remembered from Irene. Still, I couldn't help but stare. The resemblance was haunting. My chest ached.
"Of course," I said, forcing a smile and looking away. "Forgive me. You just… reminded me of someone."
Christine gave a small nod and motioned toward the adjoining room. "Please, allow me to help you prepare."
Suddenly, something clicked in my mind. A faint memory—like a whisper carried on the wind.
"Her name is Christine. If she's alive—which I believe she is—she'd be around your age." Irene had said.
Those words echoed in my head, loud and clear now.
I turned to the girl, eyes narrowing slightly. "Wait… you said your name was Christine, right?"
She gave a polite nod, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "Yes, my lady."
I stepped closer, my heartbeat starting to rise.
"Tell me, Christine…" I said slowly, watching her carefully. "Where are you from?"