The queen leans back on the throne, studying me with an unsettling calm that makes my blood burn all over again. Her fingers tap against the armrest, the stolen crown gleaming on her brow. She waits, as if savouring the silence, letting the weight of her gaze settle over me until I feel like I might choke on my own fury.

“I wanted you to understand something,” she says at last, her voice almost gentle, like a mother chiding a child. “This… audience is not mercy. It is a warning. You’ve lingered in the shadows long enough.” She tilts her head, eyes narrowing, and I know she sees right through me, straight to the hatred that’s been festering in my chest. “Whatever claims you imagine you have on this throne, whatever you think you’re owed—those days are over.”

I laugh, bitter and hollow, and the sound echoes through the empty hall. “I was born to that throne, and you know it.” I take a step forward, each word sharp and deliberate. “Your claim is built on betrayal, on deception. You’re no queen. Just a pretender playing dress-up.”

Her smile falters, just for an instant, but then it returns, colder than before. She rises slowly, descending the steps of the throne until she’s standing only inches from me, her gaze level with mine. Her touch lingers against my skin, pulling my eyes into contact with hers. I recoil at her touch, my skin burning at the memory of her touch.

“Yet here I stand,” she murmurs, voice a silken whisper. “And there you kneel, rotting in chains.” Her eyes gleam with something dark, a cruel satisfaction. “Is it really a crown you’re after, or just a ghost of a past that’s long dead?”

I feel my nails bite into my palms, my breath coming fast and furious. I want to lash out, to grab her and tear that crown from her head with my bare hands. But something in her eyes tells me she’s waiting for that very reaction. She’s daring me to lose control, to show that I’m no better than the “pretender” I accuse her of being..

“You can strip me of my crown, throw me into darkness, surround yourself with pawns,” I say, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. “But I’ll reclaim what’s mine, one way or another. You can count on that.”

She tilts her head, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Then consider this a final gift,” she whispers. “I’ll let you keep your life—for now. But don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t take it if you get in my way.”

For now, I bow—just enough to satisfy her pride—before turning toward the doors. The sound of her laughter follows me, chilling as a winter wind. One day, that laughter will be mine.

I’m barely three paces from the throne room doors when a hand clamps down on my shoulder, halting me in my tracks. Her grip is iron-strong, yet it’s the cold amusement in her voice that chills me to the core.

“I haven’t dismissed you just yet,” she says, her voice carrying a mocking softness. I glance back at her, finding her watching me with a calculating gaze, a look that makes it clear she’s already several steps ahead, every move premeditated. “I have a… proposal.”

I narrow my eyes, waiting for the trap she’s surely setting, yet a flicker of intrigue pierces through my distrust. She releases my shoulder and her hand slides down my arm, upon realisation I snatch my arm away. She steps around to face me, looking me over like I’m both a challenge and an asset. Her gaze sharpens, almost conspiratorial, as she leans closer.

“This endless enmity between us, it’s such… wasted potential, wouldn’t you agree?” Her lips curve in a faint, dangerous smile, and she watches me with the care of someone baiting a trap. “You may never wear the crown alone, but there is another way to reclaim your position. One that would make you powerful, and place you by my side as king consort.”

Her words fall between us, absurdly calm in the quiet hall, and I have to force myself not to recoil. A political marriage—to her? My first instinct is to laugh, but the venom at the back of my throat keeps me silent. My mind races, visions of a crown hovering within reach, and then gone again. My hatred for her flares hotter than ever. Yet something darker, a kind of fascination at the possibility of power, claws at the back of my mind.

“You expect me to believe that you would willingly make me your equal?” I say, my voice sharp and edged with disbelief. “That you’d share the throne with the one you stole it from?”

Her expression doesn’t waver, her eyes piercing. “Do you truly think I fear you?” she says, her tone condescending, but there’s something else too—a flicker of respect, or at least acknowledgment. “You’re clever, you’re capable, and the bloodline you flaunt would lend my reign an undeniable legitimacy. The people might forgive your claim if they see you at my side, loyal and… willing.”

I feel as if I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, her offer a dark plunge that would bind me to the very person who’s taken everything from me. And yet, beneath my rage, a small voice whispers that this could be my only way back to the crown. She’s right in her own twisted way; the people would recognize my legitimacy, and in time, I could use that power as leverage.

“If I accept,” I say slowly, carefully, “what assurance would I have that you wouldn’t betray me at the first chance? How do I know this isn’t just another way to see me shackled?”

She tilts her head, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Because the same could be said for you, couldn’t it? We would be each other’s insurance.” She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper.Her lips practically purring into my ear  “I would have you on a short leash, yes. But the crown you crave would be within reach. And perhaps… perhaps you’d find power more satisfying than vengeance.”

My hands clench, the urge to strike, to seize back what’s mine, battling with the cold reality of her offer. I’ve dreamed of reclaiming my birthright, of setting the throne to rights again—but a marriage, a partnership with the usurper? It feels like a betrayal of everything I’ve stood for.

And yet, I can’t deny the thrill of power her words promise. King consort. A role that would offer me everything I want, with none of the bloodshed. I could bide my time, build influence, and perhaps… turn the tables.

Her smile deepens as she sees me considering her offer. “So… what say you, my future king consort?”

Her hand is still extended between us, her expression carefully neutral, but the amusement in her eyes glints like a dagger. I don’t take it. The thought of aligning myself with her—marrying her—is a sickness I can feel crawling up my spine. This is the same woman who slaughtered my betrothed in battle, the same woman who tore through my family’s stronghold as if it were little more than a stepping stone to her ambition. And now, she’s offering me a mockery of a crown, a shadow of the throne I was born to inherit.

I take a breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You murdered my fatherI say, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “You expect me to forget that? To stand beside you willingly? I’d sooner rot in your dungeons.”

Her gaze doesn’t falter, her smile thin as a blade. “And what makes you think you have a choice?”

I feel my stomach drop, the cold of her words sinking in, and suddenly, I realise there’s more behind her offer. There’s a reason she expects me to consider it, even after everything she’s taken. She studies me, amusement softening into something colder, as if she’s savouring the moment just before the blow.

“You may despise me,” she continues, voice steady, “but I hold more cards than you seem to realise.” She lets the words hang, deliberately, watching as they sink in. “Your mother… your siblings… they’re safe. For now. But don’t be mistaken—I can just as easily have them dragged to the edge of the city, their heads on spikes for all to see.”

My fists clench, and I have to choke back the rage, the helplessness that rises up like bile. She’s known exactly how to trap me from the start, hasn’t she? Every move I’ve made since the dungeon has led straight into her hands. But now the game’s taken a turn, and she’s laid her hand on the table, brazen, as if daring me to react. My voice comes out hoarse, barely a whisper.

“You’d threaten an innocent family, just to keep your throne?” I force myself to meet her gaze, though every part of me wants to look away. “And you expect me to believe this alliance would be anything but a leash?”

Her expression doesn’t soften—if anything, it hardens. She chortles “Your family is hardly innocent. I expect you of all people to know that, I also expect you to believe I will do whatever is necessary to consolidate my rule,” she says, her voice as cold and matter-of-fact as stone. “If that means binding you to me, then I will do so gladly. You see, the choice is very simple: you can take the throne at my side, or watch your family pay the price.”

The threat lodges itself like a blade to the gut, and I know without a doubt she means every word. She’s built her rule on calculated cruelty, on alliances and executions, and I’m nothing more than another pawn in her plans. But I can’t risk my family, not after everything else she’s taken from me. The only way to protect them now is to bend, to play along—for now.

I lift my head, forcing myself to look her in the eye. “Fine,” I say, my voice a low growl. “I’ll play your little game. But don’t think for a moment that I’ve forgiven you, or that I’ve forgotten.”

She tilts her head, the faintest hint of satisfaction flickering across her face. “I wouldn’t dare dream of it,” she murmurs, her tone almost mocking. She extends her hand again, and this time, I take it, my grip fierce, not bothering to disguise my hatred as we seal the twisted pact between us.

“Then let the court prepare,” she says, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “The people will know you as their new king consort—and not their former crown prince.”

I pull my hand back, my fingers tingling with the urge to wipe hers from my skin. The only thing that keeps me rooted is the thought of my family’s safety, held in the palm of this usurper’s hand. But as I follow down the hall escorted by gaurds, i take every step a quiet submission, I know one thing with blinding clarity:

One day, she will pay for what she’s done.