Chapter 16

Third person’s POV

Lena’s rigid stance finally softened. Her shoulders easing as she drew in a steady breath.

“Let’s go,” she said firmly. “I’ll inform the Royal Court of the true situation here. Action will be taken.“

Miu exhaled in relief at the sight of the Queen restraining the fury that had threatened to consume her moments earlier. Lena turned to leave, her guards already moving to follow.

But Miu did not.

Instead, she stepped away from the Queen and approached the priest still seated on the ground.

Father Gaston and his disciples visibly recoiled the moment she drew near, flinching as though expecting another strike. Miu stopped at a respectful distance, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently.

“Y–yes…” the priest managed, his voice hoarse. One hand remained pressed against his swollen cheek, his gaze lowered.

Miu nodded once, then turned slightly, her voice carrying just enough to reach both him and the crowd behind her.

“For now, we will leave these relief goods in your care,” she said calmly. “I trust that you know the people of this city well enough to understand who needs what most… and that you will distribute everything equally.”

She lifted her gaze toward the gathered people, offering them a small, reassuring smile.

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Their hardened resolve—built on years of resentment and mistrust—had begun to fracture. The Queen’s fury toward the abuse of power, paired with her willingness to stand before them herself, had shaken the false ideas they had clung to for so long.

For the first time in years, doubt crept in—not toward the palace’s intentions, but toward the lies that had kept them apart.

And Miu stood quietly at the center of it all, unaware of just how deeply her words had settled into the hearts of the people.

But the priest must have misunderstood Miu’s intention.

Relief spread across Father Gaston’s face as he bowed his head slightly, “Th–thank you—”

“I’m sure God will be watching over you at all times,” Miu cut in smoothly.

The warmth in her voice vanished in an instant.

Lena halted mid-step.

“But do remember this,” Miu continued, her tone turning cold, precise, unyielding. “The palace is watching as well.”

Miu stepped closer.

“The palace’s sword is now pointed at your throat.”

The priest’s color drained as he shrank back, his knees trembling beneath him. The disciples behind him stiffened, fear flickering across their faces as Miu’s gaze locked onto his—sharp, unwavering, and merciless.

She loomed over him, not with raised fists or shouted threats, but with something far more terrifying: certainty.

A force of judgment made flesh.

“You would do well to remember that,” she said quietly.

“…Father.”

The word fell like a verdict.

Silence swallowed the square.

But with this action from Miu. Lena’s curiosity was reignited.

The way Miu had carried herself today lingered heavily in her thoughts. That composure—no, that dignity—was not something a mere no one could acquire through hardship alone.

It wasn’t simply a matter of knowing what to say.

It was how she said it.

The measured cadence of her voice. The deliberate pauses. The careful choice of words that neither begged nor threatened, yet carried undeniable authority. Her posture remained straight even in the face of hostility, her gaze steady—unflinching, trained.

Her diction was refined. Polished.

And that stare… it was the kind that did not seek approval, nor fear rejection. It was the stare of someone accustomed to being heard.

Lena had spent her life surrounded by nobles, diplomats, scholars, and generals. She knew the difference between someone imitating confidence—and someone who had been educated into it.

What Miu displayed would have required years of instruction. Discipline. Exposure to courtly conduct and political nuance.

Not survival.

Not coincidence.

Lena’s fingers curled slightly at her side.

Who are you really…?

—

On their way back to the palace, a storm rolled in halfway through the journey. Rain battered against the car’s roof, thunder murmuring in the distance. No one spoke—but the silence was heavy, stretched thin by what had transpired.

Lena was the first to break it.

“I apologize for the way I acted back there,” she said quietly. “It was not befitting of a Queen.”

Miu did not respond. She remained turned toward the window, watching rain trail down the glass like fractured lines.

Lena exhaled through her nose. “You’re ignoring me again.”

There was a brief pause.

“You acted recklessly,” Miu finally said, her voice calm, almost detached. “Those people are already terrified. They have nothing left to rebuild their lives with.”

Lena’s breath hitched.

Not just because of the words—but because of who they came from.

A stranger. A woman whose name she had only just learned. Someone who should not, by any measure, be standing in a position to lecture a reigning monarch.

“And yet,” Miu continued, still not looking at her, “you did what mattered in the end. You stood your ground. You showed them you would not tolerate cruelty.”

She turned slightly then, just enough for Lena to catch her profile reflected in the dim light.

“You earned their attention. That’s a start. So… good for you.”

The rain continued to fall, louder now.

Lena sat back against her seat, unsettled—not by the criticism itself, but by how measured it was. There was no malice in Miu’s tone. No arrogance.

Only certainty.

And that, somehow, was far more disquieting.

Lena then let out a soft chuckle, “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

The answer never came.

Miu had already retreated into silence once more, her gaze fixed on the rain-streaked window, as if the world beyond it demanded her full attention.

Lena watched her for a heartbeat longer than necessary before sighing faintly.

“Well… you’re not wrong,” she said at last.

She turned toward the window as well, mirroring Miu’s posture as the car pressed onward through the storm. Neither spoke again for the remainder of the ride—only the sound of rain and rolling thunder filling the space between them, heavy with thoughts left unspoken.

—

“Mmm…”

Lena turned her head just as the car slowed, the palace gates already visible through the clearing rain. The sound was faint—almost lost beneath the soft hum of the engine.

“Mmmm…”

Only then did Lena realize it.
Miu had fallen asleep.

Her brow knit slightly. Is she… dreaming? The thought barely finished forming when the murmur came again—thin, strained, trembling.

“No… don’t leave me here…”

Lena’s breath caught.

She leaned closer, careful, searching Miu’s face in the dim light. Tears were slipping silently from the corners of her closed eyes, tracing pale tracks down bruised skin.

“Please…” Miu whispered, her voice breaking. “Take me with you…”

The words sounded too desperate to belong to a dream.

Lena reached out instinctively, resting a gentle hand on Miu’s shoulder.

“Miu…” she said softly.

Nothing.

Then—suddenly—Miu’s eyes flew open.

“Miu?” Lena tried again.

But the woman wasn’t looking at her. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, as if she were staring straight through the thin air and into a past that refused to let go. Her face went frighteningly blank for a split second—

—and then it shattered.

“I–I’m… sorry…” Miu sobbed, both hands clutching at her head as if trying to keep herself together. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to—”

“Miu, hey—calm down,” Lena said urgently, taking hold of her arm, grounding her, anchoring her to the present.

But the touch only made it worse.

“No! Let me go!” Miu cried, yanking her arm free, scrambling backward as panic overtook her. “Don’t—don’t touch me!”

“Miu,” Lena called again, her voice cracking now. “You’re safe. You’re here with me.”

But Miu wasn’t listening.

“I need to be with them!” she screamed, tears pouring freely now. “Please—take me, Mother—!”

The word struck Lena like a blade.

Before she could think, she moved forward, cupping Miu’s face hard, almost slapping it, forcing her trembling gaze to meet hers.

“Wake up!” Lena shouted, desperation raw in her voice. “Miu—look at me! You’re not there anymore. You’re here. You’re safe!”

The car fell into stunned silence, broken only by Miu’s ragged sobs as reality finally began to claw its way back in.

“You…” Miu whispered as her sobs finally began to subside. Her lashes were clumped with tears as she looked up at Lena. “You… slapped me…”

Lena froze. “E–eh?” The sound left her before she could stop it.

Miu’s lips trembled into a small, wounded pout, tears threatening to spill all over again. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t accuse her loudly. That made it worse.

“N–no, I—I…” Lena faltered, panic flooding her chest. For once, words—usually her sharpest weapon—abandoned her entirely.

She watched Miu curl in on herself, shoulders shaking. Lena’s gaze lingered on her face, really looking this time. The fear was gone. The nightmare had passed.

What remained was something far more painful.

Disappointment.

It hit Lena all at once. Miu wasn’t crying because of the dream anymore. She was crying because—she thought Lena had hurt her. Because she believed that even here, even now, hands would still be raised against her.

Miu had trusted her.

And that trust had cracked.

“I’m sorry,” Lena said quickly, her voice low, almost fragile. “It’s not— it’s not what you think. I would never—”

The words felt insufficient.

So instead, Lena moved.

Slowly, deliberately, she reached out—not grabbing, not forcing—and gently pulled Miu into her arms. She held her as if she might break, one hand resting carefully against her back, the other steadying her trembling shoulders.

Miu stiffened for a moment… then melted.

Lena lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper.

“From now on,” she said softly, each word heavy with promise, “as long as you are under my care… no one will ever raise a hand against you again.”

She tightened her embrace just a fraction.

“Not in this palace. Not under my rule.”