Chapter 7

Third person’s POV

And so, as the siege dragged on into its first month, the King had yet to set foot upon the battlefield even once.

From the ramparts, the soldiers of Elysia watched the enemy camps grow bolder, closer—while their own hope thinned with each passing day. Whispers spread through the ranks like disease, for it had become painfully clear that the crown bore no plan, no strategy, no intention of ending the rebellion.

Within the palace walls, King Arthur III continued his descent.

Each day bled into the next, filled with nothing but women, wine, and hollow laughter that echoed through gilded halls. He showed no concern for the men dying beyond the gates, nor for the citizens trapped between hunger and fear. To him, the war was an inconvenience—one he could simply drink away.

And at last, the people understood.

A king who would not fight for his land would not save it.

The crown had become nothing more than a rotting rope—one that would snap the moment anyone tried to cling to it.

—-

“YOUR MAJESTY!“

The cry tore through the silence of the night.

Queen Alice jolted awake as the doors to her chambers burst open. Footsteps rushed across the marble floor, frantic and uneven.

“Your Majesty—urgent news!” Amelia, her personal servant, stood by the bedside, breathless, her face drained of all color.

“Amelia…?” The Queen pushed herself upright, her voice thick with sleep. “What are you shouting about at this hour?”

Amelia swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she clenched the fabric of her dress.

“The gates have been opened,” she said at last. The words hung in the air, heavy and unreal.

“The rebels… they are pouring into the palace,” Amelia continued, her voice breaking. “The King—King Arthur III—has already been beheaded.”

For a moment, the world went silent.

The Queen’s ears rang, the sound drowning out everything else. Her chest tightened as though the air itself had vanished from the room.

“The palace will soon fall,” Amelia pleaded, tears spilling freely now. “Your Majesty, you must run—now!”

Her voice barely reached Alice through the storm of shock and realization crashing over her.

The war was over.

And the kingdom of Elysia had fallen.

“Hoswington…” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Any news from Hoswington…?”

Queen Alice already knew the answer before it came.

Amelia’s eyes flickered away, guilt written plainly across her face. After a moment, she shook her head—slowly, helplessly.

The Queen’s fingers tightened around the bedsheets, the fabric twisting in her grasp. For a heartbeat, she could not breathe.

So even my homeland has abandoned me.

Her hands trembled as she lifted them to her face, pressing her palms against her eyes as though she could shut the world away. All the years she had endured—humiliation, neglect, fear—every sacrifice she had made for the sake of survival, only to meet this end.

To fall like this.

To lose everything.

Her chest constricted, her thoughts spiraling toward a single, suffocating conclusion: this was the end.

But then—Her gaze shifted.

A memory broke through the darkness, vivid and unyielding.

A tiny hand curling around her finger.

The first cry.
The first look.
The warmth of a fragile body pressed against her chest.

Her child.

“Your Majesty, there’s no time to lose,” Amelia urged, her voice shaking. “You must hurry—”

“Where is Prince Matthew?” The question cut sharply through the air.

“Your Majesty—”

“Silence!” Alice snapped, throwing the covers aside as she rose from the bed. Her exhaustion vanished, replaced by something fierce and unyielding. “I am the Queen.”

She straightened, her posture regal despite the chaos closing in around her.

Turning toward the chamber doors, she spoke coldly, her voice steady with grim certainty. “Do you truly believe they will stop until they see me hanging by the throat?”

She knew the fate awaiting fallen royalty all too well. No crown spared its bearer from execution. Not even Prince Matthew.

Her jaw tightened.

But Miu…

Miu was different.

Only two souls in this world knew the truth of her existence—Queen Alice herself, and Amelia. The Queen had seen to the rest. Every midwife. Every servant who had been present that night. All silenced by her command.

Cruel. Necessary.

As long as Miu escaped the castle, the child would live.

Not as a prince.

Not as a queen.

But alive.

And that, Alice decided, was all that mattered.

—-

“Miu!”

The Queen’s voice tore through the halls.

Miu’s breath caught painfully in her throat. This—this was the first time her mother had ever spoken that name aloud.

“Mother…?” she managed.

The Queen was already rushing toward her—no, scrambling—skirts gathered in her hands as though even a single lost second would mean death. She reached Miu in an instant, hands clamping onto her shoulders with desperate strength.

“Miu…” Her voice broke as she said it again.

“Pardon?” Miu murmured, stunned. Her mind struggled to catch up. The name echoed too loudly, too openly. Anyone could hear it.

“Take off your clothes. Now.”

The command was sharp, breathless. The Queen’s eyes burned with urgency, wild and unyielding.

“Mother—!” Miu shook her head. “There’s no time for this. You must escape through the hidden—”

“No.”

Her mother’s grip tightened, cutting her off completely. Her voice lowered, steady and terrifying in its certainty.

“You are the only one who will escape.”

The words struck Miu like a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs.

“What…?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “What do you mean…?”

“Amelia!” the Queen snapped, turning sharply. “Give her your clothes!”

Before Miu could even begin to process what was happening, Amelia was already moving, hands trembling as she stripped off her servant’s garments.

“Mother…?” The word slipped from Miu’s lips as she stared at her—at the woman who had shaped her entire existence, now standing before her with a resolve she had never seen before.

“No one continues down the same path once they grasp power,” the Queen said, her voice low and unwavering. She did not look at Miu as she spoke.

“Mother,” Miu tried again, forcing her voice not to break.

The Queen seized the clothes from Amelia the moment they were off and thrust them into Miu’s arms.

“Miu, you must survive and watch what happens,” she said fiercely. “Watch how that bloody throne devours them all—”

“Mother! I—”

“You must live!” she cut in, finally turning to face her. “Live as a normal woman, outside of this castle.”

And then she saw it—the tears.

They streamed freely down the Queen’s face, unchecked, the strength she had worn for years finally fracturing.

“Please…” Her voice broke completely as her trembling hands pressed the clothes against Miu’s chest.

Miu’s jaw tightened, her throat burning as she struggled to breathe.

With every ounce of strength she had left, she reached out and took the clothes from her mother.

“Yes… Mother.”

She slipped into them at once, hands moving on instinct, thoughts drowning beneath the quiet spill of tears she refused to voice. There was nothing left to say—no words capable of carrying what this moment demanded of them.

The moment she finished, the Queen seized Miu’s hand and pulled her forward, her pace swift and unrelenting as she led her through the shadowed corridors toward the castle’s hidden emergency exit.

“Tonight,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it, “Prince Matthew dies.”

The words rang hollow and final.

“They will not question it if they see this,” the Queen continued, gesturing toward Amelia—who now stood with her hair crudely cut short, mirroring Miu’s own, dressed in the prince’s nightwear. In her trembling hands was Miu’s personal weapon.

A silver whip.

Amelia bowed her head as she placed the weapon into the Queen’s grasp.

“With this,” the Queen said softly, “they will believe you fought back.”

She pressed a single brick along the wall.

Stone groaned. Hidden mechanisms stirred. Slowly—too slowly—a narrow passage split open from the masonry itself, swallowing the torchlight along its edges.

Everything ended tonight.

Miu stood there, numb, watching her entire existence unravel as though it were happening to someone else.

Then—warmth.

The Queen’s hands cupped Miu’s face, her thumbs brushing away tears she hadn’t realized were falling. For a breathless moment, they could only stare at one another, silent, breaking together.

“I…” The Queen’s voice caught. She swallowed, fighting the weight in her chest.

“I was such a fool,” she whispered. “In trying to protect you from becoming someone’s possession… I stole your life from you instead.”

Her lips trembled.

“You were never allowed to live as yourself. All because of my ambition. All because I believed the throne could save us.”

Her eyes shut as more tears escaped.

“I sacrificed you… for something so hollow,” she continued, her voice shattering. “Something that was always destined to crumble.”

Slowly, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against Miu’s.

“I am so sorry,” she breathed. “For everything.”

“Mother—” The word barely left Miu’s lips before the Queen shoved her backward.

Hard.

She stumbled into the hidden passage, her breath tearing from her chest as the Queen slammed the brick back into place. Miu staggered, feet slipping against the stone floor, watching in horror as the opening shrank—brick by brick, light by light.

“Be happy, my child,” the Queen said softly. “Survive.”

Her voice trembled—but she did not.

In the brief seconds before the passage sealed completely, Miu saw them.

Rebels.

They poured into the hall behind the Queen, steel glinting under torchlight, boots thundering against marble, voices crashing into chaos.

“Mother—!” Miu lurched forward, her body moving before her mind could catch up. She barely kept her footing, panic ripping through her as she rushed toward the narrowing gap.

But when she reached the wall—

The Queen was already gone.

The last sliver of the passage vanished.

Stone met stone.

“No…”

Miu stood frozen before the sealed wall as the truth finally crashed down on her.

That was it.

Those were her final moments with her mother.

And she had said nothing.

“No… Mother…”

Barefoot and shaking, she stepped closer. Then closer still. Her palm pressed against the cold, unyielding brick.

“Open this,” she whispered. “Mother… please…”

She raised her fist.

And struck the wall.

Again.

And again.

“MOTHER!” she screamed, her voice ripping itself apart until her throat burned raw. She struck the wall until her knuckles split, blood smearing across the stone. She struck until her arms trembled, until tears blurred the world into nothing but pain.

The wall did not move.

Heat began to seep through the stone—the distant roar of flames devouring the castle beyond, smoke creeping through unseen cracks.

Still, she pounded.

Still, she begged.

Still, the wall remained.

That night, Queen Alice pressed the silver whip into Amelia’s trembling hands.

Servants crowded the corridor, panic etched into every face as they realized the emergency passage had sealed—and the rebels were closing in.

“I am sorry,” Alice said, her voice breaking as she looked at them. “All of you…”

Tears streamed freely down her face.

She reached for the candelabra by the hallway, flames on the candles danced wildly.

“I will accept any punishment hell demands of me,” she whispered. “But no one—no one—must ever know that my child lives.”

She threw a couple of the candles into the carpet.

Fire caught instantly.

Then she hurled it toward the heavy curtains lining the windows, flames erupting upward in a violent bloom of light and smoke.

As the fire spread, as screams filled the halls, Queen Alice closed her eyes.

And in her final moments—she remembered the first time her child’s tiny fingers wrapped around hers.

The warmth.

The certainty.

The vow she had made that day.

I will protect you.

Even if it costs a thousand lives. Even if it costs her own.