Chapter 8

Miu’s POV

Morning came too fast.

I should’ve left the city today. That was the plan. But after last night—after finally confirming the Ducaines had found me—I knew better than to try crossing borders now. Every exit would be watched. Every checkpoint waiting.

Running today would be suicide.

So I stayed. Let the heat cool down for a few more days.

“Miu!”

My coworker’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He was waving from the back door, already half-panicked. “You’re late.”

“I know, I know—sorry,” I said, jogging over. He shoved a folded uniform into my arms, and I pulled it on as I talked. “Emergency. This morning was a mess.“

He squinted at me. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “Just… traffic.”

Not a total lie. Just missing the part where I sold my car an hour ago.

I wasn’t driving that thing anymore. Not after last night. Not when it had already been marked. Public transport was slower, dirtier—but anonymous. Anonymous kept you alive.

He eyed the bags slung over my shoulder. “What’s with all that? You moving out or something?”

I adjusted the strap and shrugged. “Donations. Goodwill.”

“Huh.” He scratched his head. “Didn’t know you were the charitable type.”

“People surprise you,” I muttered, stepping past him toward the staff room.

Charity had nothing to do with it. Everything I owned had to stay light. Portable. Disposable.

Because when you live like you’re being hunted—you always have to be ready to disappear.

Work swallowed me whole the moment I stepped onto the floor.

The place was packed—too packed. Tables stretched farther than I could count, white linen and polished glass everywhere. Security was tight. Faces I half-recognized drifted past in expensive suits and dresses. Politicians. Business tycoons. People who owned things. People who decide things.

This wasn’t just another catering job.

I leaned closer to my coworker as we passed each other with trays. “Hey,” I murmured, keeping my eyes down. “What is this, exactly?”

He snorted. “Big charity event. Something for kids with cancer.”

I blinked. “That big?”

“Apparently.” He nodded toward the crowd. “Heard the royal palace arranged it. Might even be a royal appearance.”

My hands stilled.

“The Queen?” I asked, too quickly.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Nothing confirmed. But if she shows up, that’s why more than half of these people are here.”

The cup slipped from my fingers.

It shattered against the floor.

“Miu!” he snapped. “That’s coming out of your pay!”

“Sorry—sorry,” I said automatically, crouching to help clean it up, though my hands had gone numb.

The Queen.

Lena.

My thoughts spiraled. Was she already here? Had she walked past me without me noticing? Had I somehow missed her—missed that presence I knew too well?

No. I would’ve felt it.

I forced myself to breathe, steady, shallow.

There was no way she would recognize me. Not like this. Not now that I am—
I swallowed.

A woman.

I crouched down, gathering the last of the broken glass, trying to ignore the hammering in my chest. I barely noticed the sharp sting until I saw a thin line of red spreading across my palm.

“Damn it,” I muttered, pressing my fingers together, wincing.

“Oi, that’s enough. Take a break,” my coworker said, crouching beside me. “Go fix yourself up. I’ll handle the mess here.”

I glanced at him, hesitant, but nodded. “Thanks… really.”

He gave me a quick, reassuring smile. “Don’t let it throw you off. You need to be in top shape if you’re gonna serve upfront.”

I forced a nod, but my stomach twisted at the thought of walking past the crowd—of being in the same space where Lena might be.

Before heading off, I paused. “Hey… could I… maybe take the back door job? You know, the one out of view? I just…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t want to admit it, not to him, not to anyone.

He studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, fine by me. You look like you need a quieter spot anyway.”

Relief washed over me in a small, simmering wave. “Thanks.”

I tucked the shards and the sting in my hand away, pressed my sleeve to my palm, and slipped toward the back. Out of sight. Out of mind. Away from the crowd.

For now.

—-

Third Person’s POV

Miu was elbow-deep in the sink, scrubbing dishes and praying the day would just… pass. For a moment, she actually thought she might get through it—no drama, no ghosts from her past.

Then the music hit.

A booming, dramatic fanfare filled the hall, vibrating through her chest. Miu froze, the sponge clattering against the plate. What now?

A voice followed, smooth and formal, echoing through the speakers: “Ladies and gentlemen… prepare yourselves. Her Majesty, the Queen of the Kingdom of Elysia, graces us with her presence.”

Her stomach dropped.

At the entrance, a long white limousine rolled to a stop. The crowd gasped, the press surged forward, cameras flashing like strobe lights. Royal guards snapped into place, holding the chaos at bay, their stares sharp and unyielding.

The crowd fell into a hush as the limousine doors opened. Lena stepped out, and for a moment, it felt like the world itself paused.

She wore a white dress, modern yet unmistakably regal, tailored perfectly to her figure. The fabric caught the light with every step, gleaming softly. The subtle embroidery traced the lines of her shoulders and bodice, delicate yet commanding, announcing her status without a word.

Her hair was swept into an elegant pony tail, a few strands framing her face, softening the intensity in her eyes. Every movement was measured, graceful, yet powerful—the kind of presence that demanded attention without ever raising her voice.

As she walked along the red-carpeted path toward the stage, cameras flashed, and whispers raced through the crowd. Even the most distracted guests couldn’t help but turn, drawn to her like a tide pulling toward the shore.

“She… she’s here,” one reporter whispered to his colleague, barely concealing awe.

“The Queen is here…” another guest murmured, nudging the person beside them.

“She is… stunning,” someone else added under their breath, eyes glued to the elegant sweep of her white gown.

Lena caught snippets of the comments, but she didn’t let them distract her. She offered a gracious nod here, a small, warm smile there, acknowledging the crowd without letting the spectacle define her.

“She moves like she owns every inch of this room,” one guest whispered.

“Of course she does,” the other replied, almost reverently. “She is royalty.”

Every step she took felt measured, deliberate, as if each movement carried the weight of her purpose.

Lena glided into the hall, her steps measured and deliberate as the organizer guided her toward the stage. The murmurs of the crowd dimmed in deference, the air thick with anticipation.

“Your Majesty,” the organizer whispered, bowing slightly. “Right this way, please.”

“Thank you.” Lena replied softly.

The murmurs of the crowd dimmed in deference, the air thick with anticipation.

“She actually came,” a woman whispered to her companion, her voice trembling with excitement. “The Queen… actually came.”

“Do you think she’ll stay for the entire event?” the man replied, eyes wide. “She’s so… aloof. Rarely shows herself to the press—or anyone outside the palace.”

“I’ve read about her,” another voice piped up. “Always poised, always distant… and yet somehow, every time she appears, it feels like the world stops.”

Lena moved past the whispers, their voices washing over her like the tide—familiar and distant all at once. She was aware of the attention, but her mind was already ahead, focused on the children waiting in the front rows.

She wasn’t here to linger, not for the politics, not for the flattery. She was here for a purpose that reached beyond protocol, beyond the polished smiles of the elite.

Once on stage, she paused, letting the applause settle, before raising her hand in greeting. Her voice was warm, steady, carrying effortlessly across the room.

“Thank you all for being here today,” she began, eyes scanning the sea of faces. Polished businessmen, ambitious politicians, media moguls—the usual players in the kingdom’s grand game of influence. Lena knew exactly why most were here, and she did not care.

Her gaze shifted, and her heart found the real reason she had come. The front tables were lined with children in wheelchairs, faces bright with curiosity and cautious excitement. For a moment, the weight of their world softened in her chest. She smiled at them, genuine and tender, kneeling slightly to meet their eyes.

“I hope today becomes one of the best days of your life,” she said, her voice gentle yet filled with quiet strength. “Though, of course, I know nothing compares to the day you are finally free from your sickness. But today… today we celebrate you. And we will do everything we can to bring joy into your hearts.”

She straightened, shoulders back, gaze sweeping the hall with quiet authority. Her voice carried, steady and commanding, yet warm enough to reach every heart in the room.

“This gathering is not merely a ceremony… nor a token of goodwill,” she began, pausing as her eyes drifted over the crowd, letting the weight of her words settle. “It is a pledge—a promise to the children whose courage shines brighter than any crown or title. Every child here deserves to be seen, to be heard, and to believe that their dreams are not bound by circumstance.”

She took a slow breath, letting the silence stretch, giving space for the truth of her words to resonate. “Today, we stand together to honor that belief… to remind them that hope is not given—it is fought for, nurtured, and cherished. And it is our duty to ensure they never forget it.”

Her eyes softened as they lingered on the children in the front row. “May this day… however fleeting… remind each of you that even in the darkest hours, kindness and care can light a path worth following.”

The applause swelled, but Lena’s attention remained fixed on the children, their small hands waving, eyes wide with wonder. In that moment, all else—the politics, the ambitions, the whispers—faded into irrelevance. Here, she could make a difference. Here, she could truly be a queen.

But the moment of calm shattered like glass.

A sharp, pointed voice cut through the air from somewhere within the crowd.

“Your Majesty,” someone sneered from the crowd, tone dripping with impatience, “you’ve been on the throne for half a decade now, and still… no union? No heir? How long do you plan to waste before securing the future of this kingdom?”

A ripple of tension ran through the hall. The polite hush of the crowd vanished, replaced by the uneasy shuffle of noble feet and the curious tilt of heads. Lena’s hands tightened on the podium. Her calm, deliberate composure began to radiate a quiet storm.

“Half a decade,” she repeated, letting the words hang in the air like a blade. Then she paused, letting the silence magnify the weight of her presence.

“A crown is not secured by heirs alone,” she said slowly, her voice firm, unwavering. “A kingdom survives on courage, on compassion, and on the wisdom of its ruler. And it is those I have spent these years building.”

She let her gaze sweep over the crowd, daring anyone to meet it. Another pause, heavy and deliberate. “When the time is right… when the foundation is strong… the future will follow. And not because I was forced—but because I chose it.”

The hall fell silent. Some faces flushed with embarrassment, others with awe, but every person felt the unmistakable authority radiating from the Queen.