---
"They are on your side."
Mahalia stared at the five words that brought her great assurance. She was not alone.
She smiled to herself, threw the thin strip of paper into the fireplace, and watched it utterly disintegrate.
She wanted to send a reply to Milton and discuss the next stage of their plans, but under these new circumstances, she knew she had to hold out.
Awin might have thought his men were being covert, but she very well knew she was being watched.
A knock came at the door, and Mahalia beckoned the visitor to enter. A maid curtsied as she stepped inside.
"Your Highness, you told me to tell you if the ministers of the King's court arrived."
Mahalia smiled and stood. "I take it they are here already, then?"
The maid nodded. Mahalia took one final look in the mirror. She looked every bit the image of a queen.
Around her neck was a pearl necklace that shone like milky alabaster.
Her burgundy gown stood out against her pale skin. Her hair was in a bun, adorned with a silver linen wimple, and a lace veil flowed from her head to her shoulders.
"Your Highness, you forgot one thing," the maid said, nodding toward her wedding ring case.
Mahalia mustered a smile and wore the ring, albeit reluctantly, weighed down by the sadness it represented.
She walked gracefully to the King's court with one objective in mind: Awin had made his move—now it was her turn.
---
"Announcing the arrival of Her Highness, Mahalia Heris-Mariale Astford!"
The doors swung open, and she stepped in, only to be met by the surprised faces of everyone in the room.
"Your Highness! What are you doing here?" asked Eugene Malicine, one of Awin's core cronies.
She ignored the murmurs and took a seat. It was only when Awin spoke that she answered.
Looking around the seat she had claimed, she said, "I didn't think I had to explain myself, seeing as I'm sitting in the Heris seat."
Awin cocked an eyebrow. "So you're standing in for your mother?"
"For my family," she corrected.
Some ministers didn't like this at all.
"This is a conflict of interest. We can't have the Queen sitting for a family. That's too much power."
"Your Highness, speak to her!" they pleaded with Awin, but she cut in before he could respond.
"While I understand your concern, I can't possibly let my family go unrepresented. After all, you've all heard of the fire at my maiden home. Or did you expect Doyenne Marie to come under such circumstances?"
The ministers shifted uncomfortably, but Mahalia wasn't done.
"Also, I was just made Queen. Wouldn't it make sense that I attend the first meeting after my coronation?"
"No!" a cold, calm voice cut in, startling everyone.
Mahalia turned to the speaker. It was Melinda.
"Ah. May I ask the Minister of Information why?"
"The Queen never attends these types of meetings. It is not within her purview," Melinda said, barely concealing her venom.
"Wow, you know so much about being Queen," Mahalia smiled smugly. "Too bad you aren't one."
Melinda clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to stab the Queen of Easteford. Her patience wore thin until King Awin spoke.
"You make a good point, my Queen. But doing this now is impromptu. How about we schedule a meeting for you to attend later—not this one?"
Mahalia scoffed, staring at him for a long moment. She didn't want to budge, but also didn't want to publicly question the King.
The room was silent. The tension, suffocating.
Bertrand whispered something into Awin's ear. Awin gave a nod. The doors opened.
Three men walked in, and Mahalia recognized them. She stood.
"Uncle—Francis Mariale? What are you doing here?"
Her uncle smiled warmly, leaning on his cane as he bowed.
"Your Highness, I was invited to discuss a matter with the King and his ministers."
"Oh..." Her voice trailed off.
"'Oh'?" a minister scoffed. "She knows so little, yet she wants to join our meeting?"
Mahalia threw a glare at the speaker, then turned back to Awin.
"Fine. I will leave. Let my uncle sit for the Heris family. After all, they have a relationship."
"I will allow it," Awin said.
"Okay, Uncle, I'll be on my way," she said, smiling and walking out—until she staggered.
"Your Highness? Are you well?" a guard asked.
"It's no problem," she replied, though her hands trembled, her mouth was dry, and her complexion had gone ghastly pale.
She tried to move, but her leg missed the floor. She collapsed with a limp thud. Unconscious.
Everyone rushed to her. One of Francis's associates examined her, then exchanged a weary glance with Francis.
"What is it?" Francis asked, his voice laced with fear. When the associate stuttered, Francis hobbled over and examined his niece.
He froze, then looked up at the King, fury and distrust thick in his voice.
"The Queen has been poisoned!"
---
Occident Coast – The Queen's Room
"Can you imagine? He told me he doesn't have a weakness!" Escobar swore, crumpling the newspaper in her hands.
On the front page was a congratulatory message to Zachary on his investiture as Crown Prince.
"Calm down, Mother," said the First Prince—Adelaide's husband. His dark eyes were almost hidden behind his crooked glasses, a contrast to his gaudy outfit.
"I can always help you get rid of that pest."
Queen Escobar stared at him, uncertain whether she even wanted to be having this conversation.
"What do you mean?"
"None of us are happy that he's here. I want him gone too. If he doesn't have a weakness, we'll just have to give him one."
"You're doing this for the throne, aren't you?" she asked.
When he didn't respond, she sighed, exasperated.
"I just want my family to be peaceful and loving. It's saddening to see my daughters treat their father's sickness as an opportunity."
"I understand how you feel. But for now, how about we sort out our little problem—and then worry about who takes the throne?"
"And what do you suggest we do?"
He looked deep in thought, stroking his unfortunate stubble.
"You know... he was right about one thing. A child's weakness is their mother. But a man's weakness? That's another woman."
Escobar smiled. She liked where this was going.
---
The First Prince took a swig of wine and alternated with a drag of his cigarette. The room smelled like a tragic mistake.
A woman walked in—long brown hair, velvet skin, and far too much class for the dump she just entered.
She sat on his lap, kissed him, and then frowned.
"I told you not to smoke when I visit."
"Eileen, when did you start giving me orders?"
She shrugged and moved to sit elsewhere.
"Anyway, what did you call me for?"
"I need your help. The Crown Prince. Can you make him fall for you?"
Eileen laughed.
"Can I? Please don't insult me. But why should I?"
"He says he doesn't have a weakness. I thought that was too bad… so I decided to give him one."
He pointed at her, his nail grazing her chest. "You."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Oh, my pretty Eileen. Your looks can only take you so far—you're not exactly bright."
He smirked. "How can I take over the throne with a Crown Prince in the way?"
"And besides, it's perfect. Even if he ends up king, you'll be queen. Then we kill him, you marry me, and voilà—options."
Eileen giggled.
"You're so smart. Too bad you have to be with that haughty First Princess. I miss you so much."
The First Prince pulled her in, kissed her temple.
"You know this is all part of the plan. I marry her, become King, and then marry you."
"Really?"
"Of course." He hugged her, subtly rolling his eyes.
"I'm all yours. Just be a bit patient."
"Okay," she nodded, bashfully.
---
Zachary pored over documents. Since arriving, he'd restored part of the economy and, as head of Yellow Jay, intercepted Awin's planned attacks on the Occident Coast.
He'd even sent a false message to Awin implying the attacks had succeeded.
With those tactics and the revenue from Yellow Jay, the Occident Coast would be ready to fulfill its obligations at the next Southern Continent Coalition.
The door creaked open. A pair of green eyes peered inside.
Without looking up, Zachary spoke:
"Lucius? Any news?"
"Lucius isn't here, Your Highness," came a soft voice.
Zachary looked up, confused.
"Who are you?"
The girl stepped inside, smiling shyly.
"I'm Eileen. Duke Buckam's youngest daughter."
Zachary glanced at her—thin dress, cleavage, perfumed like a weapon. He blinked to clear his head.
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, where are my manners? I just wanted to pay my respects to the future King."
Zachary scoffed. Howsubtle.
"Next time, make an appointment. And wear appropriate attire."
"My apologies." She blushed and bit her lip.
Her moves were calculated, but he had no time for games. Without looking at her, he muttered:
"If you're done 'paying your respects,' you may leave."
Eileen frowned and cursed under her breath. She was the most beautiful woman in the Occident Coast—maybe the entire Southern Continent. And this man treated her like dust on his shoe?
"I see Your Highness is busy. If it pleases you, I'll leave this Maracuyá wine with you. I made it myself."
Zachary grunted in acknowledgment—barely.
Lucius entered and whispered something in Zachary's ear.
Zachary froze. His face paled. Panic overtook him.
Mahalia was poisoned?
His heart felt like it was being drowned in cold iron. He bolted from the room without another word.
Eileen watched, stunned.
What could make him walk out like that? He didn't evenblink at me—but now this?
---
Hillian House – A Secluded Guest Room
Awin opened the door and pulled back the cowl of his hood.
"You have some nerve, telling me to meet you here," he said, voice clipped.
Melinda smiled.
"You promised me a birthday present. I'm just asking for it. Besides, your disguise is impressive—no one would recognize you."
"Whatever." Awin tossed his cloak aside and sank onto the soft mattress.
Melinda handed him a glass of wine.
"Drink with me."
He stared at her and the drink, suspicious, then shrugged and downed it. She offered him another.
"Someone's in a mood," she noted.
"It's Mahalia. She's going to be the death of me."
Melinda flinched, but masked it quickly.
"You must be so worried about the Queen's poisoning."
Awin's gaze darkened.
"Do you have a hand in it?"
"Pardon?"
"It's suspicious. She collapses right as your birthday approaches?"
Melinda smiled wistfully, setting her glass down.
"I'm flattered you think I could pull off something of that magnitude. But I assure you, I'm innocent."
Awin studied her, then nodded.
"Okay. I'll take your word for it."
"Awin… do you love her? The Queen, I mean?" She feared the answer. If this monster truly loved Mahalia, what chance did she have?
Awin scoffed.
"Love? I hate the notion. It's disgusting. Foreign to me."
"You say it's foreign… Maybe you love her but don't know it yet."
Awin shook his head.
"When I think of Mahalia, I remember Atlas—the stallion I owned as a lad."
Melinda raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Atlas was majestic. Everyone admired him. I'd show him off because I knew that's all anyone could do—admire. He should've always been mine. And he was… until he died."
"My condolences, no matter how late."
"You should have congratulated me," Awin said, taking the second glass of wine and sipping slowly.
"One day, my father hosted a great king from a neighboring country—can't remember which. He saw Atlas and wanted him. Offered so much money, my father couldn't refuse."
He smiled bitterly.
"I understood. Atlas was special. But I was the only one who deserved that kind of uniqueness. So that night, I fed him. He happily ate what his beloved master gave him. My heart swelled with pride… That was his last meal."
Melinda froze.
"So… you see Mahalia as your property. That's the only reason she should exist?"
Awin smiled thinly.
"That's an interesting perspective."
"And how has that property been treating you?" Melinda asked, voice dipping to a purr as she slid closer, disrobing.
Awin gave her a once-over, his eyes hungry.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Atlas ate his last meal happily—because you gave it to him. That must've made you proud."
She kissed him. Whispered in his ear.
"I can make you prouder."
Melinda kissed him again—slowly this time—and he didn't resist.She led him back toward the bed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Let me help you forget her... just for tonight."
Awin said nothing.
The candlelight flickered as shadows shifted across the room Outside, the night deepened, silent and complicit.
---
To Be Continued