My life was changed by my husband.
Now, I am a wife and a mother of two. A queen with full autonomy. A woman with power and purpose.
But once… I was nothing.
Before I became queen, I was the daughter of the Prime Minister of a dying kingdom. A puppet daughter. A tool to secure alliances and power.
My father… was scum.
He held his position through bribery and blackmail, rotting the kingdom from the inside. He bathed in gold while the people starved. He smiled at nobles while soldiers bled in the fields.
And I? I was his most valuable asset.
He educated me not because he cared—but because it raised my worth. Magic, politics, etiquette—I was forced to master them all before I was twelve. Mistakes were unacceptable. Failure meant bruises and blood.
But I endured.
Because of my mother.
My mother was the only light in my world. She was kind, gentle, and beautiful—soft brown eyes and dark hair that cascaded down her back like silk. She was the only one who ever touched me with warmth. The only one who ever smiled at me without calculation.
But she was also my father's property.
My father never loved her. He never even looked her in the eye.
He dragged mistresses into his bed openly, parading them through the halls of our home. My mother and I lived in a separate wing—out of sight, out of mind.
He hit her. When he was angry. When he was bored. When his business dealings failed.
He hit me too. If my test scores weren't perfect. If I misstepped during a political event. If I so much as breathed incorrectly.
He controlled us completely. And we endured. Because we had no choice.
But even that fragile peace didn't last.
My father committed treason.
Bribery. Selling military secrets to the enemy. Extorting nobles. His crimes were laid bare for the kingdom to see. I thought—
Finally.
Finally, justice.
Finally, he'll pay.
But he didn't.
He blamed my mother.
Every document. Every false testimony. Every carefully planted piece of evidence pointed to her.
I tried to scream the truth. I begged the investigators to listen. But my father had the king's ear—and the courts were filled with his allies.
They locked me in my room.
They took her to the gallows.
I saw it through the window.
She was barefoot, stripped to a thin slip that barely covered her bruised and broken body.
The bruises were fresh—black and purple blooms across her ribs and collarbone.
Her arms were raw from the ropes that bound her wrists. Blood crusted along the corner of her mouth.
She had been tortured.
I screamed until my throat bled. I pounded the glass.
"Stop! That's my mother! STOP!"
The guards didn't even glance up.
My father was there—standing calmly at the edge of the platform, watching with a placid smile. His mistresses stood behind him, fanning themselves like it was a festival.
I slammed my fists against the window.
"Mother! Mother!"
She lifted her head. Her eyes were swollen, her lip split—but when she saw me…
She smiled.
I froze.
Why?
Why are you smiling?
The executioner stepped forward.
"NO! STOP!"
He placed the noose around her neck.
No. No, no, no, no—
I clawed at the window until my nails tore away from my skin. Blood smeared the glass.
"STOP! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP HER!"
I prayed.
I prayed to the gods.
I prayed to the devils.
I prayed to anyone and anything that could hear me.
Take me instead.
Punish me instead.
PLEASE. NOT MY LIGHT.
But no one came.
The executioner pulled the lever.
The platform beneath her feet fell away.
Her body dropped. Her head jerked violently to the side.
Her legs twitched—once. Twice.
Then… nothing.
I heard the sound of her neck snapping.
A hollow, wet crack.
My hands slid down the glass. My legs buckled beneath me.
I couldn't breathe.
Her eyes were open.
She was still smiling.
I screamed.
I screamed until my lungs gave out.
I screamed until the room spun and darkness swallowed me whole.
I woke up days later.
My father stood over me.
"You embarrassed me," he said coldly. "Next time—control yourself."
Next time.
Next time?
I stared at him.
And I realized…
He wasn't punished.
He won.
My mother was dead. And he was still standing. Still powerful. Still untouched.
That night, I lay awake beneath my silk sheets, staring at the ceiling.
My mother's face floated above me.
Her smile.
Her broken body.
Her open eyes.
This world is rotten.
There's no justice.
No gods.
No devils.
No saviors.
If no one would punish him—
I would.
I lost all my emotions and who I am. I adorned all my different personas and threw away my weak true self.
I survived by becoming what he wanted.
The perfect daughter. The perfect political tool.
I studied. I trained. I sharpened my magic like a blade.
And when the time was right—
I would burn everything to the ground.
His house, his mistresses, his servants, his gold—
Himself.
Along with me.
Once I had enough manna and magical capacity, I would do it. I just needed to turn sixteen. I would have enough power to ensure there were no survivors.
No one would escape justice.
But I never got the chance.
Because of him.
My husband.
I was fifteen when we met.
I was practicing my magic behind my father's mansion, funneling my rage into spell casting, trying to shape destruction into something beautiful. The ground beneath my feet was scorched and cracked from the force of it.
That's when he jumped the wall.
A young man—tall, strong, and infuriatingly confident. His brown hair was tousled from the wind, and his cloak was dusted with dirt from the road.
I pointed my wand at him, magic crackling at the tip of the highest quality manna stone.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
He smiled.
Smiled.
Not like the nobles at court. Not like my father. His smile wasn't sharp or calculating. It was… warm.
"Relax," he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just passing through."
"You're trespassing." My magic sharpened, heat vibrating through my fingertips. "Leave."
He didn't flinch.
"Or?"
My jaw tightened. "Or I'll kill you."
His smile widened.
"You could try."
I fired.
He dodged effortlessly, twisting through the air with unnatural grace. My spell exploded behind him, scorching the grass and leaving a crater in the earth.
He landed, brushing dust from his cloak.
"Not bad," he said. "You've got power. But you're wasting it."
My hands shook. My breath was ragged.
He approached, and I tensed, ready to strike again—
But he reached out and touched my hand.
And my magic stilled.
His fingers were warm against mine.
"Power fueled by rage is unstable," he said softly. "It'll burn you alive before it destroys your enemy."
His eyes met mine—dark and steady.
"You have excellent control and a great manna reserve. I've never seen someone as skilled… or as beautiful as you."
My throat tightened.
No one had ever praised me before.
No one had ever looked at me like that before.
Like I was more than a tool.
Like I was more than my father's daughter.
My face burned, and my heart hammered against my chest.
"W-What are you saying?" I shouted, firing off another spell to cover the heat in my cheeks.
He dodged effortlessly at point-blank range and smiled.
"The truth." His smile sharpened. "You're cute when you're flustered."
I wanted to strike him down for his arrogance.
But part of me—the part that screamed into the darkness—
Wanted to know him.
"If you're just going to make fun of me, then go away."
He didn't leave. His smile didn't fade.
If anything, it widened.
"Are you always this hostile toward people who give you compliments?" Henry asked.
I scowled. "I'm not hostile. I'm… cautious."
"Cautious, huh?" He tilted his head. "And here I thought you were just shy."
My face burned. "I'm not shy!"
"Really?" He took a step closer.
My back stiffened as his gaze sharpened—not in a threatening way, but like he was studying me. Like he could see straight through the wall I'd spent years building.
My hand twitched at my side, magic humming beneath my fingertips. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" His lips curled.
"Like you can see through me."
"Maybe I can."
I opened my mouth to tell him to leave—but the words didn't come out. My throat tightened. His eyes—dark and steady—never left mine.
"You're interesting," he said softly.
I narrowed my eyes. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Yes." He smiled. "And you're cute."
Heat crawled up my neck. "You already said that."
"It's still true."
My hand curled into a fist. "Flattery won't work on me."
"Oh?" He stepped even closer. My breath hitched.
"Stop," I whispered.
He didn't.
"What's your name?" he asked.
I hesitated.
Giving someone your name… it was dangerous. Names held weight in noble society. A name could give someone power over you.
But he didn't look like he wanted to use it against me.
He just… wanted to know.
"…Ester. An A-rank mage, but a bronze class…"
"Ester," he repeated. His gaze softened as he said it. "That suits you. And an A-rank at your age, you're amazing."
My heart skipped painfully. "W-Why would you say that?"
"Because it's strong," he said. "And beautiful."
I looked away. My face burned, but my chest burned more.
"T-That's… stupid."
He chuckled.
"And you?" I asked, hoping to change the subject before my face caught fire.
"Henry."
Henry.
Simple. Direct. No title attached.
"You're a noble," I said. "Your family?"
He shrugged. "Important enough to get into trouble."
"That's… vague."
His smile sharpened. "It's meant to be."
I frowned. "And what exactly were you doing climbing into someone else's private garden?"
"I was bored," he said simply. "And I heard explosions."
"That was me."
"I know." His smile widened. "It was impressive."
My chest tightened. Praise wasn't something I was used to. I hated how much I liked hearing it from him.
"You're not very smart," I said.
"Oh?"
"Only an idiot would approach a dangerous mage while she's practicing combat magic."
He leaned closer, and my breath caught. "Maybe I like danger."
I stepped back. "Or maybe you're just reckless."
"Could be."
I exhaled sharply. "You're annoying."
"And yet, you haven't walked away."
My mouth opened—and then closed.
He was right.
"I'm still trying to decide if you're worth hexing," I muttered.
He laughed. A full, easy laugh that sent warmth curling through my chest.
"You know," he said, his gaze softening, "if you're this good already, you must have trained a lot."
I tensed. My mind flashed back to the long hours under my father's watchful eye. The bruises. The punishments. The relentless pressure to be perfect.
"I had… motivation," I said quietly.
Henry's smile faded. "And was it worth it?"
I hesitated. "…Not yet."
"Maybe it will be," he said. "Someday."
I didn't know why, but the quiet certainty in his voice made my chest tighten painfully.
It felt like… hope.
I hated it.
"I don't need your reassurance," I said stiffly.
"I know." He smiled. "But you've got it anyway."
My face burned. My eyes darted toward the ground. "Why are you even talking to me?"
"Because I want to know you."
"That's… stupid."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it is!"
He laughed again. My ears turned hot.
"I think I like you, Ester," he said. His tone was light—but his gaze was serious.
"You… You just met me."
"And?" He smiled. "That doesn't change anything."
My heart hammered against my chest. My mouth felt dry.
I wanted to say something sharp—but nothing came.
"Anyway," Henry said, stretching his arms behind his head, "since you're so powerful and skilled, I guess you wouldn't mind coming with me."
I blinked. "What?"
He smiled wider. "There's a dungeon on the outskirts of the capital. Supposedly untouched for a decade. Filled with ancient relics and hidden traps."
My brow furrowed. "And you think I care?"
"You care," he said confidently.
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
"Then why is your expression so interested?"
My mouth opened—then closed.
"Come with me," Henry said. "It'll be fun."
"It's dangerous," I muttered.
"And you're strong," he said. "So protect me."
My heart squeezed painfully. "Why would I protect you?"
"Because you like me."
"I DO NOT—"
"Great!" He grinned, cutting me off. "Then it's settled. We'll leave at dawn."
"W-Wait! I didn't agree—"
"You didn't say no," Henry said.
My face was burning. My hands curled into fists at my sides. "You are… unbelievably arrogant."
He leaned down, his gaze level with mine.
"And yet… you're still not walking away."
I forced myself to glare at him. "You're impossible."
"And you're cute," he said easily. "See you tomorrow, Ester."
He turned and started walking toward the garden wall.
My mouth opened. "Wait—"
He glanced over his shoulder. His smile was slow and sure. "Yes?"
My face burned. "…Don't be late."
His smile widened. "Wouldn't dream of it."
I stood there, frozen, as he vaulted over the wall and disappeared into the fading twilight.
My heart was still pounding. My face was burning.
"…Idiot," I muttered under my breath.
But I smiled for the first time years.