Riyan walked quickly and stopped in front of the chamber. His heart was pounding loudly. His breathing was uneven.
He slowly pushed the door open.
Inside the chamber— darkness.
No torch was lit. No lamp burned.
Only… silence.
As soon as the door closed,
a soft thud sounded behind him.
And then— In the middle of the darkness,
a figure stood.
Still.
Silent.
Riyan's heart seemed to stop for a moment.
"Y… Your Majesty?"
His voice was unusually low.
Suddenly— a torch was lit.
In the pale yellow light, Elara's face emerged.
But this was not the Elara he had known until now. There was no softness in her eyes.
No praise.
No hesitation.
Only darkness.
Cold.
Deep.
Decisive.
Her open red hair was not flowing tonight—
it fell like a stream of blood.
Her face was calm…
but something terrifying hid within that calm.
Riyan instinctively took a step back.
"Do not be afraid,"
Elara said.
There was a strange sweetness in her voice.
"If I have called you,
there is a reason."
Gathering his courage, Riyan asked—
"Y… why did you call me here, Your Majesty?"
Elara stepped forward.
Light and shadow played across her face.
"Because…"
she said slowly,
"there is a task—"
Her eyes locked directly onto Riyan's.
"—that only you can do."
Riyan's throat went dry.
"G… give me the order."
Elara stayed silent for a few moments.
Then—
her lips moved.
"Kill my father."
The words fell.
And the entire chamber seemed to shatter.
Riyan's eyes widened.
"W… what?"
His body went numb.
Inside him,
many things collided at once—
Love.
Trust.
Hatred.
And… fear.
"Your Majesty…"
his voice trembled.
"What are you saying…?"
Elara's gaze did not waver.
"I am perfectly clear, Riyan,"
she said coldly.
"The man whom the world calls king—
is the greatest criminal of my life."
Inside Riyan,
the image of his mother flashed.
Blood.
Screams.
Injustice.
His hands began to tremble.
"Y… why are you asking me to do this…?"
he asked, his voice almost breaking.
Elara suddenly stepped very close to him.
So close that Riyan could feel the warmth of her breath.
"Because I know,"
she whispered,
"that there is a fire inside you too—one that wants to move forward."
She placed her fingers on Riyan's chest.
"And because…"
her voice softened,
"you are connected to me."
Riyan's heart began to pound wildly.
He wanted to step back—
but his legs would not move.
"Is this love, or a conspiracy…?"
his mind screamed.
Elara said softly—
"If you do this—
you will no longer be just my bodyguard."
Her eyes gleamed.
"You will become the one closest to me."
Riyan felt
as if the ground beneath him had shifted.
The love he had thought of
as his weakness— was now pulling him toward a crime.
For the first time, he realized— This night was not about love.
This night was a test.
And perhaps— Beginning of his downfall.
Elara smiled.
And the darkness grew even deeper.
Riyan returned to his chamber with heavy steps.
His body was moving forward, but his mind—was still trapped in that same dark room.
"Kill my father…"
Those words echoed inside him like hammer blows. He reached his room and closed the door. He leaned back against it. Then an image of his mother flashed before his eyes.
His breathing was fast.
A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead.
His hands were still trembling.
"No…"
he muttered.
"I do want to do this… but not now. And I don't want to get trapped…"
Elara's face rose before his eyes—
those same eyes, that same closeness, that same whisper.
Love… or a trap?
He had not even managed to come out of this confusion when—
Suddenly—
Bang!
Noise erupted from somewhere in the palace.
Then— Another sound.
Then— The echo of hurried footsteps.
And then— Clang… clang… clang…!
The emergency bell rang.
Riyan became alert.
"What is this—?"
He flung the door open and rushed outside.
Chaos had broken out in the corridors.
Soldiers were running. Servants were shouting. Torches were shaking.
"What happened?"
Riyan stopped a running soldier.
The soldier's face had gone pale.
"The Queen's father—"
he said, panting,
"the King has been murdered!"
Those words did not enter Riyan's ears—
they struck straight into his chest.
The ground slipped from beneath his feet.
"W… what?"
His mind went numb.
"But… I didn't—"
He looked at his hands. They were clean. There was no blood.
"I didn't do this…"
his lips trembled.
But the question was terrifying— Then who did?
On the other side—when this news reached Elara, she was standing alone in her chamber.
A messenger knelt on the floor,
speaking in a trembling voice— "Your Majesty… the King is dead and someone is also calling it a murder."
For a moment— Elara closed her eyes.
Then— She smiled.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
A smile that did not reach her eyes.
The corners of her lips lifted slightly.
"So… he did it,"
she said to herself.
There was no grief inside her.
No tears.
No hesitation.
Only satisfaction.
She was completely certain—
that this deed had been done by Riyan.
"I chose the right man…"
she thought.
But at that very moment— In another corner of the palace, Riyan was standing. Amid the crowd. Amid the noise.
And within him—
only one question kept echoing—
"If I didn't do this…
then who did?"
For the first time—
he realized— He was no longer just a bodyguard. Either he was standing in the middle of a conspiracy— Or fate itself.
Where even love was a weapon—
and being innocent was no protection.
And the palace walls—
once again— Silently watched everything.