"I wish to seek an audience with Her Majesty," Cynthia said to the queen's attendant, standing in the corridor outside the royal chambers.
Her voice was calm, but her heart pounded. After her last conversation with Darius, she knew he would never agree to let her go. And yet, she also knew this was the only way — the only chance for her and her daughter to leave without shaming him. She loved him too deeply to let his reign begin under whispers of scandal or pity.
The attendant said nothing. With a quiet bow, she disappeared behind the tall double doors. Cynthia waited in silence, her palms cold, her mind repeating what she intended to say.
Moments later, the doors opened again. "Her Majesty will see you," the attendant announced, stepping aside.
Cynthia entered.
The queen sat at a large desk, her posture regal and still, spectacles perched on her nose as she read through several documents. When she noticed Cynthia's presence, she removed her glasses and set them aside. Then, rising gracefully, she crossed the room with the composed confidence of a woman born to rule.
"This is the first time you have sought an audience with me," the queen said coolly. "What brings you here? How may I help you?" She gestured toward the nearby chair. "Sit down. I imagine you don't wish to speak while standing."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Cynthia replied softly, taking the offered seat.
"I assume you didn't come for idle chatter," the queen continued, folding her hands on the table. "You know I am not fond of such things. And I doubt we've built the kind of relationship where small talk would be appropriate."
Cynthia lowered her eyes briefly. "Your Majesty, I know you do not like me — nor my daughter, nor our presence here. I also understand the great responsibility that rests upon Darius as he prepares to become king."
The queen's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "It's good that you are aware."
"I came to ask for your help," Cynthia continued. "For me and my daughter to leave the palace. I know that once we go, Darius will surely come after us."
The queen tilted her head slightly. "And you want my help to ensure that he does not?" she asked, her tone sharp but curious. "Is that what you're asking me to do?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The queen regarded her for a long moment, then said, "I wonder why. Living here offers wealth beyond measure. Being—"
"I don't need any of it," Cynthia interrupted gently but firmly. "As you said before, I have enough to raise my child. I've come to realize that life in the court is not one I can survive — and I don't want my daughter to grow up in a world like this. We are ordinary people, Your Majesty. We don't belong here."
The queen's gaze hardened. "I think you also realize that I do not like you. And I can never accept your child as one of my son's descendants."
"I know that already," Cynthia replied quietly.
"Then how do I know this isn't some sort of scheme?" the queen asked. Her voice was cold, but her eyes glimmered with calculation.
"Because I would never do that," Cynthia said, meeting her gaze without hesitation. "I love Darius more than anything in this world. And that is exactly why I must go. I cannot bear to see him viewed as a weak king because of me. He is a good man — and he can become a great king. He deserves that chance, even if it means losing me."
For a moment, silence filled the room. The queen studied her, searching for any trace of deceit — but found none.
At last, the queen leaned back in her chair. A faint, approving smile touched her lips — not of kindness, but of understanding.
"I think," she said slowly, "there is something we can agree upon."
The city bells tolled in celebration, their clear, solemn echoes carrying through the morning air.
Cynthia stood in the shadow of a marble archway just outside the cathedral gates, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders. The square was alive with color — banners fluttered from the towers, and the streets gleamed with sunlight reflecting off polished armor and golden emblems. Everywhere she looked, people were rejoicing.
Today, Darius would be crowned king.
From where she stood, she could see the grand staircase leading to the cathedral's doors, lined with guards in ceremonial silver. Beyond them, nobles and courtiers gathered in their finest attire, each vying for a place close enough to witness the moment their new sovereign took his vows.
And then, she saw him.
Darius stepped down from the royal carriage, sunlight glinting off the golden circlet resting on his brow — not yet the crown, but the symbol of the king he was about to become. His regal robes of crimson and ivory flowed behind him like a river of light, and for a moment, the crowd seemed to fade from Cynthia's vision.
He was magnificent — every inch a king.
Her heart swelled and broke all at once.
In that instant, she wanted nothing more than to run to him, to feel his arms around her one last time. But she didn't move. She couldn't. This was his day — his destiny — and she would not let her love tarnish it with scandal or sorrow.
Hidden behind the veil of her hood, tears welled in her eyes as she watched him climb the steps. The people cheered, chanting his name. She could see the proud gleam in his eyes, though only she would know the sadness that lived behind them.
In her arms, her daughter stirred, wrapped tightly in a soft blanket. Cynthia looked down and smiled faintly through her tears.
"This is your father," she whispered. "Look at him. Remember him — even if you never know his world."
The baby let out a small sigh, and Cynthia pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Inside the cathedral, the great doors opened wide, and the choir began to sing — a powerful, haunting hymn that rolled like thunder through the square. Darius paused at the threshold, turning slightly as if he sensed something — or someone — watching him.
For a fleeting second, their eyes met across the distance.
Cynthia froze, breath catching in her chest. His gaze swept over the crowd, uncertain, searching — but the hood concealed her face, and after a moment, he turned away and disappeared into the cathedral.
The doors closed behind him with a deep, echoing sound — final, absolute.
Cynthia stood motionless, her tears falling freely now. The cheers rose again as the coronation began, but she no longer heard them. Slowly, she turned away, clutching her daughter close.
The carriage waiting at the far end of the street was plain and unmarked, its horses restless in the growing noise of celebration. Cynthia climbed inside, and as it began to move, she looked once more toward the towering spires of the cathedral.
"Goodbye, Darius," she whispered. "Be the king I know you can be."
The sound of the bells followed her as the carriage rolled away, fading into the distance until all that remained was the whisper of the wind — and the quiet heartbeat of a love sacrificed for duty.