Queen Noria had never felt so alive.
The night air inside her chambers felt lighter, sweeter, as though the gods themselves had finally bent their knees to her will. She stood near the tall arched window, fingers resting against the cold stone, watching the torches flicker in the courtyard below. Somewhere beneath her feet, in the bowels of the palace, the bastard had been dragged away like the filth he was.
At last,she could breathe properly.
For years,miserable, humiliating years,she had endured the sight of him. The living proof of her husband's betrayal and infidelity. That boy was proof that her husband had shared another woman's bed,had loved another woman over and over to even result in a child!. The boy with his quiet eyes and infuriating presence, breathing the same air as her son, walking the same halls, daring to exist under her roof.
Tonight, she won.
She had seen the opening and seized it with both hands. A single stumble in the forest, a single moment of weakness, and the boy had finally given her the weapon she needed. The court had listened. The nobles nodded. And Aldric,weak, spineless Aldric,had stood there and done nothing.
Her lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile.
By morning, it would all be over.
She crossed the chamber, the hem of her gown whispering against the floor, and reached for the bell pull. "Send for Lord Humbrey," she ordered coolly when the servant appeared. "And the others who stood with me today. I wish to speak with them."
The servant bowed and hurried away.
Who would dare challenge her now? Not the court. Not the guards. And certainly not that foolish king who couldn't even raise his voice against his own wife. Aldric feared conflict more than he feared the gods, and Noria had learned long ago how to use that fear.
She poured herself wine, hands steady, savoring the taste.
Her son was safe.
That was all that mattered.
Ever since the boy had been brought into the palace,skinny, silent, with those unsettling green eyes,she had known trouble would follow. Eyes like that were rare. Unnatural. They reminded her too much of the stories her mother used to whisper in the dark, warnings passed down like curses.
The Amender, her mother had told her.
A child born in the shadows. A child with eyes of green who would rise when kingdoms cracked and thrones bled.
Noria scoffed softly at the memory.
Superstition. Nonsense.
That bastard was no savior. He was nothing more than a mistake,one she had finally corrected.
He would be gone by dawn, and with him, the last threat to Pharrell's throne.
She lifted her cup in mock salute to the empty chamber. "Sleep well, boy," she murmured. "You won't see another sunrise."
*******
The bell rang.
Once.
Then again.
Then again,faster this time.
Queen Noria froze.
The sound came not from the inner halls but from the outer towers.
A warning bell.
Her fingers tightened around the goblet. The wine sloshed dangerously close to the rim.
Then the bells erupted.
Ding,dong. Ding, ding,dong.
The sound tore through the palace like a scream, echoing from tower to tower, relentless, urgent.
Noria's breath hitched.
"What is this?" she snapped, striding toward the door just as it burst open.
A guard stumbled inside, face pale, armor half-fastened. "My lady," he panted, "the, the bastard…"
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. "What about him?"
"He's gone."
The word struck her like a blade.
"Gone?" she repeated, disbelief giving way to fury. "What do you mean, gone?"
"He escaped, my lady. The dungeon,he can't be found anywhere."
For a moment, the world tilted.
Then rage flooded her veins, hot and blinding.
"Lock the gates!" she screamed. "No one leaves this palace,no one! Seal every entrance, every door, every rat hole if you must!"
The guard hesitated only a heartbeat before bolting away.
Noria's chest rose and fell rapidly as she paced the chamber, nails digging into her palms.
Impossible.
She had been so close. So close to ending it all.
"Send guards to the villages," she barked at the next guard who dared approach. "Every road, every house, every corner. I want him found. Alive or dead,I do not care which."
Her breathing grew shallow.
Who had done this?
Who would dare free him?
Her thoughts raced, suspicion sharpening into something dangerous. This was no accident. Someone had helped him. Someone within her walls had defied her.
She would find them.
And when she did, blood would pay for blood.
"That bastard had better be dead before they lay hands on him," she hissed, eyes burning. "Or he will wish he had joined his mother in the grave."
****
Four villages away, Randall staggered through the undergrowth, his breath ragged, his feet raw and bleeding.
Every step sent pain shooting up his legs, thorns tearing at his skin, mud caking his soles until they were black and numb. He had abandoned the roads hours ago, choosing brambles and thickets over being seen.
Freedom, it seemed, had teeth.
Just one more village, he told himself. Just one and he'd be out of Glandow.
Beyond that lay the unknown,no name, no title, no chains. A life unclaimed.
He tried to think of the future, of what came next. Work. Survival. Anything. But his body was betraying him now, exhaustion weighing him down like lead.
Food,he needed food…. and water.
Then he heard it.
Voices. Distant voices.
His blood turned cold.
"Check the bushes. Under the rocks."
"The queen would have our heads if we returned empty-handed."
Randall dropped to the ground, heart pounding so loudly he feared it would give him away. Through the leaves, he saw them,guards in cloaks, nearly twenty of them, with hounds straining against their leashes.
They were close.
Too close.
Panic clawed at his throat. He scanned the terrain desperately,and then he saw it.
A small cottage, tucked just beyond the trees.
Hope flared.
He ran, every muscle screaming, and dove into the barn beside it, burrowing into a pile of discarded straw and broken tools. The stench of rot filled his nose as he pressed himself against the dirt floor, barely daring to breathe.
The guards approached.
"Come out in the name of the king!" one of them shouted, pounding on the cottage door.
A family emerged,a middle-aged man, his wife clutching her shawl, a girl barely fourteen, and a small boy no older than eight.
"We believe a fugitive passed this way," the guard said coldly. "We will search your home."
"Of course," the man replied calmly. "We've nothing to hide,we would never provide shelter for the threat to the kingdom."
Randall's vision blurred as fear took hold.
The guards searched the house.
Then the barn.
His bladder betrayed him as footsteps drew closer, terror overwhelming dignity.
And then,movement.
The little boy who had seen Randall ran into the barn now slipped into the barn, eyes wide but determined.
"Hurry," he whispered urgently. "They're coming."
He led Randall to the far end, revealing a narrow, concealed hole. "I hide here sometimes. No one will see you."
There was no time to think.
Desperation forced Randall to crawl into the space, body folding painfully into the darkness.
A voice thundered behind him.
"Hey, boy! What are you doing there?"
The guards advanced.
Randall didn't know the child. Didn't know if he would lie. Didn't know if the gods were cruel enough to end him here.
So the bastard boy, with fear so great, closed his eyes and waited for death.