~~~
.
.
.
The corridors of the Citadel buzzed with an unusual energy. Word of Gavriel and Velia's betrayal had spread like wildfire, and though Hades' swift justice had contained the immediate danger, the consequences of their actions were only beginning to surface.
Hazel sat in the strategy room, the same space that had once intimidated her with its heavy obsidian table and walls lined with maps, but now felt more like a stage she could claim. Her silver hair was neatly tied back, her training tunic replaced with garments that blended authority with elegance. She leaned over the map of Nxymoor, tracing the paths of the supply routes, the miners' settlements, and the points where communications had been sabotaged.
"Your Highness," Darius began, stepping forward cautiously, "the miners' leaders are wary. They've lost faith in the Citadel's promises after the… incident."
Hazel nodded, tapping her fingers against the map. "They're right to be cautious. Gavriel and Velia didn't just sabotage supplies—they tried to make it look like we abandoned them. We have to show them that's not true, that the Queen and the King of the Citadel honor their word."
Artemis leaned in, curiosity and admiration gleaming in his eyes. "And how do you plan to do that? Send an envoy? Rebuild trust with words?"
Hazel lifted her gaze, her grey eyes sharp and commanding. "I'm going myself."
Murmurs rippled through the room. It was one thing for an elite soldier or strategist to negotiate; it was another entirely for the Queen consort to personally approach a rebellious human settlement. But Hades' presence at the door, arms crossed and eyes unreadable, silenced any objections.
"You'll have my full support," Hades said simply, his voice calm but carrying weight. "And the Elite will accompany you. Ensure the miners understand the Citadel's intent and that no one else will manipulate them again."
Hazel swallowed, nerves and determination mingling. She could feel the residual tension from the betrayal, but the thrill of stepping into agency fueled her courage.
---
By mid-morning, Hazel, flanked by Darius, Luke, and Artemis, rode toward Nxymoor on black destriers. The villagers had been alerted to her arrival through a secure network of trusted messengers—avoiding rogue interference—and a cautious hope had taken root.
Upon reaching the settlement, Hazel dismounted, her presence immediately drawing attention. Miners paused their labor, wiping soot from their foreheads, staring at the silver-haired figure whose aura carried authority, confidence, and something… different. Something human yet impossible to ignore.
One of the elders, a wiry man named Branik, stepped forward. His eyes were skeptical, wary, and sharp. "Queen Hazel," he said carefully, voice rough from years of work in the mines, "we were told Gavriel and Velia brought your promises to ruin. Why should we trust you?"
Hazel took a steady breath. "Because I am here. I am not Gavriel. I am not Velia. I am Queen Hazel, and I carry the vow to protect both the Citadel and its people. Those who betrayed you will never hold sway here again. The Citadel will honor its word, and I will see to it myself."
Her words were firm, direct, and her presence undeniable. There was no manipulation, no political sugarcoating—just honesty tempered with authority.
Branik studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Words are one thing, your Highness. Actions are another. What will you do to show us you are sincere?"
Hazel smiled faintly. "We start with the supplies you've been owed. I will oversee the delivery personally. And I will remain here for a week, learning your concerns, hearing your grievances, and making sure every voice is accounted for. No excuses. No intermediaries."
A hush fell. The miners exchanged glances, realizing that this was not just another envoy or fleeting gesture. Hazel meant every word.
Hazel's chest tightened. "I will not let my people, or the King's honor, be undermined by traitors. And you, every one of you, deserve to be heard and treated fairly."
Her words were not mere platitudes. There was strength in them, tempered with empathy.
The sun had barely risen over Nxymoor, painting the jagged cliffs in shades of copper and gold, when Hazel stepped outside her temporary quarters. The scent of damp earth and coal hung heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of freshly mined ore. Even in the quiet morning, the miners' hammers rang faintly against rock, echoing through the narrow alleys and tunnels below.
Hazel's silver ponytail swayed as she moved, her boots crunching against the gravel, and she felt a strange, intoxicating freedom. In her previous life, she had been bound—censured for ambition, chastised for daring to speak, constrained by expectation and fear. Every step forward had once been a risk of judgment, of scorn, of failure. And now? She was here, in the field, earning trust not by title but by action. She inhaled deeply, letting the earthy scent fill her lungs, and for the first time in years, felt truly alive.
Darius, Luke, and Artemis followed closely, their eyes sharp and alert, though they carried a different weight now. No longer was their presence purely protective—they were witnesses to her growing authority, silent champions of her influence in Nxymoor.p
"Your Highness," Darius said quietly, nodding toward a group of miners gathered near a collapsed supply cart, "some of them are still questioning the Citadel's intentions. There's one in particular—Branik's cousin, Sorel—he's not convinced your presence guarantees safety."
Hazel's lips curved into a small smile. "Let me handle this. If I can sway one skeptic, the rest will follow." She adjusted the straps of her gloves and walked toward the group, her movements precise and confident.
Sorel, a wiry man with dirt-streaked skin and eyes narrowed like a hawk, stepped forward as she approached. "So, this is the Queen consort herself?" he said, his tone rough, laced with skepticism. "You're telling us the Citadel's promises are real, that Gavriel and Velia didn't represent the King or the Queen?"
Hazel met his gaze evenly, her silver eyes unwavering. "I am telling you the truth," she said, voice firm but steady. "Gavriel and Velia betrayed not only the Citadel but you. Their actions were their own. I am here personally to ensure you receive what is rightfully yours—and to rebuild the trust that was broken. I will not leave until every one of your grievances is heard and addressed."
The miner snorted, arms crossed. "Easy words. Words don't fix broken tunnels or missing supplies."
Hazel crouched slightly, bringing herself to his level. The smell of damp earth and sweat clung to her as she leaned forward, speaking softly yet with weight. "Then let me show you. I will oversee the repairs. I will walk through the tunnels with you, check each supply crate, each tool. I will sweat alongside you until this is made right."
Sorel hesitated, measuring her sincerity. For a tense moment, the air was thick with uncertainty—until Hazel reached out, lightly brushing a soiled hand across a collapsed beam, demonstrating how she intended to help. There was no pretense, no royal grandeur—just effort, action, and commitment.
The miner blinked, and then, almost reluctantly, he extended a hand. "Alright, Queen Hazel. I'll follow your lead. But don't expect me to forget the last time promises were broken."
Hazel's smile was gentle, victorious yet humble. "I wouldn't dream of it. I aim to earn your trust, not take it for granted."
As the days wore on, Hazel moved among the miners, inspecting repairs, distributing supplies, and even rolling up her sleeves to help clear debris. The metallic clang of hammers, the earthy scent of coal dust, and the warmth of the sun on her skin mingled into a rhythm she felt in her bones. Each smile she elicited, each hesitant nod from the miners, felt like validation she had never allowed herself to seek before. In her previous life, every act had been judged, every ambition curtailed—but here, in this raw, unfiltered world, she was both powerful and seen.
At one point, as she helped steady a beam in a collapsed tunnel, her thoughts drifted. I've spent so long hiding, pretending to be smaller than I was, cautious with every word, every glance. Afraid of the judgment of others. But here… I'm not just surviving. I'm doing something real. Something worth respect.
Her pulse quickened, not from exertion but from the thrill of agency. She felt the burn of her muscles, the sweat tracing her spine, the grit under her nails—and she embraced it. Every fiber of her being reveled in her freedom, in her competence, in her ability to influence and protect.
---
Meanwhile, high above the Citadel, Hades watched through magical wards that traced her path. He had felt her absence immediately—each passing day a gnawing ache that sat heavily in his chest. Breakfast with Lycan, Aries, and Alyssa was mechanical; the conversations felt hollow. The grandeur of the Citadel itself seemed muted, its shadows and towers unable to compete with the vividness of her presence.
He missed her. He had forgotten what it felt like to truly long for someone. Her laughter, her determination, her silver hair catching the light as she moved—these images had invaded his mind unbidden. Each passing hour without her was an ache, a void he could not fill, no matter how many demons bent to his command.
He clenched his fists, his jaw tight. She is mine to protect. Yet I allowed her to step into danger. Yet… she thrives there. She's… magnificent. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, both pride and possessiveness twisting together in a way that was almost unbearable.
---
Back in Nxymoor, the day drew to a close. Hazel, covered in soot and dust, leaned against a sun-warmed boulder, watching the miners work. Sorel approached, this time with a lighter expression, offering a nod of respect.
"You're no ordinary Queen," he said quietly. "You fight alongside us, you listen… you actually care."
Hazel's chest swelled. "I care because it's right. And because I promised Hades—and myself—that I would not stand by when injustice threatened the people of this land."
The miner gave a small chuckle." I made this specially for you, it's made with the finest hellstone with a touch of silver and gold, I asked your guards and they said you admire daggers," He gave her a box and when she opened it two beautiful daggers designed neatly laid there sharp and gleaming.
"It's beautiful, Thank you." She said in awe, smiling at the gift she received and for the first time, Hazel felt a profound sense of belonging—not as a consort or a princess, but as someone whose actions had weight and meaning.
Her eyes scanned the horizon, sunlight glinting off her silver hair, and she allowed herself a small, private smile. In this moment, she was free. She was powerful. She was respected. And for once, she didn't have to pretend.
---
Back in the Citadel, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Hades descended from his watchpoint, eyes still fixed on the wards showing Hazel's progress. "She's extraordinary," he muttered to no one in particular, voice low and filled with something almost like awe. The warmth in his chest coiled tighter, protective, possessive, and utterly human. She is mine. And I cannot bear to have her away from me for long again.