The Queen sat in her solar, fingers tightly wrapped around the stem of a crystal glass, untouched rosewine swirling inside like blood in water. Her ladies were dismissed, the doors bolted. Only silence remained—aside from the whispers clawing at her mind.
It wasn't supposed to unfold like this.
That boy. That child.
Carlos. The late queen's son. The one she tolerated only for politics, only for his father's name. She had watched him from the corners of court, always so quiet, always so obedient. Until he wasn't.
She had given Erevan lily seeds months ago. "They're your favorite," she'd said. "Like your father used to grow." He smiled then, soft and unsuspecting, not knowing what they would do when combined with the southern rosewine.
And the wine—smuggled in under official seal, appointed to the table by her chef. The one she placed. The one she trusted to do it cleanly, silently.
It should've ended with Carlos accused.
She had planned it: the guards would find Carlos holding Erevan's collapsing body, panicked, overwhelmed. The perfect picture of betrayal. And the court would believe it—why wouldn't they? A half-blood child with no power, no favor, no place. Just like his mother.
But instead...
Carlos changed.
He carried the king in his arms like a man who had done it a thousand times before. He didn't weep. He didn't scream. He acted.
And now they were looking at her.
The nobles whispered. The chef had been questioned. The garden staff was under guard. And that boy—the one she'd dismissed as nothing—was now the only one standing between her and exposure.
She gripped the edge of the table.
No. No.
As long as they had no proof, she was still clean. A grieving mother. A queen mourning her son's illness. That was what they needed to see.
All she had to do was act.
---
She dressed in silver and lavender—the colors of hope, of motherhood. Her veil shimmered faintly as she walked the quiet halls, flanked by soft-footed servants. The palace guards bowed low. The nobles watched from shadowed corners, wondering. Whispering.
She reached the king's chamber doors and paused.
Inside was the boy who had ruined everything. And the boy she still needed.
He's still your son, she reminded herself. Say it enough, and it will be true.
She smoothed her dress, painted a soft smile across her face, and knocked gently.
"My son," she called sweetly. "Are you awake?"