The sky wept.
Black clouds churned overhead as the blade kissed Selene Valmor's throat. Her white dress—so carefully chosen to show her "purity"—was already stained crimson.
She knelt on the execution platform, wrists bound, a jeering crowd below. The faces she once called friends now twisted in ugly satisfaction.
In the front row stood Crown Prince Damon, the man she had loved beyond reason. His golden hair gleamed like a halo. His hand was entwined with that of Lady Amelia, her supposed "dearest friend."
Amelia leaned into him, whispering something, and Damon laughed.
Selene did not weep.
Tears were a luxury she had burned out long ago.
She had loved. She had trusted. She had fought for a future that was never hers.
And now, discarded like a broken doll, she would die branded a villainess.
"Any last words, Selene Valmor?" the royal judge boomed, voice thick with fake formality.
Selene lifted her chin, meeting the crowd's scorn with cold indifference.
She searched for anger in her heart—and found none. Only a bone-deep weariness.
"My only crime," she said, her voice clear as a bell, "was believing love could save me."
The executioner hesitated.
Only for a second.
Then the blade fell.
—
Pain exploded. Darkness swallowed her.
But just as Selene's soul prepared to cross the veil, a voice coiled around her mind.
"Is this how you wish it to end?"
Selene gasped. She had no body, no breath—only the sharp, cold clarity of her spirit.
"You were wronged. Betrayed. Cast aside. Would you like a second chance, Selene Valmor?"
The voice was neither male nor female, young nor old. It was everything and nothing.
"...A second chance?" she whispered.
"Not for love. Not for vengeance. For something greater. To destroy the rotten foundations and build something worthy."
Selene's soul trembled. Not for revenge? Not to beg for love again?
But to create. To become something... more.
"I accept," she said.
The voice laughed—a sound like shattering glass and newborn stars.
"Then awaken, Hidden Queen."
—
Selene shot upright, lungs burning.
She was not on the execution platform. She was in her bedroom—the grand chambers of House Valmor.
The silk sheets beneath her were familiar, the heavy scent of lilacs filling the air.
Hands trembling, Selene rushed to the mirror.
A girl stared back at her.
Younger. Softer. Her face unmarked by betrayal, her eyes wide with innocence.
It was the year of her engagement to Prince Damon.
Five years before her execution.
Selene gripped the vanity table so hard her knuckles went white.
This time, there would be no foolish dreams of love.
No naïve trust in false smiles.
This time, she would not play their game.
She would build her own board—and crown herself queen.
No one would see it coming.