Chapter 2: The Queen's Second Death
The carriage halted.
For a moment, everything was still. The horses snorted impatiently, hooves pawing the dirt, but the silence inside the black velvet-draped carriage was heavier than the fog curling outside.
Zayan didn't move.
His fingers, still resting on the hilt of the dagger he hadn't realized he'd drawn, trembled slightly.
She had said nothing since they left the castle—no commands, no threats, not even an apology for the blade she pressed to his throat just minutes earlier. Just silence. And it was maddening.
"Out," she finally said.
Her voice was sharp now. Regal. Commanding.
He obeyed.
The moment his boots touched the ground, he saw it: not the dungeons, not the palace courtyard, not even the execution grounds.
It was a lake.
Moonlight shimmered across its dark waters. Mist hovered like ghosts above the surface. And on the far side, lit by a single hanging lantern, stood a small cottage surrounded by white flowers that shouldn't have been blooming this time of year.
Zayan blinked.
He had expected a prison cell. Chains. Screams echoing through damp stone corridors. He hadn't expected...this.
"Move," she ordered, brushing past him. She didn't wait to see if he followed.
He did.
---
The cottage door creaked as she pushed it open. Inside was warm, scented faintly of lavender and smoke. A fire crackled in the hearth. There was a bed, a wooden table, and shelves filled with dusty books and dried herbs.
Zayan hesitated in the doorway.
"Get in," she said again, not even looking at him. She unbuckled the sword at her hip and placed it gently—almost too gently—on the table, then moved to the window and stared out at the lake.
He stepped inside and closed the door.
Only then did she speak again.
"Do you remember this place?"
Zayan froze.
What?
"I—" he started, but the words caught in his throat.
She turned to face him, her eyes scanning his face with something unreadable. Not anger. Not cruelty. Not even triumph.
Regret?
No. That was impossible. This woman was a killer. A queen made of marble and blood.
And yet...
"You brought me here once," she said softly. "Before the coronation. Before the war. Before you betrayed me."
Zayan's stomach turned.
He had never been here before. He was sure of it. He would've remembered the lake, the flowers, the way her voice cracked just now.
Unless—unless…
He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean before?"
She smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it.
"I was sixteen. You were eighteen. You taught me how to shoot arrows by that tree." She pointed without looking. "You laughed when I missed every target."
Zayan took a step back. His head throbbed. This wasn't right. He didn't know her. Not really. Not like this.
"I don't understand," he whispered.
"No," she said. "You don't. Because they made sure you wouldn't."
She turned fully now, walked past him, and opened a drawer in the table. From it, she pulled a small, leather-bound book—worn, stained, and unmistakably old.
She handed it to him.
Zayan opened it slowly.
Inside were pages filled with neat, looping handwriting.
And pictures.
Of them.
Of her.
Of him—younger, smiling, arms slung around her shoulders, forehead pressed against hers, laughing.
Every breath caught in his lungs.
He flipped another page. Then another.
They were real. The smiles. The moments. The words.
"W-What is this?" His voice cracked.
"Your memories," she said. "The ones they erased."
He looked up at her. "Who?"
Her gaze turned cold. "My mother. The Council. The same people who ordered you to spy on me, to destroy me from the inside."
He shook his head. "I never—"
"You did." Her tone was steel now. "You just don't remember it."
Zayan staggered back and collapsed onto the nearest chair. His hands trembled as he turned the pages. Every line, every note, every sketch—his handwriting. His voice. His heart.
"Why?" he asked. "Why would they—"
"Because we were too close. Because we were dangerous. Because love—" she stopped herself, jaw tightening, "—makes people stupid. And because they were afraid I'd choose you over the throne."
Zayan's vision blurred.
He had never believed in magic. Never believed in memory tampering or secret pasts buried beneath false truths. But now, holding this book, feeling something familiar stir inside his chest—it was undeniable.
"Then why…" He looked up at her. "Why did you kill me?"
Silence again.
The fire crackled.
And then, almost inaudibly, she said, "Because you chose them."
---
He didn't sleep that night.
Neither did she.
They sat across from each other, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing hour.
By dawn, he had read the entire book.
And remembered everything.
He remembered the secret meetings. The whispered promises. The night he'd kissed her beside this very lake. The way she had once looked at him like he was her entire world.
And he remembered the night it all ended.
The betrayal.
Not his.
Hers.
No… their betrayal. The Council's manipulation. The lies. The blood.
They had told him she was going to be killed. That the people demanded it. That the Queen's enemies had rallied against her. That only by pretending to betray her could he save her.
So he had.
And she had believed it was real.
Until it was too late.
Until he lay dead in her arms, the blade she'd thrust into him still warm.
He remembered her scream.
---
"You shouldn't have brought me back," he said quietly.
She didn't answer.
"Some things aren't meant to be fixed."
Still, no reply.
"I don't know who I am anymore," he added. "The person in this book...he died. You killed him."
Her gaze didn't waver. "Then maybe you should decide who you want to be now."
He looked at her.
The Queen.
The murderer.
The girl he once loved.
The woman who brought him back from death.
And somewhere in her eyes—beneath the pain, the guilt, the impossible strength—he saw it. A flicker. A memory. A question.
Hope.
---
Outside, the sun rose slowly over the lake.
Inside, Zayan stood.
He walked toward her, handed her the book, and said just one word:
"Why me?"
She stared at him for a long mome
nt.
Then said, "Because you're the only person I've ever killed...and still couldn't forget."
And before he could say anything else, she added:
"Now tell me, Zayan...are you ready to kill a kingdom for me?"