The Queen did not sleep.
Dawn painted the palace in pale gold, yet her chambers remained untouched by rest. She stood before the mirror, crown absent, veil folded neatly beside her—hands still remembering the weight of steel.
He fights like the desert, she thought. Patient. Unforgiving.
The assassin had moved with purpose. Not a mercenary. Not a fanatic. Someone shaped by loss.
"Find him," she ordered when the council assembled. "Quietly."
Eyes shifted. Voices lowered.
"He left no mark," a captain said. "No signature."
"Then search for absence," she replied. "Men who move too freely. Men who are never noticed."
Her gaze hardened. "Begin with those who know the city's veins."
By midday, the palace buzzed with discreet inquiries. Stable hands were questioned. Gate logs checked. Routes traced. The Queen listened without revealing what she already knew—that the assassin walked like someone who belonged everywhere.
She chose to see the city herself.
Without crown. With only two guards at distance.
At the western square, chariots waited in a loose line. Horses stamped. Wheels creaked. The air smelled of dust and sweat.
She saw him before she meant to.
Aydin stood beside his chariot, adjusting a strap. Plain robes. Calm hands. That same stillness.
Her breath caught.
"Your Majesty," a guard murmured. "Shall we—"
"Wait," she said.
She approached alone.
"Aydin," she said, softly enough that only he would hear.
He turned and bowed. "Your Majesty."
The sound of his voice—steady, respectful—unsettled her more than steel had the night before.
"I require a ride," she said. "The southern roads."
He nodded. "As you wish."
The chariot moved.
Silence returned, heavy and intimate. The city slipped past them, sunlit and ordinary.
"You were near the palace last night," she said.
A pause. "Many are."
"Not like you."
Another pause—longer this time.
She watched his reflection in the brass fittings. No fear. No surprise. Only careful restraint.
"Stop here," she said suddenly, as the road narrowed and palms closed in.
Aydin pulled the reins.
The guards were far enough.
"Remove your scarf," the Queen said.
He turned. "Why?"
"Because I asked."
Slowly, he obeyed.
Her eyes dropped to his neck.
A thin cut. Clean. Recently healed.
Steel's work.
The world seemed to tilt.
"Look at me," she said.
He did.
And in his eyes she saw it—the same storm she had met across a rooftop. The same measured fury. The same discipline.
"Take off the mask," she whispered.
Aydin exhaled.
There was no mask to remove.
Only truth.
"I never wore one with you," he said quietly.
Her heart broke into understanding.
"You," she breathed.
Aydin bowed his head, not in surrender—but in acknowledgment.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The Queen closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the man she loved stood revealed as the shadow she hunted—
And the crown had never felt heavier.