Myrcella's POV
"Mother… may I speak with you for a moment?"
The words left my mouth more quietly than I intended, as if raising my voice even a little might cause something fragile to shatter.
The Queen—my mother—looked up from her desk, and my chest tightened instantly.
She looked exhausted. No, that wasn't even strong enough. She looked worn down. The kind of exhaustion that didn't come from a single sleepless night, but from weeks of relentless pressure. Dark circles clung stubbornly beneath her eyes, deep and unmistakable, as though sleep itself had been avoiding her. Her posture was still straight, still dignified, but there was a subtle heaviness to her shoulders that hadn't been there before.
"What is it, Myrcella?" she asked.
She smiled at me. That same gentle smile she always used, practiced and warm, the kind meant to reassure others even when she herself had nothing left to give.
Even now. Even when she was clearly at her limit.
