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The Citadel had its own kind of beauty — sharp, dark, and unyielding. The walls whispered with old magic, the torchlight danced with shadows that seemed alive, and the air always carried the metallic tang of power.
Hazel was beginning to learn the layout of its labyrinthine halls, though the eyes that followed her every step hadn't softened since her coronation as Queen Consort.
That morning, she walked beside Miriam through the long obsidian corridor toward the east gardens. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable — Miriam was more like a protective sister than a servant — but Hazel could feel the weight of the stares, the unspoken hostility lingering in the air.
"They've been watching you differently," Miriam murmured, scanning the hallway.
"They've been watching me since the coronation," Hazel replied lightly, though she kept her chin high.
"No," Miriam said, lowering her voice, "this is different. Like they're… expecting something."
Hazel's brow furrowed, but before she could answer, a guard appeared ahead of them and bowed deeply.
"My lady," he said to Miriam, "you're needed in the northern wing. There's been a storage collapse — the King himself has requested you."
Miriam blinked. "The King? Why would—"
"It is urgent," the guard interrupted, his gaze never quite meeting hers.
Hazel touched Miriam's arm. "Go. I'll be fine — it's just the garden. I'll wait for you there."
Miriam hesitated, clearly uneasy, but Hazel smiled and waved her away. "Go. Before the 'King' gets impatient."
When Miriam was gone, Hazel turned toward the Sapphire Garden.
The Garden of Ill Intent
The Sapphire Garden was breathtaking — a hidden jewel within the palace, this was the only Garden in the Citadel that had fresh flowers and colors radiating through and the Citadel had a lot of gardens, it became a hobby to visit the Citadel's gardens everyday.
The flowers glowed faintly blue, each petal like a piece of fallen sky, and a ribbon of silver water cut through the stone paths, reflecting the dim light from above. Hazel trailed her fingers along the blooms, letting the quiet wash over her.
"You wear the crown well," a voice said smoothly.
Hazel turned to see Velia, Lysa, and Nyra emerging from the shadows of the archway. Their steps were slow, deliberate, like predators circling prey.
"Your Majesty," Velia said, her golden eyes sweeping over Hazel with disdain. "You've made quite the impression on the King. Though… it's hard to tell if it's affection or novelty."
Hazel straightened, rolling her eyes. "If you came to flatter me, you'll have to try harder."
Lysa smirked, tilting her head, her black hair spilling over one bare shoulder. "Flatter? Oh no. We came to remind you… you are temporary."
Nyra's voice was soft, melodic, but her gaze was razor-sharp. "The King's affections shift like the tide. We've seen it before."
Hazel forced her voice to stay steady. "If you think I'll be intimidated—"
Velia's movement was a blur. Before Hazel could react, a jagged shard of obsidian pressed against her arm. Cold fire shot through her veins, and her breath caught in her throat. Her knees buckled, the strength draining from her body in a dizzying rush.
Her heart slowed, her vision dimmed at the edges.
"What… are you…" she gasped, her voice shaking.
Lysa leaned in, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Just a little charm. To make you… manageable."
"Rest, little queen. Let go. The King will forget you soon enough." Nyra crackled.
.
.
.
Hades was in the council chamber when it hit him — a sharp, wrong note in the symphony of Hazel's presence. His connection to her, subtle but unbreakable, flared with alarm.
The room emptied in an instant of his notice — not by his words, but by the cold blast of his aura as he vanished in a swirl of shadow.
He appeared in the Sapphire Garden, and the sight before him stilled the air. Hazel was on her knees, her skin pale, her breath shallow, and Velia, Lysa, and Nyra were gathered around her like vultures savoring a kill.
The ground cracked under his feet as his rage bled into the world.
"Release her."
Velia turned slowly, her lips curving in a smile that didn't hide the flicker of fear in her eyes. "We were only talking—"
The garden darkened as shadows poured from Hades' hands, coiling like living things. "You have five seconds before I tear the truth from your throats."
Velia's smile faltered, but she kept her gaze on him. "Hades… we've known each other longer than she's been alive. I've stood at your side when no one else dared. Don't throw that away for—"
"For her?" His voice was ice and fire in the same breath. "For her, Velia, I would burn this realm to ash."
Velia's breath hitched, the finality in his tone slicing deeper than any blade.
Velia stepped back, drawing the shard away from Hazel. Without the draining touch, Hazel collapsed forward, catching herself weakly on her hands.
Hades was there instantly, kneeling, gathering her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Her head fell against his chest, her breathing uneven.
"You're safe," he murmured, his voice low and fierce. "No one will touch you again."
When he looked up at the three women, his eyes were twin voids, burning with lethal promise. "You will leave this garden and never breathe her air again. If I so much as sense your shadow near her… your remains will feed the roots of this place."
Nyra lowered her gaze, Lysa bit her lip and stepped back, but Velia — Velia stood frozen, her serpent eyes wide, her breath coming fast.
"After everything—" she began.
"After nothing," he cut her off. "You were never what you thought you were. You were a weapon I kept close, a viper in my court because you bit at my enemies. I tolerated you because you were useful." His grip on Hazel tightened.
"She is not useful. She is mine."
The words struck Velia like a physical blow. Her lips trembled before she masked it with a sneer. "You'll regret this."
Hades' smile was cold enough to frost stone. "I don't regret my victories."
The mistresses retreated, their pride wounded, their hatred sharp. Velia lingered a heartbeat too long, her gaze fixed on Hades as if she could will him to look at her the way he looked at Hazel — but he didn't. Not once.
When they were gone, Hades shifted Hazel in his arms, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her lashes fluttered as she tried to open her eyes.
"Stay with me," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "Just stay with me, little flame."
She managed a faint whisper. "I'm… fine."
His jaw tightened. "You're not. But you will be." He rose, carrying her from the garden. Servants bowed low, shrinking away from the storm in his eyes.
By the time he reached her chambers, he'd already summoned healers, but he didn't leave her side, his thumb brushing circles on her wrist as the warmth returned to her skin.
And later, when she drifted into a light sleep, his hand still around hers, he whispered the truth to the shadows:
"If the world comes for you, I will unmake it."