---
The maids whispered among themselves as gossip flourished. The news about the king was shocking enough, but another man staying by the queen's side? That was beyond scandalous.
Zachary absentmindedly brushed Mahalia's left eyebrow with his thumb until she seemed to relax.
"Please, look at me," he whispered, desperation in his voice. He had never felt so weak—not even as a wimpy boy trying to protect himself from the cut-throat politics of the palace.
The doctor had no idea what caused the coma. She was perfectly healthy. He noted that it resembled the one she had previously awoken from, and everyone suspected the same thing: Awin had a hand in it. A palace this vast allowed little secrecy. Most knew of Awin's obsession with Mahalia—and of Mahalia's contempt for him.
That was why Zachary was here. To protect her from that scheming bastard. Awin had put her in this position, but Zachary swore he would die before letting him take advantage of her.
"I wish I had found you first," Zachary murmured. "Though… seeing how complicated you are, maybe if I had found you earlier, this version of you would never exist."
He had a rough idea of who Mahalia was, though the truth still felt absurd. That Mahalia could be both Qaya Wright and still herself at the same time baffled him. Sometimes he wondered who his feelings were truly for, but he didn't let himself dwell on it. It was too complicated. All he knew in his heart was this: he loved the woman before him—whoever she was.
A sudden knock startled him. He went to open the door, but no one was there. Confused, he looked down the corridor, then closed it again.
When he turned back, two masked men were already inside, having slipped in through the window.
Zachary scoffed. One lunged forward, knife in hand. Zachary caught his wrist in time, twisted, and flung the blade out the window.
"You really shouldn't have come here," Zachary said darkly. "Not in her room."
He intended to deal with them bare-handed. He would not desecrate Mahalia's chamber with bloodshed.
The second man, wearing a spiked glove, threw a punch. Zachary dodged and struck him hard in the stomach. The man doubled over, cursing.
The fight dragged on, but Zachary overwhelmed them, striking faster and harder with each exchange.
Desperate, one attacker darted toward Mahalia, reaching for her throat.
"Don't you dare." Zachary's voice dropped to a growl as he abandoned the man he'd been pummeling. His steps were menacing, murderous—if that man so much as laid a hand on her…
But the half-beaten attacker recovered swiftly. In a blink, he pulled out a small knife and struck Zachary—once in the side of his neck, again in his back, and a final blow to his stomach.
Satisfied, the men fled through the window, bloodied and stumbling.
Zachary winced but staggered to Mahalia's side. She was unharmed. Relief washed over him. He grabbed the bell cord and pulled furiously. Someone had to come—he couldn't protect her anymore. The wound in his neck was ghastly, blood draining too fast. His vision blurred.
Still, he held on until two maids rushed in, their screams echoing through the chamber.
"Thank God, she's safe," Zachary whispered before collapsing to the ground.
---
The whole of Easteford was in uproar. The queen was in a coma, and someone had tried to kill her.
"I can't believe Awin would stoop this low," Jaslin fumed.
Rivan took her hand gently. "We should just be grateful he didn't succeed."
"But… Zachary could have died."
"But he didn't. Still, I can't say I'm not angry. I used to think Awin was a mastermind. But with these cheap tricks? I'm not so sure anymore."
Jaslin let out a bitter laugh. "Mastermind? Ah, buffoon is more like it."
"Either way, he's made his move. It's time we make ours."
"And what move is that?" Jaslin cocked an eyebrow.
Rivan smirked. "Everything."
The first step shocked everyone: Rivan revealed the true prophecy. In the same newspaper, they published the original manuscript of The Mythic Twins.
Easteford reeled. Revolt broke out. The people demanded the end of the current royal line, that Awin be dethroned. An emergency meeting was called.
"Your Majesty, the situation is dire," Rivan said coolly, as though he weren't behind it.
"You are my ministers. Fix it," Awin snapped.
The head of the neutral faction spoke up. "I'm afraid this is beyond repair. Perhaps your trusted ally Eugene Malicine could propose a solution—but he's nowhere to be found. Why is that?"
Awin rolled his eyes. "That is hardly important. Even the newly nominated Kafka is absent from this meeting."
"That is true," the others murmured in agreement.
"Enough. What can be done about this mess?" Awin demanded impatiently.
"There is only one option," Rivan declared, rising to his feet. "I move for the dethronement of King Awin."
The chamber fell still. With the righteous and neutral factions allied, and Awin's own faction weakened by three missing members, the outcome was obvious.
After the vote, Rivan smiled. "The proceedings will begin at the next meeting. We must put the people at ease. Our loyalty is to the kingdom first. You have proven yourself unfit to be king. I trust you understand."
Awin's fists clenched until his knuckles turned blue. They underestimated him.
"You think you can push me down so easily?"
"Of course not," Rivan replied with an acrid smile.
Just then, one of Rivan's assistants entered, whispering urgently into his ear. His expression darkened.
"I bring unpleasant news," he announced.
The chamber erupted in anxious murmurs.
"We are under siege," Rivan continued, "by an army led by Milton of Ragnabor."
He grabbed his coat, already moving. "Well then, it seems you'll be king a little longer."
---
The crescent moon mocked Awin as his carriage rattled down the empty streets. The city was silent; the news of siege and war had ended the revolt prematurely. He didn't know whether to feel relief or despair.
He could no longer lie to himself. He had been utterly defeated. But there was still one escape left to him.
The carriage stopped.
"We are here, Your Majesty," said his loyal Bertrand.
Awin stepped down into a narrow alley. Three figures waited for him in the shadows. He recognized Gaston immediately, but the man in the middle wore a mask.
"I'm guessing you're the Grandmaster," Awin said bitterly. "What took you so long? I was clear—get me the ring."
"Careful," the Grandmaster replied, his voice flat, almost mechanical. "The last I remember, you are in no position to make demands."
"Pardon?"
"Am I wrong?" The masked man tilted his head. "You're on the verge of dethronement. Do you even need the ring? Will the people forget the atrocities you've committed just because you wave a trinket before them? We don't work for poor kings. It's embarrassing."
"How dare you?" Awin snarled through clenched teeth. "Even if I weren't king, I sit on incredible wealth—"
"No. You're standing in filth." The Grandmaster's voice sharpened, and Awin realized he had stepped in dung. "Or is this about the slave market you run through Eugene Malicine?"
Awin blinked, momentarily lost. "Y-yes?"
The Grandmaster's laugh was caustic, like acid on stone. "You really are a fool. Half the decisions of your court happen without your knowledge. Eugene Malicine and your precious slave market have already been dismantled. Kafka, with Rivan's backing, had him arrested. By tomorrow, the news will reach you."
Another laugh. "You're useless to us."
"But I did so much for you! I helped you handle the factional rift—"
"You have my thanks. But this is business, Awin. I let you use De Gei Jaune however you pleased, and you repaid me by killing my men. Now we're even."
Now Awin laughed, harsh and bitter. "Even? Not even close. I'll remember this. And when I return, I'll make you regret it. Bertrand, let's go."
He strode away. Behind him, the masked man slowly removed his disguise. Lucius's worried face emerged.
"What future?" he whispered.
---
The Queen's Chamber
Since the assassination attempt, Mahalia's room had been heavily guarded.
A maid approached the door. The guards stopped her.
"I've come to administer her medicine," she explained.
The guards exchanged a look, then allowed her through. One accompanied her inside.
The maid exhaled softly, as though relieved.
"Say," the guard frowned, "you look oddly familiar."
The maid rolled her eyes. "I work here."
"I doubt it. A face like this? I'd remember."
"You just said I looked familiar."
"I said oddly familiar. I've never seen a maid like you. You're… impressive-looking."
The maid grimaced, preparing the medicine at Mahalia's bedside.
"What?" she snapped.
"I mean," the guard stammered, "you look more fit for a lady. Strong. Refined."
The maid straightened, her expression hard. She stepped toward him. "And what do you plan to do with that observation?"
The guard blushed. "I was just—"
He didn't finish. A cloth clamped over his mouth and nose. He thrashed, but the maid overpowered him. He collapsed unconscious.
The maid sneered, stripping off the disguise.
"I hadn't even planned for the ruse to work."
It was Awin. He moved toward the unconscious Mahalia.
"This is my last chance," he muttered. "I'll make it work."
He bent toward her neck—but froze when something sharp pressed against his own throat.
Mahalia's eyes were open. Cold. Unforgiving.
"You came dressed as a maid?" she scoffed. "You must be desperate."
"Qaya?"
Mahalia's gaze hardened. "Mahalia."
Awin steadied himself, but his hunger remained. He lunged. She slashed with her knife, cutting his arm. He staggered back, clutching the wound.
"I know the truth now," Mahalia said. "The myth of the twins was only ever a means to an end. I remember."
Awin's face twisted. "What?"
"The reason you had Tina drug me. I remember everything. Tyvard experimented on you—using what he discovered from my parents' deaths. He made you into a geminate, like me. You wanted a child between us to cement your power. That's why you were so hell-bent—ugh, you disgust me. To think you'd go that far."
Her voice rose with fury. "But this game you've been playing? I beat you at it long ago. Every step you've taken—I already accounted for it."
Awin's anger burned through his pain. "So what now? Will you kill me?"
"I should." Her hand tightened on the knife. "You've cursed me with so much pain. You stole my parents, manipulated Melinda into killing me, forced me into this body. All because you couldn't marry a slave."
He laughed, dry and cruel. "Nothing personal. I just needed someone nobler."
Mahalia almost laughed back, bitter and hollow. "Remorseful? Of course not. You made a fatal mistake when you betrayed me—when you turned my life into hell. How could I forgive you?"
She raised the knife, then stopped.
"But it isn't my place to take your life. I won't rob the others you've hurt of the chance to see you suffer. Once, I might have killed you to ease my own guilt. But I've grown. I've learned. I have people who love me—and whom I love. I have a purpose. I have a life."
Awin scoffed.
"And now," she said, her tone almost soft, "when I look at you… beyond the anger and hatred, I feel pity. You chased immortality so hard, you forgot to live. You squandered your one chance. Now you'll face the consequences.
"Guards!"
The guard outside rushed in—and to Awin's shock, the one he thought unconscious stood up as well.
Awin's face froze in disbelief. It was a trap.
He let out a final scoff. He was, at last, defeated.
To be continued