---
The guards dragged the prisoner through the dungeon, their laughter echoing in the dark. The warden opened a door, and she was shoved inside.
"Keep each other company," one of them jeered before the door slammed shut.
Melinda stumbled forward, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. And then she saw him.
"Awin?"
The fallen king raised his head slowly. In just a week, his face had lost all color, his cheeks were hollow, his frame wasted. And yet his eyes burned with recognition.
"Melinda?"
She looked down, almost shy, though the gleam in her eye betrayed her.
He rose unsteadily, annoyance cutting through his weariness. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to be with you," she said softly.
His jaw clenched. "Pardon?"
"I tried to kill Zarela." Her words hung in the air like a knife.
"What?" His voice cracked with disbelief.
"You didn't hear?" She tilted her head, savoring the moment. "Zarela is queen now."
Awin froze. For the first time, he understood how long he had been rotting down here—how the world had moved on without him. Melinda's smile widened, almost tender, almost cruel.
---
The Throne Room
Zarela swept into the chamber, the crown gleaming on her brow. She carried herself with the poise of a woman who had walked through fire and chosen to keep walking.
"The truth is no longer hidden," she declared, her voice firm. "The kingdom has seen the depth of my brother's crimes, and they have chosen me to lead them forward. Our enemies have been purged. Our strength is returning. We will become again the kingdom we once were."
Ministers bowed. The people outside roared their approval.
Among the changes announced, one caught particular attention: Jaslin, bright-eyed and unflinching, was named the new Lord Chancellor of the realm, replacing the disgraced Eugene Malicine. Zarela had first offered the position to Mahalia, but she declined.
"I have other plans," Mahalia had said.
So the duty fell to Jaslin—and with it, she was declared heir to her mother's house. The court whispered, but all agreed: Jaslin was more than capable.
When the council dispersed, Zarela turned toward Mahalia. Her gaze softened.
"You stood by me when no one else would," she said. "Your courage gave me the throne. Whatever history may say, I will never forget that."
Mahalia inclined her head. "And I will never forget what you survived. Rule well, Zarela. You are the queen this kingdom needs."
The two women shared a look—not just political, but personal. Allies, friends, survivors.
---
Three Months Later — Occident Coast
The sea stretched wide and blue as the kingdom gathered to bury its late king. Zachary stood apart from the mourners, his eyes on Mahalia.
"I should be preparing for the crown," he admitted, "but all I can think about is you."
Mahalia gave him a wry look. "You sound unfit to rule already."
"Then let me be unfit," he murmured. He took her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "Marry me. Be my queen. Not for the crown, not for politics—just for me."
Mahalia's chest tightened. She thought of dungeons and daggers, of all the scars she carried. But here, by the waves, she felt lighter. His earnestness was a balm she hadn't known she needed.
"Yes," she whispered.
Relief broke across his face as he drew her into an embrace, the ocean wind carrying their laughter like music.
Later, as twilight settled, Jaslin walked with Rivan along the shore. Their banter carried easily on the breeze.
"Careful," Mahalia teased Zachary. "I think those two are conspiring."
"Conspiring to what?"
"Fall in love."
Zachary chuckled, brushing his lips against her hair. "Seems to be going around."
They turned toward the horizon. For the first time in years, the future didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a promise.
Far away, in the shadows of a dungeon, Awin and Melinda withered—trapped in their own twisted bond, their song fading into silence. But here, on the coast, another song began: bright, hopeful, and true.
The End.