I didn't even get a chance to breathe before someone grabbed my arm.
"His Majesty requests your presence," a guard said, like I'd just been invited for cake instead of after confessing to murder.
Oh, sure. Totally normal post-manslaughter hangout.
The palace hallways blur past as they escort me. Gold ceilings. Velvet curtains. Way too much perfume in the air. Everything smells too clean for what just happened.
By the time we reach the King's chambers, my stomach's doing gymnastics.
The doors swing open with a heavy creak, and there he is — the King.
He's older than I remembered. Tired eyes, gray at the edges of his beard, but when he looks up and sees me… it's like watching the sun break through smoke.
> "Ariana!"
He rushes forward and before I can dodge, he hugs me. Full royal embrace. Armor and all.
I freeze like someone hit pause on me.
My brain short-circuits.
Right. Hugs. With the guy who rules the kingdom. After a public murder. Totally fine.
> "My dear, you're safe," he says, his voice soft but trembling. "When I heard what happened, I feared the worst. Thank the heavens you're unharmed."
He pulls back to look at me — and for a second, I see it. Real worry. Real love.
And that's almost worse.
Because I didn't do anything to earn it.
The courtiers behind him stay silent.
They bow. Whisper. Pretend not to see the mess.
No one mentions Clara's name. Not once.
Like she never existed.
> "You must rest," the King says gently. "The court will handle the details. You've suffered enough."
I nod because what else can I do?
If I open my mouth, sarcasm will leak out and ruin my life.
So I just say,
> "Yes, Father."
He smiles — relieved, maybe even proud — and calls for the maids to take me to my chambers.
---
The walk back feels longer. Quieter.
When they finally leave me alone, I collapse onto the bed.
The silk sheets swallow me whole, and for the first time in hours, I let myself breathe.
> "So," I whisper to the empty room,
"confessed to murder, adopted by the King, promoted to favorite daughter. 10/10 quest rewards."
I laugh a little — that weird kind of laugh that sounds dangerously close to crying.
Then I pull the covers up to my chin and stare at the ceiling.
> "I'm so screwed."
The gold chandeliers flicker overhead.
Somewhere outside, the bells toll faintly, like the world's trying to remind me what time it is.
But I already know.
It's the hour when fate stops pretending to be fair.
I close my eyes, but his face won't leave me alone.
Those blue eyes — calm even with a sword over his neck.
Like he wasn't scared of dying.
Like he'd already done it before.
And that smile… no, not even a smile — more like quiet acceptance.
The kind that says, "I told you this would happen."
I don't even know his name.
But when I think about him, my chest tightens, like I'm remembering someone I already lost.
Which makes no sense, because I'm supposed to be me. Lily. The girl who fell into a cursed fantasy soap opera.
So why does it hurt like it's not the first time?