__________
Lucina
A month had passed since I had taken up the mantle of Interim Queen. The gilded domes of the palace, which once bore witness to whispers of fear and conspiracies, now gleamed in the warm, golden light of the restored sun. The corridors, once rife with tension and unease, now resonated only with the measured rhythm of order. It was as though the turmoil of recent weeks had been swallowed whole, leaving behind a calm so absolute that it felt almost unnatural. I worked tirelessly, attending to the administration, reinforcing security, and ensuring that no shadow of the past lingered to unsettle my rule.
Yet, despite the rigid structure of my daily governance, one concession remained—a single exception to the otherwise unyielding routine. Gillai, my prisoner and a man whose presence was both a threat and a memory I could not afford to erase, was granted limited permission to visit his mother, Adar, during the evenings in the Queen's Palace wing. It was a controlled allowance, a fragile bridge between mercy and vigilance.
I observed him as he stepped onto the sun-drenched marble terrace. The sunlight caught the contours of his broad, tattooed shoulders, highlighting the strength of a man honed by both discipline and hardship. He wore only a loose wrap of white linen, the fabric swaying slightly with each measured step, and his long, dark hair cascaded down his back in a cascade of shadow and silk. He was a sight that could captivate any eye—imposing yet undeniably human. But I reminded myself that no beauty or strength could grant him freedom. Not now. Not ever.
Three men greeted him: two guards, their stance rigid and disciplined, and a physician draped in a deep purple robe, his face betraying a hint of concern beneath the practiced calm. Gillai's usually impenetrable composure faltered as he inquired about his mother.
"Is my mother doing better?" His voice, deep and resonant, carried across the terrace with an urgency that almost stirred sympathy in me.
The physician bowed low, carefully avoiding my title. "Yes, it seems so, sir," he corrected himself with hesitation. "However, she has been contending with the effects of black magic for some time, and her advanced age adds an additional layer of complexity to her recovery."
Gillai exhaled slowly, eyes heavy with concern and fatigue. "So, fully restoring her mind is proving to be a challenge… H-however, I've made progress in minimizing the impact of the black magic. She should now be able to engage in conversation."
He nodded once, acknowledging the news without relief or celebration. I stepped forward, my light gown brushing softly against the marble. The faint rustle of fabric punctuated the otherwise solemn quiet of the terrace.
"Gillai." My voice, cool and measured, cut through the space between us.
He met my gaze, eyes dark and intense, tempered now with the resignation of a man fully aware of his fate. My heart remained still, untouched by either compassion or malice.
"I understand," I said, voice steady and final. My gaze flicked toward the guards awaiting my command. "Take him back to the underground prison."
A solemn, unified, "YES, YOUR MAJESTY!" rang through the garden, reverberating against stone and sky. The two guards moved swiftly, flanking him as he was led back into the depths of confinement. In that instant, the serene order of my reign asserted itself once more, leaving only echoes of a fleeting human connection in the empty terrace air.
---
I remained on the terrace, detached and unyielding, as the guards led Gillai and the physician away. His glance over his shoulder lingered in the air—meaningful, desperate, and full of unspoken entreaty. It was a look that might have been a plea, a farewell, or both. I felt nothing.
Once they had disappeared, Hakan appeared at my side. The man with dark, commanding hair and a presence that could shift the weight of any room placed a large, reassuring hand upon my shoulder. His touch was firm yet gentle, an anchor against the currents of my own inner tumult.
"Lucina."
He didn't need to ask the question that hovered between us; I had already read it in his eyes.
"I'm going to check on my mother. Would you like to come with me?" His voice was calm, inviting.
A warmth bloomed unexpectedly across my face, a hesitant smile brushing my lips. "Of course. We'll go together, Hakan."
We began walking, but a sudden hesitation seized me. The smile faded, replaced by discomfort so acute it prickled through my chest. Hakan noticed immediately and halted, studying me with quiet concern.
"Do you feel uncomfortable about going to see her?"
"No, that's not it," I replied quickly, my gaze dropping to the folds of my white gown. The weight of guilt settled over me, crushing in its familiar way. "I had no idea that Giaret had done all those things to her… and I entrusted her to Giaret's care." My cheeks flamed with shame at the memory of my blindness. "I don't know how to face her right now."
Hakan's hands found mine, enveloping them in warmth and reassurance. A subtle quiver in his grip betrayed the depth of his empathy as he listened.
"If I had paid a bit more attention to her…" I murmured, the words heavy with regret, trailing into the silence.
"Hakan," I whispered, looking into his eyes, seeking his strength to carry me past the walls of guilt I had built around my conscience.
---
Hakan's eyes softened as he looked at me, unwavering and steady. The depth in his gaze held a reassurance that seemed to cut through the dense weight of my own guilt. "It's fine," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that seemed to resonate within my chest. His hands closed around mine, warm and firm, offering a tangible comfort I desperately needed. "I'm sure she doesn't blame you."
I wished I could believe him, wished I could lift the heavy cloak of shame draped over my shoulders. But it clung tightly, suffocating in its persistence.
"I—I think…" I stammered, my voice small and uncertain, a fragile sound barely escaping my lips. Hakan chuckled softly at my hesitation, a gentle, soothing sound that seemed to echo through the hall. I squeezed his hands in response, feeling a flicker of courage in his own strength, a reflection of hope I hadn't realized I needed.
"Okay," I finally admitted, the words falling into the quiet air like a sigh of relief. "I hope you're right. What a relief."
My eyes shifted toward the door of the Queen's Palace wing, and a sudden warmth flooded through me. "I'm glad they were able to…" I trailed off, unable to complete the thought. Yet Hakan understood immediately: I was grateful that the physicians had succeeded in restoring Adar's mind enough to allow this moment.
We walked together down the hall, our steps echoing lightly against the polished marble. Entering the room, I saw her—Adar—seated in a cushioned chair by a large window, sunlight streaming over the flourishing garden beyond. Frail in appearance yet alert in spirit, she looked up at the sound of Hakan's entrance.
The instant Hakan saw her, his expression melted into one of profound concern. "Mother," he said, his voice trembling slightly despite his composed demeanor.
Her eyes widened in disbelief, recognition sparking through the lingering haze of confusion. "Hakan?" she murmured, and then louder, her voice rasping but filled with life, "Is that really you, Hakan?"
He crossed the room swiftly, dropping to one knee before her, his hand clasping hers with a strength born of regret and love. "I'm sorry… for not visiting sooner, Mother."
Adar shook her head gently, her hand trembling slightly under his grip. "Don't apologize."
Hakan's brow furrowed, a visible weight of guilt etched into his features. "I did some awful things to you when I wasn't myself." His gaze fell to their joined hands, fingers tightening as though the confession itself required a physical anchor. "Usually, people under the influence of black magic tend to forget their actions… but for some reason, I remember everything I said and did. Maybe that's how serious my actions were."
He raised his eyes to hers, sorrow and remorse radiating from his very being. His grip tightened once more, a desperate, unspoken plea for forgiveness. "No, I'm really sorry, Mother."
I watched from the doorway, my breath caught in my chest. "I'm really sorry, Hakan," I whispered to myself, struck by the immensity of the burden he carried. The strength he had lent me outside now seemed almost insignificant compared to the agonizing clarity with which he remembered the horrors wrought by the black magic.
Hakan's confession hung heavily in the room, a tangible weight that pressed against the air. His memories of cruelty under black magic were far more potent than the guilt I had carried for entrusting Adar to Giaret's care.
Adar didn't flinch or recoil from the sorrowful intensity in his eyes. Instead, she reached up, covering his hand with her own, offering a warmth that belied her recent suffering. "Don't apologize," she said softly, her tone filled with calm authority and empathy.
Hakan leaned closer, his powerful frame trembling slightly under the weight of emotion he could not hide. "No, I'm really sorry, Mother," he repeated, voice breaking with sincerity.
After a moment of quiet, Adar pulled back just enough to look past him, her eyes finding mine near the doorway. There was a knowing warmth in her gaze that left me feeling both exposed and acknowledged.
"Oh, and Lucina," she began, her tone gentle but commanding enough to draw me forward. I stepped hesitantly into the room. "There's something I want to tell you. Could I have a moment of your time?"
"S-sure…" I replied, my heart racing. I couldn't help but wonder what she intended to say. Hakan, sensing my unease, gave me a reassuring nod and stepped aside to grant us privacy.
I sat on the white velvet cushion opposite her, the small table between us holding a plate of pastries and a teacup. "Thank you for everything," she said, her smile genuine and serene.
"I… didn't really do anything," I murmured, gaze fixed on the floor, unable to shed the lingering guilt.
Adar shook her head, leaning forward slightly, her expression thoughtful. "That's not true. When I escaped from Korseek and arrived at the Queen's Palace… I recall that you treated me with such kindness," she said, her voice soft yet unwavering. "Even though you had no idea who I was… and I wasn't in the right state of mind either."
A soft blush crept up my neck, and I murmured, "B-but that's a given…"
Adar chuckled lightly, the sound delicate and musical. "Who would've thought that my son's wife would be so humble!" Her eyes sparkled with a teasing warmth. "It's adorable how easily you get embarrassed, too."
Her expression shifted, adopting a more serious, reflective tone. "Just like you, I was captured and brought to the Tayar Kingdom and married the King, but adjusting to life here was a real struggle for me. So, I didn't really love my husband…"
She reached across the table, covering my hand with hers. "Anyway, I hope you and Hakan are happy together," she concluded, her blessing carrying the quiet authority and deep understanding of a woman who had endured hardship and emerged wiser.
Adar held my hand firmly, her surprisingly strong grip a grounding presence. Her eyes, clear and bright, carried the warmth of a maternal gaze, studying me with a quiet, unspoken understanding.
"Just like you, I was captured and brought to the Tayar Kingdom and married the King, but adjusting to life here was a real struggle for me. So, I didn't really love my husband…" Her voice dipped slightly, carrying the weight of memory and regret. The sadness etched into her features painted a vivid picture of her own trials—forced choices, lost agency, and the slow climb toward acceptance.
Then, almost imperceptibly, her expression shifted. Her gaze brightened, now fully focused on me. "But you aren't like me and Giaret. You chose to become Queen out of love for Hakan."
Her words settled over me like a blessing, a solemn charge to carry forward. There was wisdom and hope in her voice, a quiet prayer for the kingdom's future entwined with faith in me. "I hope both you and Hakan will lead the Tayar Kingdom wisely."
"Thank you, Adar," I said, letting her trust and faith in us sink into my heart. The conversation had been far easier, and far more profound, than I could have imagined. I had feared facing her, burdened by guilt and shame, yet Adar offered only comfort and guidance.
She paused, then added a final, crucial piece of advice about Hakan, her smile gentle yet knowing. "Please make sure to tell each other how you truly feel."
I nodded, silently committing her words to heart.
As I rose to leave, preparing to let Adar rest, a darker memory crept unbidden into my mind—a deep, resonant echo of Giaret, the former Queen who had caused so much suffering. Adar's words had awakened a reminder of the shadows lurking just beyond my reign.
Giaret's Past (A Dark Memory)
The next person to take the throne after the King had been Giaret.
She had desired the crown, yes—but her insatiable greed and refusal to yield to anything but her ambition led inevitably to her downfall.
Once beautiful and, tragically, a mother, she had been consumed by darkness, her obsession eventually centering on my sons.
I shook my head, clearing the haunting images of Giaret's desperate, obsessive figure in her cell. She was no longer my problem. The mantle I now bore was my own, and my duty lay firmly with the kingdom and with Hakan.
Meanwhile, outside, life in its quiet simplicity went on. A small, plump green-and-white bird perched precariously atop a magnificent urn outside the window.
"Ugh, they've been going on and on about such dull topics," the bird chirped, clearly perturbed by the weighty conversation within. "She should give me some more nuts if she has the time to do that!"
It stretched its tiny wings and launched into a swift, frustrated flight across the sunlit garden.
"Huh? Where's that bird headed?" I murmured absently, catching a fleeting flash of green before it disappeared from view. My thoughts returned to the conversation with Adar and the responsibilities now weighing heavily upon me.
The moment with Adar had ended, leaving my path forward for both the kingdom and my relationship with Hakan clear.
I watched the green-and-white bird vanish into the expanse of the sun-drenched garden, shaking my head with a small smile. "Huh? Where's that bird headed?" I murmured, then dismissed the thought, returning my focus to Adar's counsel and the fragile stability of the kingdom.
But the bird had a more important destination than a few nuts. It darted straight across the palace grounds, an anxious flurry of feathers, until it reached a lesser-known annex of the palace. The building was shrouded in shadows, its elegance neglected, its grandeur muted by cobwebs and time.
The bird tapped frantically against the glass doors. Inside, a woman sat at a lavish dressing table, her back to the door. Blonde hair fell in soft, voluminous waves around the antique chair she occupied. A faint, lilting tune escaped her lips—"Hum… Hmm hmm"—soft, deliberate, unsettling in its calmness.
She turned slightly, extending a hand gloved in pristine white. The small bird, confident now, perched upon her fingers, releasing a tightly rolled parchment from its beak.
"Hmm," the woman murmured, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the message. A wicked grin crept across her face, a blend of satisfaction, cunning, and silent menace. "I see… so the Tayar Tribe is becoming more stable."
Rising slowly, her dark, regal dress flowing around her pale figure, she stepped out onto a balcony draped in overgrown foliage. Her presence caught the attention of the small green bird, which circled back, landing nearby with a frustrated chirp.
"Who's… she?" it seemed to wonder, startled by the sudden intrusion.
The woman held the message close, the faintest sinister music note appearing above her head as if heralding her intent. Beautiful, yet cold and calculating, her expression was one of jealousy and dangerous ambition.
"She looks just like Lucina!" she thought, the internal voice of resentment laced with malice. Her gaze remained fixed, unblinking, on me—the Interim Queen, blissfully unaware of the shadow now watching her.
Her eyes gleamed with ambition, sharp as a blade. "You should keep working even harder for my sake, Lucina."
The threat was clear. While I labored to consolidate peace and build a life with Hakan, another figure—strikingly similar to me, yet wholly malicious—observed from the shadows, poised to exploit every weakness.