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Hakan
The palace, usually alive with gilded opulence and the echo of busy footsteps, felt suffocatingly still. Every corridor, every towering pillar seemed to weigh down on me, pressing with the knowledge that the walls themselves were no longer safe. Whispers traveled faster than the guards could stop them, carrying dread with every syllable.
"They say it's because of Lucina…" a trembling voice muttered from the shadowed alcove. I didn't need them to say more. I already knew.
But my concern went beyond personal grief. My injury—a shallow, yet stubbornly persistent wound—was no longer just pain; it was a vulnerability. And news, as it always did, flowed like poison through these halls. A young attendant, a girl with pink hair cut in a frightened bob, leaned toward her companion, barely daring to breathe, her voice a delicate thread of fear.
"Giaret… they're saying she'll be released soon," she whispered.
The name lingered in my mouth like ash.
Another maid, her eyes wide with the terror of someone standing too close to a storm, added, "And… someone else might take the throne. Maybe… we should start thinking about which side to choose."
Their fear was raw, tangible, but it was a currency I could not allow myself to spend. I needed control. I needed clarity.
"What are you saying?!" a voice snapped—one of the maids finally found her courage. But even then, the words dissolved into a muttered apology as she hastily excused herself. Survival was evident in her flight; the palace was already too dangerous for hesitancy.
I sank onto my throne, the golden seat no longer regal but suffocating, a gilded trap. Gillai, ever diligent, approached with a silver tray in hand. His expression was grave, the lines of worry etched deep into his face.
"This is medicine, Your Majesty," he said quietly. "It should ease the pain and slow the spread of the impure energy within your body."
I took it without hesitation, the bitter taste scraping the back of my throat, a small price for temporary relief. "Why do you look as if the world is ending?" I asked the woman by my side, seeking some fragment of reassurance in the storm around us.
She met my gaze, wide-eyed and tense. "Do you not know?" Her voice trembled with urgency. "The White Dragon Tribe… and the Black Dragon Tribe… their movements have not been normal lately. Something is coming."
I felt a pulse of frustrated energy, a fire I could not release. "I don't know when they'll strike," I admitted, the words catching in my throat as if my own wound had swallowed them.
"I know," she replied, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
"Then why do you seem calm?" Her concern pricked at me. "They could take advantage of your injury… they could—"
"I doubt anyone is foolish enough to attempt that," I said, though even as I spoke, the dark energy surrounding my injury seemed to writhe with unspoken threat.
"There are always reckless ones," she said firmly. "Maybe they wouldn't have dared before, but now…" Her gaze sharpened, and I felt the weight of her conviction press against me. "We must prepare for war between the White and Black Dragon Tribes."
Her words hit home. My injury was more than flesh; it was leverage. A political opening the tribes were already circling. "At this rate, the kingdom may fracture," I murmured, almost to myself.
She leaned closer, her voice a whisper sharp with truth. "You said the Elders are behind this unrest, yes?"
"Yes," I confirmed, a cold weight settling over my chest.
The puzzle pieces aligned in my mind—the tribal unrest, the whispers of the maids, the shadowed schemes of the Elders. "It seems the Elders are moving to restore Giaret to power," I muttered, each syllable tasting of betrayal.
The thought of Giaret's return was bitter and corrosive. My advisor's explanation was methodical, devoid of sentiment but weighted with the gravity of the law and tradition.
"If they succeed, the other dragon tribes would ensure their heir is connected through her… securing a claim to the throne," she explained, her words slicing through the air like a sharpened blade.
I understood, with a cold clarity, the cruel mechanics of the Elders' plan. "Under normal circumstances, such a scheme wouldn't work…" I began, my voice low, filled with a mix of disbelief and fury.
"Normally, yes," she replied. "But Lucina and you… you have no child, and Lucina cannot bear one anymore."
Her words hit me harder than any blade. The barren truth of my marriage—an intimate pain I had long hidden—was now the fulcrum of political maneuvering.
"The Queen of Taar must bear a Draconian child to be acknowledged," she said quietly, the weight of centuries in her tone. "They are exploiting tradition to reclaim the throne."
I clenched my fist, nails biting into my palm. "And you're saying we just… let this happen?"
Her eyes held mine, unyielding. "I have an idea, Your Majesty."
I swallowed hard. "Speak."
Her suggestion struck me like an unseen arrow. "If it takes too long to find your missing child, you must marry Giaret before the other tribes intervene."
The words hung in the air, a vile echo against the walls of the throne room.
"Are you serious?" I roared, rage flooding through me. "Do you expect me to abandon Lucina… to betray everything I love?"
"I would rather eliminate Giaret myself!" I growled, my voice trembling with a mixture of pain and fury.
But her resolve remained. "If Giaret disappears… the tribes will descend into war over the throne. And eventually, our kingdom will fall… to Brion or the Dragon Slayers."
The vision of my lands ablaze, of cities reduced to ash, of my people torn apart, nearly broke me.
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" I bellowed, the sound echoing through the empty hall, mingling with my pain and my grief.
Her posture softened, though her eyes remained sharp. "Think, Your Majesty… think of the kingdom first."
The crown on my head pressed down heavier than ever. Rage subsided into despair, leaving me with the suffocating weight of impossible choice.
"Is my only option… to marry Giaret… as Ifran suggested?" I whispered, more to the shadows than to her.
My knees hit the cold floor as I collapsed, breath ragged, heart torn. The world outside the throne room seemed to fade, leaving only the unbearable truth: love and duty were at odds, and my path was shrouded in darkness.
"LEAVE! NOW! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" I cried, the throne room echoing with the raw fury and helplessness of a king caught between heart and kingdom.
---
"Is my only option… to marry Giaret, like Ifran said…?" The words slipped from my lips, heavy with dread.
I closed my eyes, trying to push back the images that threatened to consume me. I was the Dragon King, yet at this moment, I felt entirely helpless. Duty pressed on me like iron chains. I could not allow the kingdom to fall into anyone else's hands.
I remembered my brother—the sacrifice he made, giving his life to protect me. I remembered the faces of the fallen warriors, the blood and courage of those who had died for this crown. I have to protect this kingdom.
But Lucina… my heart twisted painfully at the thought of her. Her smile, radiant and warm, flashed in my mind, and with it the memory of every night we had spent together.
"I can't just abandon Lucina."
I recalled the intimacy we had shared. "I spent the whole night with you, and yet the moment you leave my side, I start missing you." The ache in my chest deepened. "I want to be drunk on your love all day long."
The thought of another woman, Giaret, bearing a child meant for me and my queen, was torture. "I don't want another woman to bear your child," I whispered to the empty room, haunted by the memory of our shared kisses, our nights entwined in love and trust.
Both the kingdom and Lucina mattered more to me than my own life. But the cruelest truth pressed down like a mountain: I cannot protect both.
I squeezed my hand into a tight fist, nails digging into my palm, as if the pain could anchor me to some sense of control.
"I… What the hell am I supposed to do, Lucina…?" My voice broke, raw and desperate. I sank further, collapsing to my knees, the velvet throne mocking my powerless state.
A few days passed. The immediate crisis seemed to settle, but the shadow of dread lingered. Outside, near the palace pool, I observed Lucina walking with measured grace, every step regal yet shaded by the burdens she carried.
Her delicate form moved with poise, but my heart could see the storm behind her eyes. The choice—the impossible choice—between duty and love remained unresolved, gnawing at my resolve, at the very foundation of my being.
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Meanwhile
Suddenly, a conversation from passing servants cut through the quiet. "Have you heard the news? They're going to release Giaret!"
The words hit me like ice. I froze, my smile vanishing. Release Giaret?
"What's going to happen now?" one servant whispered to the other. "I don't know," the second replied. "Apparently, this is something the King decided himself."
My maid tried to shield me from the whispers. "Don't listen to them, My Lady. I'm sure it's just nonsense."
But the damage was done. My throat tightened. "M-my Lady... Well..." my attendant stammered, seeing the look in my eyes.
My voice was barely a breath, filled with dread. "Did you say Hakan ordered her to be released?". The thought that my husband, the man who swore his love to me, had made a decision with such terrible implications for our future—and our marriage—was a crushing realization.
Lucina now knows about Giaret's release and believes Hakan ordered it.