Margret did not wait for the next day.
Time was no longer her ally.
The moment she heard the minister's report, she stood. Orders were given quickly. Horses were prepared. Whispers filled the halls—but she ignored them all.
She would go herself.
Laury was her last hope, and she knew it.
As the queen rode into the city, silence followed her.
Doors opened. People stopped walking. Every gaze turned toward her—not with love, not with fear, but with disbelief. This was the first time a royal had entered their streets without guards pushing people aside, without commands shouted in anger.
Instinctively, some bowed their heads. Others simply stared.
Even those who hated the monarchy felt something shift.
Margret stepped down from her horse and walked forward alone.
Then she saw him.
Laury stood among the people, his strong frame unmistakable, his presence commanding without effort. For a brief moment, her breath caught—not from admiration, but recognition.
It's him.
The boy. The one who had turned his back on her words. The one who had emptied the square.
She took a step closer.
"You are the one who—" she began.
She stopped herself.
This was not the moment for pride.
Laury bowed his head—not deeply, not submissively—but enough to show respect. Nothing more.
Margret exhaled slowly.
"I have no other choice," she said.
Her voice did not tremble.
"You will not do this for me," she continued. "Nor for the monarchy you despise."
She met his eyes. "You will do it for the people who trust you more than their queen. For the ones who love you more than anyone else."
A murmur passed through the crowd.
Laury's jaw tightened. "Even if I did," he replied, "it wouldn't fix an unjust monarchy."
Margret stepped closer.
Then—against every rule she had been raised with—she begged.
"Please," she said quietly. "You are everyone's last hope."
She reached for his hand, wanting to say more—but he pulled back instantly, as if burned.
The city held its breath.
Laury looked around him. At the faces. At the boys he trained. At the people who believed in him because no one else ever had.
Finally, he spoke.
"I will do it," he said.
A pause.
"For them," he added. "Not for you."
Relief spread through the crowd like sunlight after a storm. Smiles appeared. Whispers turned into hope.
Margret nodded, her chest lighter—but not completely at ease.
She returned to her horse, feeling something unfamiliar settle within her.
Pride.
And uncertainty.
As she prepared to leave, the minister stepped forward, handing Laury a sealed paper.
"You are expected at the castle tomorrow morning."
Laury took it without a word.
And the city watched as fate quietly changed direction.