After three days of gathering men, the camp finally stood complete.
Rows formed—long, disciplined lines of people dressed in formal attire, their numbers standing as proof of strength, loyalty, and devotion to their country. Even as many hid their true feelings, there was something unspoken moving among them. They knew.
They all felt it.
There was something different about Queen Margaret.
Admiration lived quietly in their eyes—some for the kingdom, some for her. They did not say her name aloud with longing, but their silence spoke louder than words.
Amid the charged atmosphere, a voice suddenly called out to Laury.
"Laury!"
He turned to see James—his closest friend since childhood.
A rare smile crossed Laury's face as he walked toward him. One by one, men approached, shaking his hand, pulling him into brief embraces. Trust followed him like a shadow. It settled heavily on his shoulders, pushing him to work harder, to give more, to become stronger than he already was.
Then, a cry cut through the noise.
A little girl stood trembling at the edge of the crowd, tears streaking her face.
Laury and James moved toward her instantly.
"I can't find my parents," she sobbed. "They were right here…"
Before protocol could be restored—before guards or officials could intervene—the Queen broke it.
Margaret appeared behind Laury, stepping directly into the heart of the crowd.
Everyone froze.
Men bowed.
Women curtsied.
But Margaret did not look at them.
"Keep the child with us until her parents are found," she said calmly.
In that moment, it was clear—she was not a queen by title alone.
Laury and James bowed deeply.
The little girl looked up at Margaret with wide, hopeful eyes. "Can you carry me?"
Margaret stepped back.
She didn't know how to respond. Children were foreign to her world—too fragile, too unpredictable. But the girl insisted, tugging at Laury's sleeve, reaching for the Queen again.
James leaned closer and whispered, "All you need to do… is carry her."
After a brief pause, Margaret reached out.
She lifted the child into her arms.
The girl burst into laughter.
Something shifted.
Hearts softened. The tension in the air eased, just a little. Margaret carried the child with her to the meeting room, keeping her close while waiting for Laury and James to escort her into the city to find her parents.
That night, Laury arrived.
"I'll go with you to the front gate," Margaret said.
They walked together, the little girl between them—each holding one of her hands.
Then the child looked up innocently and asked,
"Your Majesty… is Laury your husband?"
Silence fell.
Margaret stopped walking.
Laury answered quickly, "No. I work for her."
The girl frowned. "Oh… I thought you were together. You look so good together."
Margaret felt warmth rise to her cheeks—uninvited, uncontrollable.
Laury looked away.
He refused to allow himself to feel it.
He already had a girlfriend.
He had a life.
He had rules.
And yet—
Whatever stirred inside him whenever he stood near Margaret…
was something else entirely.
Something darker.
Something cursed.