After a long moment of silence between them, the queen suddenly grabbed Laury's arm and pulled him into a nearby house. He was shocked the instant he stepped inside. Sitting there was a very old man, his presence calm yet unsettling.
Margaret spoke first. "This is Laury—the boy I told you about."
The old man looked Laury up and down, then laughed softly. "Ah… no wonder," he said. "Now I understand why you spoke of him that way."
Laury glanced at Margaret, words stuck in his throat. Not yet.
She turned to him and said gently, "This is Mister George. I'll explain everything later."
Laury shook the old man's hand, still confused, before Margaret pulled him toward a small coach in the corner of the room. They sat together while George prepared breakfast behind them.
Laury leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Your Majesty… what is going on? How could you trust this man? What happened to you before I arrived? Why are you here? Did they hurt you?"
She exhaled slowly. "Laury, please… give me a moment. These past two days were madness. I will explain everything."
He nodded, then asked, "But who is this man?"
"He knows everything," she said calmly. "You can speak freely."
George suddenly approached and placed a hand on her forehead, as if checking for fever. Instantly, she pushed his hand away.
"I'm fine," she said firmly. "Without this man, I would already be dead. And that is exactly what will happen to Elara if you don't let me speak now."
Laury froze. Then he stopped questioning.
Margaret began to speak. Her hands held his, resting against the white fabric of her dress. Their eyes met—deep, endless, like two oceans colliding. In that moment, she entrusted him not only with her story, but with her life.
She told him everything.
And as she spoke, Laury realized something undeniable:
she was no longer just his queen.
She had become someone irreplaceable.