ELARA
I stand on my balcony until the stars fade and the sun rises.
All night. Just standing here, staring at nothing, thinking about everything.
My body doesn't need sleep—another wonderful feature of immortality. I haven't slept in centuries. Sometimes I miss it. Dreams were a way to escape reality for a little while.
Now reality is all I have. Endless, unchanging reality.
The sunrise is beautiful. Gold and pink spreading across the sky like hope.
I hate it.
Not because it's ugly. Because it's exactly the same sunrise I watched yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that for a thousand years.
Every sunrise, every sunset, every turn of the seasons—they're all identical when you've seen them three thousand times.
A knock on my bedroom door interrupts my thoughts.
"Your Majesty?" A servant's voice, timid. "Breakfast is ready."
"I'm not hungry." Another lie. I can eat, but I don't need to. Food lost its appeal around year eight hundred.
"Should I... should I take it away?"
"Do whatever you want."
Footsteps retreat quickly. The servants are terrified of me now. Yesterday's news from the Summit has spread through the entire palace.
The Eternal Queen is dangerous. The Eternal Queen uses dark magic. Stay away from the Eternal Queen.
I should care. I should reassure them. I should be a good ruler.
But I'm so tired of pretending.
I turn away from the sunrise and walk back into my bedroom. Everything is exactly where it should be. Perfect. Ordered. Dead.
Like me.
My reflection catches in the mirror as I pass. Twenty-seven years old forever. Long dark hair. Pale skin. Eyes that look centuries older than my face.
I'm beautiful. Everyone says so. The eternal beauty of the Immortal Queen.
They don't see the corpse underneath. The woman who died three thousand years ago and forgot to stop walking.
I sit on my bed—perfectly made, because I make it every morning even though I don't sleep in it. Habits from when I was human. From when I was alive.
A memory flashes: Marcus laughing on our wedding morning. "You're going to be my wife," he said, spinning me around. "Can you believe it? We get forever together."
Forever lasted six hours.
The sorcerer Aldric appeared during our wedding ceremony. He loved me. I didn't love him back. So he cursed me with the one thing I wanted—forever with Marcus.
Except the curse took Marcus's life to power mine. He died in my arms, blood on his wedding clothes, his last words a whisper: "I'll always love you."
And I've been alive ever since. Carrying his soul inside me. Unable to die. Unable to let him go.
Three thousand years of guilt.
Three thousand years of grief.
Three thousand years of waiting for something to change.
I stand up abruptly. I can't sit here drowning in memories. I need to do something. Anything.
I walk to my library—one of twelve in the palace. This one is my private collection. Books about curses, magic, death, immortality. I've read every single one at least ten times.
None of them helped.
My fingers trail along the spines. Breaking Curses: A Comprehensive Guide. Read it. Didn't work. The Art of Undying. Read it. Made things worse. Death Magic and Its Applications. Read it. Almost burned down the palace trying one of the spells.
Nothing works. The curse is too strong, too old, too perfect.
Aldric was a master sorcerer. He made sure I could never escape.
I pull out a book at random—Ancient Rituals of the Northern Kingdoms—and open it. The pages are yellowed with age. I've owned this book for nine hundred years.
A pressed flower falls out from between the pages. Purple and dried and fragile.
Marcus gave me that flower on our wedding day. "For my beautiful bride," he said.
I pick it up carefully. It crumbles to dust in my fingers.
Everything dies. Everything but me.
I close the book and put it back. Reading won't help. Nothing in these books will help. I've exhausted every option, tried every spell, followed every lead.
Except one.
The thought from last night returns. Stronger now. More solid.
An assassin.
If I can't kill myself, maybe someone else can. Someone trained. Someone who knows how to find weaknesses, exploit vulnerabilities, end lives.
The Shadow King's guild is the best. Everyone knows that. His assassins never fail. They can kill anyone, anywhere, anytime.
Even me?
The question burns in my mind. Could they kill someone who's supposed to be unkillable?
Only one way to find out.
I return to my bedroom and sit at my desk. Fresh parchment. My favorite quill—a gift from a king who's been dead for two hundred years.
I dip the quill in ink.
Then I hesitate.
This is insane. I'm about to write a letter hiring someone to murder me. If anyone finds out, it will confirm everything Matthias said. The crazy queen. The death-obsessed ruler. The tyrant dabbling in darkness.
But Matthias already destroyed my reputation. What do I have to lose?
Everything. Nothing. It's the same thing when you're immortal.
I start writing.
To the Shadow King and his guild of assassins...
The words flow easier than I expected. I explain the situation. The curse. The immortality. The impossible job. I offer one million gold coins—more money than most kingdoms see in a decade.
Will they think it's a trap? Probably.
Will they come anyway? Maybe.
The best assassins love impossible challenges. They live for the thrill of killing what can't be killed.
I'm betting someone will take the bait.
I finish the letter and read it over three times. It sounds desperate because it is. But it also sounds intriguing. A puzzle. A challenge.
A chance at glory and gold.
If I were an assassin, I'd take this job.
I seal the letter with black wax and press my royal seal into it. The moonveil symbol—a crescent moon over waves. My family crest from three thousand years ago. Everyone else who carried this symbol is dust now.
I walk back to the balcony. The sun is fully up now. Another day beginning. Another endless day.
I hold the letter in both hands and close my eyes.
Shadow magic responds to my call—it always does. Dark tendrils rise from my palms, wrapping around the letter like smoke. The magic is cold and familiar. I've been using shadow magic for so long, it's part of me now.
"Deliver this to the Crimson Citadel," I whisper. "To the Shadow King himself. Let no one else see it."
The shadows pulse once, understanding. Then they disappear, taking the letter with them.
Gone. Sent. Done.
Now I wait.
That's all I ever do. Wait.
I stand on my balcony as the morning sun climbs higher. Birds sing. Clouds drift. The world keeps turning like I'm not standing here planning my own murder.
Somewhere out there, my letter is traveling through shadows. In a few hours, it will reach the Crimson Citadel. The Shadow King will read it.
Then... what?
Will he send someone? Will he ignore it? Will he think I'm insane?
I don't know. I can't know.
All I can do is wait.
Three thousand years of waiting. What's a few more days?
Below me, in the palace courtyard, servants are whispering. I can hear them even from up here—immortal senses are annoyingly sharp.
"Did you hear? The Queen's gone mad."
"Lord Matthias was right. She's dangerous."
"We should leave. Before she turns on us."
I grip the balcony railing. The black crystal cracks under my fingers.
Let them whisper. Let them fear me. Let them leave.
I've been alone for three thousand years.
I can survive a few more days of it.
The sun continues rising. The day continues starting.
And I continue standing here, watching, waiting.
Waiting for someone to come and end this.
Waiting for death.
Finally.