The carriage set on the path to the Imperial Palace, its wheels rattling over the cobblestone. Inside, Gabriella Lancaster sat perfectly still, hands delicately folded in her lap, her back straight, and her gaze fixed on the slowly emerging silhouette of the palace.
It had been fifteen years.
Fifteen years since she last saw her son.
Fifteen years since she had truly looked at him- her beloved child- and known, in that moment, that she could not stay.
Fifteen Years Ago - The Night After the Coronation
The late emperor's funeral rites had ended three days prior. That morning, Elliott had been crowned.
He had worn the ceremonial robes, stood before thousands, and taken the oath of the crown with a trembling voice he tried to disguise as firm. She had watched him from afar, cloaked behind veils and shadows- he had not looked at her then. Not once. But she had seen his eyes.
He was afraid.
When the sun had dipped beyond the horizon and the celebrations died down, the throne room had emptied. Dignitaries returned to their chambers, and sycophants faded like ghosts with nothing left to gain. The torches were dimmed. Still, Elliott remained.
Gabriella entered quietly, her steps slow and purposeful across the marble floor, heels softly clicking with every step. The room was vast, echoing and cold, cloaked in darkness, with only slivers of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. In that light, she found him- not seated upon the gilded throne, but on the steps below it, slouched forward in exhaustion.
The crown sat askew on his head, too heavy for someone so young. He was seventeen, but to her, he looked no older than a boy still chasing birds in the courtyard. His hand trembled around a half-finished goblet of ceremonial wine.
He looked so small.
So alone.
"...You should be celebrating," she said softly, her voice quiet as silk brushing over marble.
Elliott didn't look up to see who it was. He didn't need to. He had known that sound since infancy. "Should I?" he replied hoarsely, voice thick with something heavy and unspoken.
She knew that tone. Knew what it meant. The words weren't a question- they were an accusation draped in grief.
He knew.
Gabriella had prepared for this moment. She had braced herself for the day when the light in her son's eyes would flicker into suspicion. She had always known it would come. Because he was smart. And because she was not a good person.
She had not yet looked directly at his face, because she feared she wouldn't be able to bear it. She wanted to explain. She wanted to fall at his feet and say she did it all for him. But she didn't.
Because explanations would only make what was coming harder for both of them.
He looked up at her. Finally. The light from the moon caught the sharp angles of his face- so like hers, yet softer, gentler. There was grief in his eyes. And uncertainty. As if he wasn't sure whether he still knew the woman standing before him.
Gabriella's breath hitched. She smiled faintly, though her heart squeezed painfully.
She would admit it- she had never been ambitious.
Becoming a concubine hadn't been her dream. It had been survival. A way to stay alive in a palace that swallowed the unprepared whole. She had sworn to herself that she would never bear a child in that place. She hadn't believed she could give them a life worth living.
But then Elliott came.
Despite every precaution, against every odd- he was born. Frail. Sickly. Precious.
And the first time she held him, her entire life shifted. His tiny fingers, his dewy eyes- so bright, so untainted- he was the first thing in her life she had ever called "mine" with conviction.
He was everything.
Gabriella hadn't changed because she wanted power. She changed because she was afraid. Afraid of what would happen to her son if she didn't act. Elliott was too kind for this world. Passive. Gentle-hearted. He could not fight like the others. Could not kill. Could not scheme. But the court was not a place for kindness.
So she became sharp where he was soft. Ruthless where he was merciful.
She whispered into the emperor's ears. She dosed rivals with subtle poisons-miscarriages, fevers, unexplained illnesses. She bribed midwives and court physicians. She ensured no other sons were born. Daughters, she allowed to live- but married them off to foreign kingdoms as soon as they bled.
All of it. Every scheme, every secret- was for him.
Because if Elliott sat on the throne, he would be safe. Because only from the highest seat could he truly be out of reach.
And now... he was emperor.
And she, a criminal.
She took a deep breath and lowered herself to her knees- not as a mother to her son, but as a subject to her sovereign.
"You have to exile me," she said, the words slicing through the silence like a blade.
Elliott's head snapped toward her. "What?" he whispered, incredulous.
"You have to exile me," she repeated, voice steady even as her heart broke. "For your conscience. For your reign."
"I won't-!" he began.
"Elliott." She reached forward, cupping his face in her hands. Her thumb brushed a tear that had slipped down his cheek. He had always been such a crybaby.
"You are kind. That is your strength. But it's also your weakness. If you let me stay, the court will never let you forget what I've done. They will use me against you. They'll twist your decisions, cast doubt on your rule. And eventually-"
Her own eyes began to sting with tears.
"Eventually, you will hate me for it."
His breath hitched. "But- you're my mother- how can I-"
"Shh." She smiled reassuringly, the kind of smile that had soothed his fevers, quieted his childhood nightmares. "I did what I did knowing this was coming. Please."
Because that was the thing, wasn't it?
She had known Elliott couldn't forgive her. But she had also known he wouldn't be able to punish her either. He would be stuck between his conscience and his love for her, paralyzed.
And that indecision... would rot him from the inside.
She would not let that happen.
"Let me go," she whispered. "I'm not asking to be imprisoned or executed. Just exile me to the countryside. Let me live quietly. Let me tend to a garden, listen to the wind, die in peace. And when you think of me, let me be your mother. Not your mistake."
The silence hung heavy between them.
Then, after what felt like an eternity- he nodded.
Present Day
The carriage rolled to a stop before the palace gates. It bore no crest. No seal of nobility. A common carriage for a woman no longer counted among the court.
The guards didn't move to open the gates. Of course they didn't.
Gabriella stepped out. Gone was the disguise. Her face was smooth and elegant and it wore no makeup- but still, she carried the weight of forgotten regality. Her eyes were unreadable.
She had not returned for power.
She had not returned for vengeance.
She had returned because someone had dared to harm her son.
And that- was unforgivable.
"Announce me," she said, her voice quiet, but firm.
The captain of the guard paled. "Y-Your Highness, but-"
"Now."
Within minutes, the news would spread like wildfire across the marble corridors.
The exiled Queen Mother has returned.
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AN: everybody gangsta except eliott