She stood there, unmoving.
Liam's eyes—once wild with warmth, reckless with hope—were now distant, unreadable.
He looked at her like a stranger on the battlefield.
Her throat tightened. Her lips parted.
"Liam… it's me."
He tilted his head. Confused. Curious.But there was no spark.
He nodded politely, as if she were a guard, or an advisor.
"Are you injured?" he asked, tone neutral.
That hurt more than a blade ever could.
The Queen smiled faintly, hiding the tremor in her hands.
"No," she whispered. "You saved me."
And you forgot why.
She had prepared for death.
For betrayal.
Even for the world ending in darkness.
But not this.
Not being erased from his heart.
She had trained her whole life to wear the mask of a monarch, of an assassin, of a goddess.
But now, behind the calm, her soul cracked like a glass castle in a storm.
He gave up everything… even me.
And she couldn't scream.Couldn't cry.Because he was alive.
Because this was his choice.
