Far from the shadowy depths of the Mage's Tower, in the sprawling, elegant estate that was her birthright, Duchess Sylvia moved through her chambers like a caged storm. The news of Queen Valerie's 'death' and King Ainsworth's immediate ascension had reached her like a physical blow, stripping away her composure and leaving behind a raw, gaping wound.
"Ainsworth," she hissed, the name a bitter venom on her tongue. "That power-hungry viper. I always knew he wanted the throne, the way a carrion bird eyes a dying beast, but to actually… to dare commit such treachery…"
The opulent rooms, usually filled with the quiet bustle of a well-run household, were now silent save for the Duchess's anguish. In her private sitting room, a space normally characterized by tasteful art and serene order, chaos reigned.
A delicate porcelain teacup lay shattered against a silk-covered wall, its shards glittering like fallen stars. Her gaze fell upon a priceless vase filled with fragrant lilies. With a guttural scream, "Aghh!" ripping from her throat – a sound that was more animal than human, of pure, unadulterated rage and grief – she seized it, its smooth coolness a stark contrast to the fire in her veins.
"Valerie always said, 'He's family, Sylvia! We must give trust first, see the good!'" As the last word tore from her throat, Sylvia hurled the vase across the room. It met the expensive rug with a sickening crash, fragmented remains scattering like fallen hopes. "Just like she did with Clara all those years ago, taking in a frightened girl with untamed magic, and look how that trust blossomed, how Clara became her shield, her salvation even!"
"But Ainsworth… he only ever saw an opening to exploit!" The scent of crushed lilies and damp earth filled the air, a mournful perfume for her despair.
Sylvia paced, her fists clenched, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Tears streamed unheeded down her face, carving paths through the dust of her despair.
"He wouldn't dare," she seethed, the words a ragged echo of her own past disbelief. "That's what I told myself. What Valerie believed! Her unwavering faith in giving people a chance, her belief that kindness could temper ambition… with him, it only fed the monster!" A low, keening sound escaped her, a sound of pure, untamed agony that she, a woman renowned for her stoicism and grace, had never allowed herself to utter before.
Outside the heavy oak door, two young maids huddled together, their faces pale with fear and concern. They had served the Duchess for years and had only ever known her as a paragon of noble composure, kind but always dignified, her emotions kept carefully in check.
"I've never seen her like this," one whispered, her eyes wide. "Her Grace… she's always so gentle, so controlled." "It's the Queen's passing," the other murmured, her own eyes damp. "They were like sisters, everyone knew it. To lose her so… so horribly. And now with King Ainsworth…" She trailed off, the unspoken fear of the new regime hanging heavy in the air. A wrenching cry tore from within the room, a name screamed with such raw pain it made them flinch. "VALERIE!"
Inside, Sylvia sank to her knees, the sound ripped from the very depths of her soul. She clutched at her chest, where a relentless ache resided, a hollow where her heart used to beat with steady purpose. In her trembling hand, she still held the small, velvet-covered box – the moonstone locket she had intended to give Valerie for her birthday, the gift that now felt like a leaden weight of regret.
"Why?" she choked out, addressing the empty room, the shattered remnants of her composure.
"Why didn't I give it to you? Why didn't I tell you?" The words were a torrent of self-recrimination. "I should have spoken. I should have been braver. Perhaps… perhaps if you had known…" The thought, a fragile, painful 'what if,' twisted like a knife in her gut.
"Oh, why..., why didn't I stay with her longer that night?" she screamed, her voice cracking with anguish. "She was so tired, so burdened! If I had just stayed, lingered a little more in her study, perhaps that assassin would never have found his moment! Maybe I could have… I could have stopped it!"
"And why," her voice rose again, laced with fury and a terrible, consuming guilt, "why couldn't I protect you? I swore I would. From the day we met, I swore to be your shield!" She had been her staunchest supporter, her confidante, the one who had helped navigate the treacherous currents of court politics to secure Valerie's rightful place on the throne.
"But when the true danger struck," she choked out, beating a fist against her own thigh, "I was… absent! Helpless! What good were all my promises then?"
She collapsed onto the floor, curling into herself, the sobs racking her body with violent intensity. The locket pressed painfully into her palm, a constant, tangible reminder of her lost love, her unspoken words, her profound failure.
And beneath the crushing weight of grief and guilt, another, more insidious pain throbbed – the physical toll of the demon's pact. Her body felt heavy, her limbs leaden. The ten years stolen from her life were not just an abstract number; she felt their absence. It was a deep, gnawing ache in her bones, a weariness that settled into the very marrow of her being, a chilling premonition of a life prematurely shortened. Every movement was an effort, every breath tinged with a subtle, persistent exhaustion that had not been there before.
Her grief was not just for Valerie, but for the lost promise of their future together. She mourned the vibrant energy they shared when they were side-by-side, the deep love and happiness she had hoped would define their days, the quiet, cherished dream of finally being lovers. All that potential, that future filled with shared joy and intimacy, now stretched out before her, bleak, grey, and barren.
"Oh, Valerie," she whispered brokenly, tracing the outline of the locket with a trembling finger, "your smile… I'd give anything to see your smile again, just once. To feel the warmth of your hand in mine, even for a moment." The memory was a fresh wave of pain.
The tears continued to fall, soaking the rich carpet, each one a testament to a love unspoken, a queen lost, and a price paid in years and sorrow.
"Just to be near you," she murmured, her voice thick with unshed sobs, "to hear your laugh, to see the light in your eyes when you spoke of Eldoria… that was enough. That was everything." The elegant estate, once a symbol of her noble lineage and quiet strength, now felt like a beautifully appointed prison, echoing with the sounds of her broken heart.
"And all those sunlit tomorrows, Valerie, the bright future we envisioned for Eldoria," she choked out, her voice a ragged whisper against the silence, "are now just… endless, starless nights."
Her voice, though still from her prone position, rose to a desperate, anguished cry that echoed through the silent estate, "Valerie!" Fresh tears streamed down her face, soaking into the carpet beneath her cheek. Her shoulders slumped further, the fight momentarily leaving her. Still laying there, she whispered to the empty air, her breath catching, "I love you so much, Valerie… my Queen." Her hand fell limply to her side, the velvet box slipping from her grasp. "And now… now you'll never even know how much."