I didn't remember collapsing. But I woke on silk.
The fabric beneath me was too smooth, too quiet. The sheets didn't smell like the servant dormitories no mildew, no lye, no sleeping bodies stacked too close. They smelled like lavender. And smoke. I sat up too fast.
Pain lanced through my skull. The weight was still there light, but heavy in meaning. The crown hadn't been removed.
They'd left it on me. I reached up, fingertips brushing the cool, ancient metal now fused to my skin. It wasn't just a symbol. It pulsed like a heartbeat. Like it was alive. Like it had claimed me.
And the room… Gold, everywhere. Carved pillars. Firelight flickering through stained-glass windows. A polished floor so reflective I saw myself in it bloody lip, tangled hair, crown glowing like it had always been mine.
This was the Queen's wing. I had no idea how I'd gotten here.
The door creaked open.
I tensed automatically, ready to run—though where, I didn't know. But the figure who stepped in wasn't a guard.
He was something else entirely. Dark hair, straight and too neat. Sharp jaw. Cold grey eyes that didn't blink. He wore no crown, but somehow looked more dangerous than any royal I'd ever seen. His black armor gleamed like glass, silver lining the edges. A sword rested casually at his hip, and I knew without asking it wasn't ceremonial.
He wasn't here to bow.
"You're awake," he said, voice like flint. "Good. That saves me the trouble of dragging you out."
"Who are you?" My voice cracked, but I forced the words out anyway.
He didn't answer. Instead, he crossed the room, boots echoing against the polished stone.
I stood. Or tried to.
He was faster.
In a blink, he was in front of me eyes narrowed, expression unreadable. Not cruel. Not kind.
Just… assessing.
"You don't look like a queen," he said.
"I didn't ask to be one."
"Yet here you are. Wearing the crown."
I raised my chin. "I didn't steal it."
"No. That's what makes you dangerous."
Silence crackled between us.
Then he bowed just enough to be mocking. "I am Commander Dominic Throne,Royal Consort and protector of the crown. You're in my charge now."
"Consort?" I blinked. "But the prince is"
"Dead," he finished. "And the throne chose you. Which means, by ancient law, I belong to you."
The words didn't register. Not right away.
He belongs to me?
No. That couldn't be right. He looked like he belonged to no one but his own fury.
"I don't want you," I said without thinking.
He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
"No one ever does."
He turned to the door.
"Dress yourself. You're being presented to the court at dusk. Try not to faint again. It's unbecoming."
"Wait"
But he was already gone.
The heavy door shut behind him, leaving me alone in a palace I didn't understand, wearing a crown I hadn't asked for, and bound to a man I didn't trust.
I looked down at my shaking hands.
Was this power?
Because it didn't feel like power.
It felt like the beginning of something I wasn't sure I could survive.