Serena
The candlelight trembled against the cold stone walls of my private chamber, stretching shadows like long, crooked fingers across the floor. Outside, the streets of southern Eryndale were quiet, the soft wind carrying the faint scent of smoke from last week's harvest fires. Night had fallen completely, yet sleep eluded me. The darkness did not bring relief. Instead, it carried the weight of memories, of rage, and of a burning question: how would I make him pay?
Xaiden Dilph.
Even the name burned in my mind like a brand. Four weeks had passed since he claimed northern Eryndale, and in that short span, he had also claimed my family's blood and memory. My mother's last cry, my father's desperate attempt to shield me, my brother's terrified gaze—all of it replayed endlessly, a film of horror I could not close. And he had stood there, calm and unshaken, as if the world had been made for him to destroy.
I sank onto the edge of the oak table, brushing my fingers over the intricate map laid across it. Northern Eryndale stretched before me in inked rivers, mountains, and villages. I traced my finger along the trade routes, imagining them cut off. I traced the rivers and roads as if memorizing them would allow me to twist them to my will.
A plan began to take shape, precise and deadly:
* Poison the northern granaries. Starve him into submission.
* Sever the trade routes. Isolate him from allies.
* Whisper rumors to the villagers, sow rebellion, and watch his own people turn against him.
* And finally, face him. Look into his eyes and make him feel the destruction he had wrought on my family.
I could see it clearly in my mind's eye—the perfect orchestration of his downfall. The cold calculation, the fear in his eyes, the satisfaction of seeing him broken before me.
And yet…
My chest tightened. My hands, so steady moments before, trembled over the map. This was the same anger, the same fire that had destroyed my family. I remembered that night vividly: the courtyard slick with my father's blood, my mother's hand slipping from mine, my brother's screams echoing as Xaiden walked among the ruins with cold precision.
If I enacted this plan, the world would drown in the same darkness I had known. Villages would burn. Innocents would starve. Children would cry. And I would become the very monster I hated.
I swallowed hard.
No. The word came from deep within me, sharp and unyielding. I could not allow myself to become him. I could not let my grief and rage dictate my actions, twisting me into something darker than he had ever been. He had taken my family, yes. He had stolen my past. But he would not claim my future, my morality, or the woman I still had the power to be.
I pushed the map aside. It slid across the table with a soft scrape, the carefully drawn lines of rivers and roads meaningless in that moment. My hands rested on my knees as I sank into the chair, my eyes drawn to the darkened city below.
Even in the silence of night, Eryndale was alive. Children laughed as they ran through the narrow streets, unaware of the war that had swept through their lands, unaware of the rulers whose conflicts determined their fate. Smoke curled from distant forges, and the occasional lantern flickered against the walls of the quiet homes. The city was unaware of the storm in my mind, and perhaps, for now, that was for the best.
I allowed myself to remember the festival from my childhood—the one Xaiden had attended as a boy, laughing and teasing, oblivious to the harshness of the world. Ralph, my brother, and I had run through the streets, chasing each other past the wheat fields, our laughter mingling with the wind. Even then, I had known the fragility of peace, the ease with which happiness could shatter. That memory now burned with both longing and pain.
The candle's flame reflected in the polished surface of the table, and I saw myself, not as a ruler, not as a warrior, not as a daughter of the Hawtons, but as a woman on the edge of a choice: vengeance or restraint. My fingers brushed the edge of the table, tracing the carved wood absentmindedly as thoughts tumbled through my mind.
Revenge would be satisfying, intoxicating. It would feel as though justice had finally been served. But I had seen what hatred did, and I had felt the weight of loss. To enact this plan would be to step into a cycle of pain from which neither of us would emerge unscathed. I could feel my heartbeat slow, the anger dimming just enough to allow reason to surface.
I rose from the chair and walked to the window, looking down at the quiet city below. A horse neighed somewhere in the distance, and the wind carried a soft murmur of activity—the sounds of a life that would continue despite war and death, despite rulers and battles. I could almost imagine him there—Xaiden, confident, arrogant, untouchable, completely unaware that the woman he had destroyed was alive, watching, and thinking.
I allowed myself a small, bitter smile. He had taken much from me, yes, but he would not take my mind, my patience, or my resolve. The plan of fire and destruction, intricate and tempting as it had been, now lay discarded. In its place burned something colder, steadier: strategy, observation, and a patience honed by loss.
I would wait. I would watch. I would learn every detail about him—his habits, his pride, his defenses, and his weaknesses. And when the time was right… when the stakes were true and the opportunity unavoidable… I would act.
But not tonight. Tonight, the city slept. And tonight, I allowed myself a moment of peace, even as anger and grief lingered at the edges of my mind.
I blew out the candle. Darkness filled the chamber, and with it, a sense of clarity.
Xaiden had taken everything he could. My family. My trust. My past. But he would not take me. Not my mind, not my soul, and not the future I still had the power to shape.
Tomorrow, the world might tremble. Tonight, I would rest, even if only for a few hours, beneath the silent watch of the stars.
I let the darkness envelop me, and for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to breathe.
The ember of patience glowed, quiet but unyielding. And when the moment came, Xaiden would finally understand that a queen's revenge need not be immediate—but it would be inevitable.
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