---
The Heris Mariale Mansion
"Doyenne Marie, you called for me?" Tina asked as she stepped into the room.
Marie responded with a cold, almost practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes.
The room was the grandest—and ironically, the barest—of all in the mansion.
Save for the large cotton bed by the wide window and a sparse cabinet joined to the vanity table, there was nothing to reflect Marie's powerful status. For her, it was a subtle reminder of humble beginnings.
"Yes," Marie said, rising from the chair at the vanity.
Her steps toward the petite Tina were slow and calculated, stirring dread with every footfall. When she finally stopped, still smiling, Tina knew better—Marie was not happy. Not even close.
"Do you know why I've called you?"
Tina froze. Her wide eyes searched her Madam's face, but deep down, she already knew. Still, a tiny yet stubborn part of her denied it; yes, she feared Marie—but King Awin was far more terrifying.
When silence stretched, Marie scoffed and turned to the window.
"Do you remember when we first met?"
"..."
"Was it the orphanage or the shelter?"
"I was on the streets," Tina corrected softly.
"Ah yes... your younger brother stole from me, and I, in my boundless mercy, chose not to press charges."
Tina bit her lip and fiddled with her apron.
"How is your brother?" Marie asked, watching her carefully.
"He's fine."
"Is he now?" Marie scoffed. "So you're telling me Awin isn't using him to blackmail you into poisoning my daughter?"
Tina's eyes bulged. She dropped to her knees, no longer pretending.
"I promise—I was told it wasn't poison!"
Marie 'tsked'. How naïve. No one ever admits to using poison, she thought.
She glanced down at the quivering maid. Tina was many things, but she could be useful—especially once she learned the truth: Awin had never kept his promise. Her brother had been killed from the beginning.
---
The Palace – Mahalia's Room
Jaslin stood over her cousin, biting back tears. She'd tried desperately to keep the news from their aunt and uncle—which was especially hard, considering it was the Queen's health in question, and Uncle Francis, Dylan's brother, had been the one treating her.
She turned away in shame. Four days had passed, and Mahalia only grew paler.
I should have stopped her.
"Wake up, you're really worrying me," she said softly at first. But when Mahalia didn't magically open her eyes, Jaslin grew frantic, nudging her repeatedly.
She knew it was useless—but hope made fools of everyone.
"Ow! That's no way to treat a patient," croaked a small, cracked voice.
"May?" Jaslin blinked, nearly crying. Was this real? Had she conjured it?
"In the flesh," Mahalia said with a tired smile. "How long was I out?"
"Four days."
Mahalia nodded thoughtfully. "And was the cause announced?"
"Yes. The whole court knows you were poisoned."
Mahalia smirked. "Then what are we doing here? I have a meeting to attend."
Jaslin knew better than to argue. No one could stop Mahalia once she made up her mind.
---
The King's Court
"So you're saying we need to stretch the Treasury past its limits?" one minister asked.
Another rolled his eyes. "Trust you to convolute everything. I'm just saying—we've got the Southern Continent Coalition meeting and Abunumas coming up. We need to budget accordingly."
"But the funds for Abunumas come from a different Treasury—"
The chamber doors flew open. A frail yet regal Mahalia entered, Jaslin right behind.
"You're discussing the Abunumas celebration without me? That goes against our agreement."
They all stood, startled. "Your Highness?"
"Yes, yes. I've just returned from death's door," she said breezily, taking her seat opposite the king.
Awin's expression was unreadable. Mahalia didn't care.
"But you're still recovering," someone protested.
"I am. But we agreed I'd attend the next meeting, and here I am. It is the Queen's duty to oversee preparations."
Silence. Her logic was sound—and many admired her dedication.
"There's nothing wrong with that, Your Highness. We were only being considerate of your condition."
"Speaking of conditions," Mahalia said coolly, "what do you plan on doing?"
Awin raised an eyebrow. Mahalia snickered.
"Why do you look surprised? I was poisoned. That's treason, or are we going to ignore that part "
"We've investigated. No culprit has been found."
Mahalia rolled her eyes. "That's worse. The Queen was nearly murdered and no one is responsible?"
"I move for a full investigation of all staff in the Queen's palace—and the right to dismiss any as I see fit."
"What? Your Highness—"
"Do not interrupt me. My life was threatened. I will not trust staff chosen by people who can't protect me."
"You think you'll succeed where my men failed?" Awin asked.
"Someone must be responsible. I collapsed in front of you all. That wasn't an accident."
The realization hit Awin like a slap. Mahalia had planned it—the dramatic collapse, the timing, the audience. All so she could purge his people. She risked her life... just for this?
He almost admired it. Almost.
"I understand your sentiment, my queen. But I doubt you'll find what we could not."
"Your Highness, let's not shoot the horse before it stands," a minister said. "She deserves this. No one can rest easy knowing the culprit is still at large."
He was Milton's right-hand man—and a key player in the so-called righteous faction. So they've made their move, Awin realized grimly.
Proving this, other ministers in the faction nodded in agreement, even those once neutral.
He had no choice now.
"Very well. You have free reign to vet and dismiss your staff."
"Thank you, Your Highness." Mahalia bowed. "As for the Abunumas preparations, I'll present a full report at our next meeting."
"Since I am recuperating, I'd like permission to be dismissed."
Awin clenched his fists. "You are dismissed."
Mahalia smiled, bowed again—mockingly this time—and left the hall.
Awin watched her go, rage boiling beneath his skin. How had he been outplayed?
He felt... conflicted. He was impressed at how calculated she was but was envious and anxious about the same fact. Had he done wrong by giving this girl power, he had initially thought were shackles?
All he knew was this: he had to possess her. Soon.
---
Three Hours Later
A cloaked Melinda crept into the King's room, carefully closing the door behind her. Her heartbeat was so loud, she thought it might echo.
After the meeting, Awin had summoned her—his voice strange, his gaze unreadable. He'd asked her to come dressed a certain way. It was felt off to Melinda for some reason. But she couldn't say no.
He had finally come to her. How could she refuse?
"You're here," Awin's voice floated from the shadows. The sun hadn't yet set, but the room was dim.
"Yes," Melinda breathed, letting her robe fall. Underneath, she wore a stunning dress—fit for a queen.
Awin smiled faintly and beckoned her closer. She obeyed.
He kissed her.
Melinda nearly fainted with joy.
She was sure this was the happiest moment of her life. But Awin had the power to twist it into her saddest—and he did.
In the middle of their embrace, he whispered another woman's name.
"Qaya," he breathed, his eyes glazed and distant.
Melinda's blood turned to ice. He wasn't looking at her. She was a stand-in.
She didn't know what hurt more: being a replacement...
Or being grateful, even in this twisted, borrowed moment.
---
To be continued