A heavy silence hung over the royal hall, as if the very air had frozen above the heads of those seated.
Irene nodded silently-not in submission, but in surrender to a reality she never chose. She didn't try to speak, nor explain, not even to look into her father's face. She knew that words changed nothing here.
Everyone at the table remained in place, frozen, waiting for the king to speak... or rather, to allow them to hear something.
King Arkson didn't speak immediately.
He raised his glass slowly. He didn't drink-he simply stared at the swirling surface of the liquid inside, then placed the glass gently back on the table. The soft clink of glass on wood sounded far too loud amidst the silence.
At last, he spoke-low, clear, and slow:
- "There will be a debut ceremony for her."
One sentence. No explanation, no justification. Like a sentence passed down from a judge, not to be questioned.
The women around the table instantly lifted their gazes-swiftly, tensely-but not one dared to speak.
The first queen, Elvira, opened her mouth to say something, but a single glance from the king was enough.
Just a look. No anger in it, but its weight alone made the veins in her neck quiver. She closed her mouth again as if nothing had happened.
The king continued, with the same cold calm:
- "The people will come to know her."
Another glance, this time toward Reinold and Elian, sliced through them like a blade.
Then he slowly lifted his eyes and looked at Irene directly-for the first time.
She froze.
And he said, without blinking:
- "That is enough."
With that, he ended his words and stood to leave.
He needed no explanation. He left no room for questions. He wasn't seeking approval nor acceptance-he simply issued his orders and walked away, as he always did.
---
Once King Arkson left the hall, it was as though someone had sucked the air from the room. Everyone remained standing for a few seconds, no one daring to be the first to move.
Elvira, the first queen, slowly adjusted her veil and cast a sidelong glance at Irene without saying a word. Her eyes were calm, like ancient ice-eyes of a woman who neither forgets nor forgives, but knows when to remain silent.
Melanie, the second queen, was more cautious. She scanned the faces around the table, then began walking with measured steps, her gown whispering behind her, her face unreadable.
Lorraine, the third queen, followed without delay, her chin raised high as though she had anticipated this moment long ago. But before she left, she paused briefly and looked at Irene, like someone sizing up a blank page and writing the first line in their mind-without showing it.
The princes followed.
Reinold was the first to walk away with Leora. His hands were clasped behind his back as she whispered something no one else could hear. He didn't reply. He just stared forward in a straight line.
Elian came next, resting his hand gently on Calissa's back as if shielding her from some unseen threat. His face wasn't angry, nor surprised-just a heavy silence, filled with questions that had no answers.
Adeline remained in place, not leaving yet. She studied Irene from afar, her head slightly tilted, with a half-smile that held neither welcome nor hostility-just a dangerous curiosity. As if she were looking at a rare toy that had finally found its way into the palace.
As for Selina...
She didn't move.
She stood still, her gaze locked on Irene like silent arrows of fire.
Then, in a quiet but charged voice, she said:
- "If you think that sitting at this table gives you a place among us... then you're more naive than you look."
Irene didn't respond. She didn't turn. She was still seated, hands clasped in her lap, staring into the space her father had just walked through.
Selina stepped forward, but didn't come too close. She continued:
- "We all know why he chose you now. We're not stupid."
Then she turned without waiting for a reply and left-her jeweled heels striking the floor with every step, loudly declaring her rejection.
The hall was empty now.
And Irene was left alone...
Sitting in the center, beneath the crystal chandeliers,
feeling-for the first time-that everyone had looked at her.
But no one had truly seen her.
---
When Irene reached her chamber, her footsteps were light, barely audible.
The guard opened the door without a word and closed it gently behind her, as if the entire palace knew she shouldn't be disturbed.
She slowly removed her shoes and walked across the cold marble floor before stopping suddenly...
Her eyes went to the small desk in the corner, where she had hidden the most important paper she had ever written.
She approached slowly and pulled open the top drawer.
In the shadows... there it was, folded neatly.
She took it out gently, sat on the chair, and unfolded it in front of her.
It wasn't just a piece of paper.
It was the plan.
A short but calculated list.
Names of men she had selected carefully, each with a trait that made him the "perfect husband" for a plan no one in the kingdom knew about.
A reckless man...
Another who lived abroad...
A third who had no interest in politics or parties...
All of them were shields-cover, allowing her to move freely, to observe, gather, and strike.
But now? It was no longer her choice.
The king... her father... would decide.
He would choose the man she'd marry, placing her like a prize on the board of politics.
She looked at the paper again.
Their names were now useless. Her plans crushed without a single chance to resist. None of them was the "empty man" she needed as a decoy for her revenge.
She had imagined it so clearly in her mind: marry a man who didn't care about her, move freely, plan, observe, and carve a path to justice without anyone noticing.
But now?
She clenched her jaw, folded the paper, and threw it forcefully toward the fireplace.
It didn't catch fire-just hit the edge and fell to the floor at her feet.
But the feeling of her shattered plan... burned like flames.
She murmured inside herself, half bitter, half hopeless:
"Seems like fate is one of my enemies now."
All she could do now was focus on adapting her plan to the upcoming marriage.
After taking a long bath with her two maids, Irene went straight to bed.
---
That night was longer than expected.
The fog was thick.
A dull gray swallowed both land and sky. No sound, except for a heartbeat that couldn't be heard.
Irene stood alone.
Barefoot, a cold breeze brushing her skin without touching her gown.
The emptiness around her showed no mercy.
And the silence... pressed on her chest like a heavy hand.
Then... she saw her.
A woman standing in the mist,
Her golden hair swaying slowly in an unseen wind,
Her white gown falling softly to the ground.
Irene didn't need to see her face.
She knew.
It was her mother.
She didn't call out to her.
She didn't take a step.
She just looked at her.
And in her eyes... something unspeakable. A mix of tenderness and betrayal, of hope and fear.
Irene wanted to run to her.
But the ground beneath her feet grew heavy,
As if it clung to her, trying to stop her.
Then suddenly...
A small red spot appeared on the side of the white gown.
Then another.
And a third.
The blood crept slowly. No sound, no scream.
Until the edge of the gown was soaked, white turned crimson.
The mother... didn't move.
Her eyes remained fixed on Irene,
Trembling with something that couldn't be explained-like she wanted to say something... but wasn't allowed to.
Then...
Behind her, deep in the fog,
A tall, black figure emerged-still and faceless.
No sound. Just approaching.
A scream rose inside the dream.
But the mouth did not open.
And the blood climbed the floor, until it touched Irene's feet.
Her mother reached out her hand...
But it didn't reach her.
The fog exploded into bright white light...
And swallowed everything.
---
Irene woke up suddenly.
A sharp gasp.
Sweat on her neck, breath caught in her chest as if she had been drowning.
She sat up, placed her trembling hand over her heart,
And whispered, brokenly:
- "Wait for me... just a little longer, Mother."
---