AZRAEL

Night cloaked the palace in its black robe, and all sounds fell silent—except within the king’s chamber, where rage still burned behind his eyes. He drank deeply from his golden goblet, but the wine tasted bitter. Everything was bitter since that last argument with the queen.

Their words had been blades—respect shattered in the storm between her icy glare and his smoldering silence.

He sat on his throne, watching the flames dance in the hearth. “If she thinks she can break me by turning her back… let her watch how pride breaks her first,” he muttered, fingers tapping on the lion-carved armrest.

He called for the new handmaiden—a gift from the southern lands. Long hair. Green eyes like poisoned arrows. But not her. Not the queen.

The girl entered, trembling under the weight of his stare. She stepped forward slowly, carefully, her hand reaching for his shoulder. He didn’t move. He let her come closer. Let her touch. Let her play a part that was never meant for her.

But in the hallway, behind the thick black curtains… She stood.

The queen.

She hadn’t meant to come. She was walking to breathe, to forget, to convince her heart he no longer mattered. But she froze at the sound of his voice. That dry laugh. The soft steps that weren’t hers.

She lifted the curtain slightly… and saw him.

Her king. Sitting there, with another woman leaning toward him. He didn’t push her away. He didn’t yell. She saw her hand touch him. And he let her.

Something cracked inside her.

It wasn’t just jealousy. It was anger. Disbelief. Tears that burned before they were even born.

She turned to leave—but at that exact moment, the king looked up. He didn’t see her. But he felt her.

Without looking at the girl, he spoke coldly: “Leave.”

“But my lord—”

“I said leave!” The girl flinched, quickly running out, her cheap perfume hanging in the air like something rotting.

The king stood. He walked toward the curtain slowly, as if knowing she had been there.

He pulled it aside… and found no