The Queen remained seated for a long while after the Duke of Blackmoor left.

  She stared out the window. It was a sunny day. Sunlight reflected off the patches of unmelted ice, somehow making the world feel warmer than it truly was.

  The sky was a clear, cloudless blue—just like the day she had been crowned Queen.

  Ten years had passed.

  Where would she be in another ten years?

  The door opened, breaking her thoughts. The Lord Chamberlain stepped inside.

  “Your Majesty, for Miss Volmont’s birthday ball—everything is prepared. We have ordered the flowers you requested and decorated the Moonveil Grand Hall. Here is the drafted invitation list.”

  He paused before adding carefully,

  “All we require now is a date.”

  “The ball shall be held in ten days,” the Queen said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  He bowed and withdrew.

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  After he left, Marielle lowered her gaze to the invitation list.

  She had never attended such a lavish ball herself until she became Queen.

  From the moment she was born, she had been a disappointment to her family.

  After three daughters, her father—Marquess Lucien Velmont—had desperately wanted a male heir to inherit his title.

  Then she was born.

  The fourth daughter.

  The disappointment did not last long. A year later, her mother gave Lord Velmont a son—Lucien II, the father of the girl whose birthday would soon be celebrated.

  After that, Marielle was forgotten.

  Her three elder sisters all married for love, each to some untitled nobleman. At first, they were happy. But property disputes and the absence of real power slowly consumed that happiness. The love they had gained in youth dissolved under the weight of daily resentment.

  They became bitter, worn-down women.

  Marielle watched their fates unfold and swore it would never be hers.

  But what could she do then? She was only a girl—ignored, disliked, easily overlooked.

  Until one day, she overheard her father speaking of his ambitions: of bringing down the Aerendyl family and seizing control of Ironvale.

  For the first time, she smelled opportunity.

  Years followed—years of quiet endurance, of uncertainty, of fearing the plan would collapse before it ever bore fruit.

  And then, at last, she became Queen.

  Yet even then, life did not grow easier.

  She suffered three miscarriages after the wedding. She watched the disappointment deepen in the King Rowan’s eyes each time, though he never spoke of it aloud.

  Then, finally, she gave birth to a son.

  When she believed—just for a moment—that everything might get better—

  She felt tired.

  For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to stop fighting.

  Just for a second.

  The door burst open.

  “Your Majesty,” a servant cried, voice unsteady, “Prince Cassian has suddenly developed a fever. We have summoned the physician, but he cannot determine the cause.”