Sara sat in her room, staring at the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. The silvery light seemed to drape over her like a fragile veil, but it did little to shield the storm of thoughts churning in her mind. Her fingers traced absent patterns on the blanket as her gaze fixed on nothing in particular. Her chest tightened with a weight she couldn't shake—the thought of ending the war. It was the right thing to do, she knew that much. But the price? Her mother's pride would die with it.
The soft knock at the door came like a whisper, barely louder than her own breath.
"Come in," she said, her voice carrying a weariness she didn't bother to hide.
The door eased open, and Arthea stepped into the room, her features set in an expression that made Sara sit straighter. The faint light caught the streaks of silver in Arthea's hair, making her appear both ethereal and fragile.
"We need to talk," Arthea said, her voice steady but carrying an edge that made Sara's heart quicken.
"What is it, Mom?" The word slipped out before Sara could think to stop it. She caught the flicker of surprise on Arthea's face, followed by something warmer, softer—a smile that barely touched her lips but reached her eyes.
"You called me Mom," Arthea said, her voice tinged with wonder.
Sara gave a hesitant nod, unsure if she should feel embarrassed or proud.
Arthea lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, her smile fading into something heavier. She placed a hand over Sara's, her touch cool but grounding. "Sara, I think my time is nearing its end."
The words fell like stones, shattering the fragile calm Sara had managed to find.
"What do you mean?" Her voice wavered, betraying her fear.
Arthea's gaze drifted to the window, her eyes unfocused. "Every queen before me has lived a short life. My mother passed at twenty-six, her mother at twenty. Each queen's life grows shorter. Now, it's my turn."
"No," Sara said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. "You will not die."
Arthea's hand moved to Sara's cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear Sara hadn't realized had fallen. "My dear, we cannot change fate."
The words felt final, but Sara's heart refused to accept them.
Outside, the kingdom lay silent under the shroud of night. Agro moved through the empty streets like a shadow, his steps silent on the cobblestone paths. The queen's house loomed ahead, its windows dark and unassuming. He slipped inside with practiced ease, the creak of the door muffled by the night.
Inside, the stillness of the house seemed almost sacred, broken only by the faint rustle of Agro's movements. He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of life.
Sara's eyes snapped open. A sound—so faint it could have been imagined—prickled at her senses. Her mother's words still echoed in her mind, but now they were joined by a growing sense of unease. Slipping out of bed, she crept towards the noise, her bare feet silent against the floor.
At the bottom of the stairs, she froze. The figure in the shadows turned to her, and even in the dim light, she recognized him.
"Agro?" The name escaped her lips in a whisper, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Agro's head tilted, his expression hardening as his eyes locked onto hers. A flash of anger lit his features, and his voice, low and venomous, cut through the silence. "I hate you."
He moved, faster than her eyes could follow, and the realization hit her with crushing clarity. Her mother's warnings, the weight of her words—they all made sense now. Agro wasn't here for her.
He was here to kill the queen.