Rey Javier I, King of Aragon, stood before his throne, his countenance unreadable, his body stiff with tension. The stone chamber was silent, save for the faint flickering of torch flames along the cold walls. His thoughts, however, were far from still.
The recent events of his marriage and the queen consort's coronation weighed heavily on him. He had married Princess Anneliese in a grand ceremony, and as the crown was placed upon her head during the coronation, she suddenly collapsed, fainting without warning. Whispers spread like wildfire, talk of bad omens, curses, and prophecies. People murmured that her fainting was an ill sign, yet those very same people had been the ones clamoring for him to marry, to produce an heir.
And now, to make matters worse, if something were to happen to Princess Anneliese here, in his kingdom, it would almost certainly lead to war. Her people would never believe it was natural causes. But what was it? What had made her collapse so suddenly? Javier's thoughts churned with confusion and unease, but his expression remained cold and distant.
His deep contemplation was interrupted by the sharp slam of the throne room doors. He turned sharply, his gaze narrowing as he fixed the guard before him with a penetrating stare. The guard was breathless, his chest heaving as he staggered forward, collapsing to his knees.
"Majestad…" the guard panted, his voice barely audible. "La reina... ha despertado."
The words hit Javier like a thunderclap. The queen had awakened.
His pulse quickened, but he steadied himself. His presence remained as commanding as ever, even if a twinge of concern flickered within him. Without a word, he turned and moved swiftly toward the queen's chambers. His steps were purposeful, regal, yet inside, a growing sense of urgency stirred.
Before he could reach the chamber, another guard intercepted him.
"Your Majesty, she's not in her room," the guard said, his voice strained. Javier's brow furrowed in confusion.
"What do you mean?" His voice was calm, but a razor-sharp edge slipped through. Even the guards flinched at the authority in his tone.
"Your Majesty, she's... she's in the courtyard," the guard stammered. "She ran there... screaming in a language none of us understand."
Javier froze for a heartbeat, then spun on his heel, his eyes flashing with a mix of disbelief and mild annoyance. He wasted no time. "Lead the way."
As they hurried toward the courtyard, the sounds of frantic screams reached Javier's ears. But he did not quicken his pace. Royalty, as they say, never ran, not even in the face of madness.
When he finally reached the courtyard, the scene before him was even more disorienting than he had expected. Princess Anneliese, the newly crowned queen consort, was running around in her undergarments, her face pale with panic. Her ladies-in-waiting, including the dama de honor{Lady of honor}, were in a frenzied chase, some of the women crying, their distress palpable.
Among them, the maid who had accompanied the queen from her homeland was kneeling on the stone ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Her wails only added to the chaos.
"Get away from me!" Princess Anneliese screamed, her voice raw with annoyance and confusion. The language she spoke was unfamiliar, incomprehensible to everyone around her. Javier watched, slightly stunned. What madness was this? Why was she acting in such a way?
Javier's hand clenched at his side. Something was amiss.
With a deep breath, he stepped down the marble stairs, his movements deliberate.
"Basta." Enough.
The word rang out with the force of a command. The courtyard fell into silence immediately, as though the air itself had been sucked out. Every eye turned to him, the tension in the air palpable.
But his gaze was not on the maids or the staff. His eyes were locked on the queen.
As if in response to his authority, she suddenly stopped, panting heavily. She looked at him with wide, frantic eyes, then clutched the fabric of her undergarments with both hands, and then ran towards him . When she stopped in front of him, She wiped her hair from her face and licked her lips, her body trembling slightly from the exertion.
Javier watched her, his cold expression unwavering. This was unlike anything he had ever seen, and he had seen much. A flicker of something unfamiliar, curiosity, perhaps, shifted in his gaze, but he quickly suppressed it.
"Hey, you!" she shouted, pointing at his face with her trembling finger. Javier's eyes narrowed, his expression growing colder with each passing second.
"Are you the owner or the director of this movie set?" she demanded, still panting from her frantic flight. "If you are, then you need to let me go and tell your cast to stop chasing after me."
Yvonne, inhabiting the body of Queen Anneliese, studied the tall, dark man before her. His presence was overwhelming, unmistakable, like a shadow that threatened to swallow everything in its path. She tilted her neck back to meet his gaze, feeling small and insignificant in comparison to his imposing figure.
Javier didn't respond, his silence more unnerving than any words could be. His gaze felt like a strong force, like he was staring at something alien, something that didn't belong.
"Hey, can you hear me?" she snapped, her fingers snapping in front of his face.
But she did not realize that her words were lost on him. Just as his were lost on her. They were speaking different languages, separated by a vast chasm of misunderstanding.
Javier's eyes flickered with cold resolve as he spoke, his voice low and clipped. "No condono este comportamiento." {I do not condone this behavior}. His tone was detached, almost as though he were reprimanding a misbehaving child. "Detente." {Stop.}
Yvonne's eyes widened in sudden realization. Spanish. He had spoken in Spanish. She understood one word: "Stop."
Her mind spun. She could only catch fragments of what was happening, but the confusion was growing, not fading.
Oh God, she thought. What is going on?