Queen Evelyn's scream pierced through the silent halls of the royal palace, jolting the entire household awake. The heavy velvet curtains of her chamber billowed slightly from the night breeze, but sweat clung to her skin, soaking the silk sheets beneath her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she gasped for air, her heart pounding so fiercely it threatened to leap out of her ribcage.
Within seconds, hurried footsteps echoed down the stone corridors. The door burst open, and Lady Seraphina rushed in, followed closely by two young handmaids and two guards gripping their swords, their eyes scanning the dimly lit chamber for an intruder.
"Your Majesty! Are you hurt?" Lady Seraphina's voice wavered with concern, her blue eyes darting over the Queen's trembling form.
Evelyn swallowed, her throat dry as parchment. Her gaze flickered to the flickering candlelight, the embroidered tapestries, and the ornate chandelier swaying slightly overhead. No blood. No poison. No Lucien with that chilling confession on his lips. It was just a dream. A terrible, wretched dream.
"Leave," she croaked, her voice hoarse. Then, stronger, "All of you. Leave at once."
The handmaids hesitated, exchanging nervous glances, but Seraphina's sharp nod sent them scurrying away. The guards followed, shutting the doors with a heavy thud, leaving only Evelyn and her most trusted companion behind.
Seraphina didn't move. Arms crossed over her deep red gown, she studied the Queen with narrowed eyes, her usual warmth now replaced by cold scrutiny. "What happened?"
Evelyn hesitated. Saying it out loud felt ridiculous, like bringing a nightmare into reality. But Seraphina was waiting, her presence grounding Evelyn's spiraling thoughts.
"I saw myself die," she murmured. "Poisoned. And Lucien—" Her breath hitched. "Lucien confessed. He—he said he did it."
Seraphina stiffened. Silence stretched between them.
Then, Evelyn laughed, the sound forced and hollow. She waved a dismissive hand through the air. "It was just a dream. A silly nightmare."
Seraphina didn't laugh. She stood perfectly still, eyes locked onto Evelyn with unsettling intensity. "Your Majesty…" she began slowly, carefully. "You should see the physicians. A vision of death is—"
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "It's not a vision, Seraphina. It's nonsense." She forced a bright, easy tone. "Forget it. More importantly, is the court ready for the annual briefing?"
A sharp frown creased Seraphina's brow. "The what?"
Evelyn sighed. "The annual briefing, Seraphina. The one we hold every year to discuss state affairs."
Seraphina didn't move. Didn't blink. "Your Majesty… I've served you for years. There has never been an annual briefing."
The room felt smaller, the air tighter. Evelyn forced a laugh, but it sounded strained even to her own ears. "Oh, come on now. Don't treat me like I'm crazy just because of one bad dream."
Seraphina shook her head, her expression unwavering. "I'm not treating you like anything, my Queen. But something isn't right." Her voice softened. "Perhaps the physicians should check for fever. You've been under stress, and—"
Evelyn cut her off with an exasperated sigh. "Enough about physicians. If there's no briefing, then what is scheduled for today?"
Seraphina hesitated, lips parting as if she was bracing herself for something. "Your dress fitting," she finally said.
Evelyn's stomach twisted. "For what?"
"For your engagement ball."
Something inside Evelyn turned ice cold.
Seraphina continued, voice slow, careful. "With Sir Lucien."
Evelyn laughed again, but this time, it barely made it past her lips. "Seraphina, we are already married. He is already King Lucien."
Seraphina's expression didn't change. "No, Your Majesty. I think I should call the physicians now." She took a cautious step closer. "I believe your dream… has messed up your reality."
A slow, creeping dread coiled in Evelyn's chest. Her mouth went dry, her pulse thrumming violently in her ears. "Seraphina…" She swallowed. "What's today's date?"
Seraphina's lips parted slightly before answering.
"XVII Kalendas Julii, Anno Domini MCCLXXVII."
The room spun.
>>>>>>>>>
Damien groaned as his head throbbed viciously, pain slicing through his skull like a rusted blade. He cracked open his eyes, only to be greeted by the cold, hard stone floor beneath him.
"What the hell…" he muttered, pushing himself up on shaky arms.
The dim candlelight cast flickering shadows across the wooden beams of his chamber. He was back in his estate, but why the hell was he on the floor? His best guess—Cassius. The bastard had probably dumped him there like a sack of grain after his drinking spree last night.
Grumbling, Damien staggered to his feet, rubbing his temples. "I swear, I am never drinking again."
Just as he reached for the door, it swung open. Cassius stood there, a tray balanced in one hand, his usual unreadable expression in place. "You're finally up."
Damien scowled. "No thanks to you." He eyed the tray. "What's that?"
"Your breakfast."
Damien eyed the murky liquid in the cup. "Looks more like poison."
Cassius smirked. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't waste good wine on it."
Damien snorted but took the cup anyway, grimacing as the sour liquid burned down his throat. "Bloody hell, that's vile."
Cassius crossed his arms. "You have an appointment today."
Damien wiped his mouth. "With who?"
"Sir Lucien."
Damien almost choked. He let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Sir Lucien? What nonsense are you on about?"
Cassius frowned. "What's funny?"
Damien shook his head, still laughing. "You called him 'Sir.' Since when is Lucien anything but King?"
Cassius's expression darkened. "I don't understand."
Damien smirked. "Is this because Evelyn is dead? Is that why no one calls him King anymore?"
Cassius's entire body stiffened. His jaw clenched as his voice dropped dangerously low. "Mind your tongue, Damien."
Damien's laughter faded. "What?"
Cassius took a step closer. "Never say that again. If anyone hears you, you'll lose your head."
Something about the way Cassius said it sent a chill down Damien's spine.
He straightened, voice serious now. "Are you saying… the Queen is alive?"
Cassius gave him a long, unreadable look before nodding. "And in two days' time, she will be fully betrothed to Sir Lucien at their engagement ball."
Damien's blood ran cold.
"What?" His voice was barely a whisper.
His pulse pounded against his skull. This wasn't right. None of this was right.
Something was very, very wrong.
He swallowed hard. "What's today's date?"
Cassius exhaled before answering.
"XVII Kalendas Julii, Anno Domini MCCLXXVII."
Damien froze.
His stomach twisted violently, his mind racing.
This couldn't be happening.
No.
This wasn't real.