Since she had started following the prince, Layla felt something strange within her, as if she were stepping into another world. Her steps were steady, each movement carrying a sense of strength and majesty. His light attire floated around his well-sculpted form in a regal manner, as if every detail of his presence reflected his high status. Even the way he moved with precise, deliberate grace made Layla feel like nothing more than a shadow trailing behind him.
She observed every motion, every glint of his figure in the light, unable to look away from the details. She noticed how his muscles subtly tensed with each small movement, how he commanded attention effortlessly from everyone around him. But what fascinated her the most was his silence wrapped in an aura of mystery. He spoke little, yet his silence carried weight, as if every unspoken word was measured and deliberate.
When she accidentally bumped into him, he turned his head toward her, his eyes holding a mix of surprise and mild irritation.
In a calm yet firm voice, he said, "And you? You keep running into me."
Layla, embarrassed by the moment, felt her cheeks flush.
After dinner, silence settled over the table. Layla, didn't expect Oris to break the quiet. Suddenly, he stood and turned toward her, his gaze intensifying a subtle worry within her one she couldn't quite understand.
"Allow me to show you something," he said, his voice calm yet firm.
Layla, slightly surprised but intrigued, replied mockingly, "I'm used to your orders, but of course, show me what you have to show."
A smirk appeared on Oris's lips. "I could do that, if that's truly what you want," he said as he made his way toward a large, carved wooden door hidden in the corner of the room.
Though nervous, Layla followed without protest. Every step toward that door heightened both her curiosity and her apprehension. She didn't like the idea of being led somewhere unknown, yet an odd sense of fascination pushed her forward.
When the door opened, a soft, dim light spilled into the corridor, casting a warm, almost otherworldly glow. Inside, the air was still, almost reverent. The room was vast, its walls adorned with ancient tapestries and crystal chandeliers that bathed the space in a golden radiance. But what captured Layla's attention instantly was the grand royal bed at the far end of the room where a figure lay motionless.
As she stepped closer, Layla discerned an elderly woman, her beauty serene despite the unmistakable marks of time. Her features were delicate, almost unreal, as if frozen in a moment suspended beyond reality. She wore a regal gown, yet she remained utterly still not simply asleep, but trapped in an eerie, endless slumber.
Layla froze. A wave of unease swept over her, but what struck her the most was the undeniable resemblance between this woman and Oris. It was almost as if she were seeing an older version of him, and that realization unsettled her even more.
One question burned in her mind: Who is this woman?
Oris stepped closer to the bed, lowering his head in quiet reverence. He spoke words Layla barely caught, yet she understood them all the same:
"Your Majesty."
Layla moved in just a little further, her mind racing to make sense of what she was witnessing. The scene before her felt surreal, like a strange dream. Why was this woman the queen, no doubt here, locked away in this secluded chamber? Why had she been left in such a lifeless state?
She turned slowly to Oris, searching his eyes for answers, but he remained silent, frozen in his solemn respect. For the first time, Layla felt small before him, unable to voice the question that burned inside her: Why?
But before she could find the words, Oris straightened and stepped away, his voice barely above a whisper.
"She is the queen. My mother."