The clearing yawned before me—charred earth and smoldering bones. Ash clung to my skirts, to my hair, as though the dead themselves reached for me.
I stood there, staring at the ruin, trying to remember what it had looked like before: banners snapping in the breeze, laughter floating from the market stalls, children chasing each other beneath the great oak that once crowned the village square.
Now there was only silence, broken by the hiss of embers and the occasional moan of a dying structure.
I shifted my weight, the hem of my gown heavy with soot. My heart beat a slow, uncertain rhythm. I am queen, I reminded myself again, though the words felt brittle in my mouth.
I had stood at the clearing’s edge long enough for the embers to cool. Smoke curled into the sky like ghosts. My breath felt shallow, my legs unsteady. Then I heard a footfall in the ash.
A flicker of movement caught my eye—a shadow ducking behind a crumbling wall. My hand flew to the dagger at my belt, its leather-wrapped hilt warm against my palm.
“Who’s there?” I called, my voice stronger than I felt.
Silence. Then a small, trembling voice:
“Please… don’t hurt me.”