Summoned Back to the Palace

The day the royal messenger came for me, the desert wind was warm.

“Princess Selene,” the eunuch said, bowing low outside my tent, “His Majesty commands your return to the capital.”

Commands.

Not invites.

Not asks.

Commands.

I smiled anyway.

“Thank you for the trouble, Lord Vale.”

Three years in the desert had taught me many things.

How to ride through a sandstorm.

How to hide a knife beneath silk.

How to smile at men I would rather stab.

And how to accept an order while planning to disobey it.

Before I stepped into the carriage, I looked back.

Behind the tent, half-hidden by camel shadows and gold dust, stood a tall figure.

Azar.

He did not come forward.

He could not.

Not yet.

But I knew he was watching.

I pressed my fingers lightly against my sleeve, where the inside seam still held the small desert charm he had tied there for me.

Come soon, I thought.

Come take me from this cage.

Once, I had belonged to the palace.

Or so I believed.

The late Queen Mother Helena found me when I was young and raised me as a royal princess. She taught me etiquette, music, statecraft, and how to sit still beneath the weight of jewels.

She also intended me to marry her son.

King Adrian of Valoria.

Back then, he was not yet king. Only a prince with gentle hands, a clear smile, and every girl in the capital whispering that I was the luckiest woman alive.

I believed them.

I believed I would become his queen.

I believed the Queen Mother loved me like a daughter.

I believed many things.

Then Lady Marina Holt cried.

That was all it took.

Queen Mother died one winter night.

Before the mourning lamps had burned low, Marina came to my chambers, eyes red, voice trembling, telling everyone I had humiliated her.

Adrian believed her.

Or perhaps he wanted to.

Without the Queen Mother to protect me, I was no longer his future queen.

I was an inconvenience.

A proud girl who stood between him and the woman he truly wanted.

He exiled me to the desert border under the beautiful name of “reflection.”

That reflection lasted three years.

In the capital, perhaps they imagined I lived in misery.

They would not have been entirely wrong.

The desert was harsh.

But it was honest.

Unlike the palace, the desert did not pretend its heat was kindness.

The journey back took nearly a month.

When the palace finally appeared beyond the carriage curtains, all white stone, gold roofs, and carved gates, my chest tightened.

The capital looked unchanged.

That was the cruel thing about cages.

They could remain beautiful long after you learned what they were.

I entered the throne hall in traveling robes.

Adrian sat on the throne.

Beside him, in the seat reserved for the queen, sat Marina.

She wore pearls in her hair and triumph in her eyes.

I knelt.

“Your Majesty.”

Adrian’s gaze rested on me longer than necessary.

“Rise.”

I stood.

Marina smiled.

“Elder sister,” she said sweetly, “you don’t mind that I sit here, do you?”

Three years ago, the words would have pierced me.

Three years ago, I would have trembled with humiliation.

Now, I only looked at her.

“Lady Marina,” I said, “do not call me sister. Queen Mother never told me I had one.”

Her smile froze.

Adrian shifted slightly.

I turned back to him.

“Your Majesty, the journey was long. I ask permission to rest.”

A trace of discomfort crossed his face.

“Your old palace is… occupied.”

By Marina.

Of course.

“I have arranged another residence for you,” he said.

He seemed to expect anger.

Tears.

A scene.

I lowered my head.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

That surprised him.

Good.

Let him wonder.

The girl who had left this palace was dead.

The woman who returned had survived the desert.