A Plan

The Queen chuckles, a low, mirthless sound that echoes through the chamber like the toll of a distant bell. She turns to Viola, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “You are, by far, the luckiest man I’ve ever met,” she says, her voice dripping with irony. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she signals Cassandra, who withdraws the blade from your throat and steps back, her movements as fluid and silent as a shadow retreating from the light.

“For what it’s worth,” Cassandra murmurs, her voice barely audible, “I would have regretted killing you.” Her dark eyes linger on yours for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you before she schools her expression back into its usual mask of indifference.

The Queen’s sharp gaze returns to you, her lips curving into a cold, calculating smile. “Very well, male,” she says, her tone as crisp as the winter air. “It appears that either Evelyn is more **** for this alliance than I anticipated, or her son is simply a coward. Either way, this works to our advantage.”

You catch the faintest relaxation in Viola’s shoulders, though her emerald eyes remain guarded, darting between you and her mother like a cornered animal assessing its predators.

“You will approach Lord Caldersmith,” the Queen continues, her voice brooking no argument, “and you will accept his offer.” She pauses, her gaze sharpening like the edge of a blade. “But be warned—Duchess Evelyn Caldersmith is no fool. She knows your loyalty to her house is a farce. No doubt she’s allowed her son to propose this alliance with every intention of disposing of you after the wedding and replacing you with him.”

Viola’s face pales, her lips parting in silent protest. “If we were to wed and you died,” she explains, her voice trembling with barely suppressed anger, “Lord Caldersmith, as the elder unwed son, would automatically take your place beside me.”

The weight of her words settles over you like a shroud, and you feel the blood drain from your face. “So… I’ll be in danger?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

The Queen’s laughter rings out again, dark and humorless, like the tolling of a funeral bell. “Oh yes, my brave little man,” she says, her tone laced with mockery. “Once you and Viola are wed, you’ll have a target on your back so large that every assassin from here to the Vale will be eager for a piece of you.” She shrugs, her indifference as chilling as the frost that clings to the palace windows. “That, however, is neither here nor there. With you representing the Caldersmith family, even in name only, Evelyn will be bound to us. And whether she succeeds in killing you and replacing you with her son is of no consequence to me.”

Her words hang in the air like a **** sentence, and you feel the room closing in around you, the weight of the political machinations pressing down on your chest. Viola’s hands clench into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she glares at her mother, but she says nothing.

“Come, Viola,” the Queen says, her tone brisk and dismissive. “We have preparations to make.” She turns to you one last time, her gaze as cold and unyielding as the steel of Cassandra’s blade. “Cassandra, return this man to the men’s quarters and ensure he follows through with Caldersmith.” She pauses, her lips curling into a small, cruel smile. “And try not to kill him before we leave,” she adds, her laughter trailing behind her like a shadow as she sweeps from the room.