The sun had yet to set when Edmund burst into my chambers. He often spent these hours of the day in his study, so seeing him now was quite out of the ordinary.

And like his actions, today's occurrences were also out of the ordinary.

           "Anne, I heard about what happened today from Mama-" he explained, then paused for a moment due to fatigue. "I will send Anna-Claudia away right now if you'd want me to. She has definitely crossed the line this time. I do not know what has gotten into her-"

           "No, there is no need," I murmured in return.

Melissa Hasteburn is almost six months pregnant now, and Anna-Claudia had ever so kindly volunteered to come and care for her 'royal nephew'.

Her remarks about Melissa's bastard being a boy barely hurt me anymore, but I completely lost it when I heard about this analogy that she had been spreading around.

    Anna-Claudia had been making comparisons between me and the dead Queen Helene.

   To start, there is the firstborn daughter who was so beautiful that everyone forgets that she is ineligible to become an heir. That was Princess Margaret, and in my case, Princess Elisabeth.

     Then, there is the second daughter who brought on nothing but disappointment and dread. That would be Cecily, and my daughter, Verena.

     Lastly, the long-awaited heir, who would soon end up dying prematurely and tragically. Needless to say, that was Prince George.

Anna-Claudia had been predicting the birth and death of my next child, while wholeheartedly suggesting that Melissa's bastard should be crowned prince, and if it was not a boy, then her silly little boy, Edgar, shall be made heir.

                "Anne, I will have her sent away. Keeping her here at the palace will bring you nothing but heartache. I do not want that," Edmund said softly as he sat down on the bed beside me, helping me to pull out the golden pins embedded in my hair.

                  "She is your sister," I say with a sigh. "I would not want her to go around saying that I deliberately put her under house arrest just because I did not like her."

Which is true. I indeed did not like her. At first, I did. But now, she had grown into a hateful little swine that did nothing but cry and whine whenever things did not go the way she wanted to.

                   "And you are my wife," Edmund whispered, dropping the pins into my lap. "It is my duty to protect you. Not just your safety, but also your feelings. Do you understand, Annie ?"

I nodded quietly. Edmund had been particularly protective of me ever since the incident on the day of the banquet, and while I found his affection suffocating at times, I actually somewhat enjoyed it.

I picked up the pins on my lap and placed them on the table before allowing Edmund's arms to slither around my waist.

As I laid my head against his chest, I could hear him say, "Anne, do you still remember the day we first met ?"

              "Of course I do," I chuckled softly. "Our first meeting had almost cost you your arm."

I gently lifted up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the glistening pale skin of his arm. The scar from the wound I made was barely visible anymore, but I could feel that it was still there when I touched it.

             "I'm sorry," I murmured as I stroked the scar.

             "Don't be," he said in reply. "I am so happy to have met you, Anne. But I still can't forget the time when you said that you had a stomach ache and had to leave."

             "I actually didn't have a stomach ache. I only said it because I wanted to escape. Who knows what would happen if a guard happened to pass by and see you all covered in blood and me, holding a knife ?"

             "I know, Anne dearest. But keep in mind that I will tell that story to our children regardless."

             "Oh no, please don't," I whined. "That single lie has brought me enough shame in the past."

             "No excuses," he retorted playfully as he pressed a tender kiss against my cheek.

As the trees began to shed their leaves, autumn arrived carrying a dreadful message.

The deposed King Edward, who had been wasting away in a lonely tower in the Isles of Chamier had finally died, outlived by his two daughters.

I felt no sadness whatsoever when I found out that Edward was dead. He was nothing more than a traitor who murdered his way to the throne, a lecher who lusted for any woman that he laid his eyes on.

Now that he is dead, the world seems much more beautiful, much cleaner, in my eyes.

Edward's two daughters had very different reactions when they heard of his demise.

According to my brother, Cecily was chillingly emotionless when she read the letter announcing Edward's death. Not a single tear was shed, and even if she indeed felt sadness, she took care not to show it.

      My brother decided to bring Cecily to the Isles of Chamier, so that he could deal with the burial of his father-in-law.

As for his favourite daughter, Margaret, Edmund's spies in the Terrawinian court reported that she burst out in joy and laughter.

Many have thought that she had finally gone insane, but I knew why she was so pleased by her own father's death. She finally had a reason to go to war again.

Her previous campaign had gone horribly awry, and not only did she fail to obtain the Phoenician throne, but she also lost a hefty amount of Terrawinian territory. Truly, there had never been such an incompetent ruler in the face of this world.

But now, her army has healed and doubled, ready to reclaim the territories they had lost.

The threat of war looms over Phoenicia again. In the past, victory seemed to be certain, inevitable even.
But now that the entire Eastern Army had been dispersed, all that Phoenicia had left was the Royal Army under my brother's command, along with the Marquis of Hasteburn's northeastern army.

After years of peace and splendour, the people of Phoenicia have become coddled, used to the easy life. Certainty has always been the way of life, and now that our bubble of comfort has been burst, none of us knows how to react.

To my father the Earl of Rhyland,

Even in death, the bad king Edward never fails to stir up trouble. Now, his beloved daughter attempts to use his death as a way to justify her trying to invade our kingdom.

We have no resources to fight back. Father, what do we do now?

Your daughter, Anne

My father's reply arrived only days after.

To my daughter, the Queen of Phoenicia

I am well aware of Margaret's plans to invade. Do not feel threatened by her -- you will be playing right into her hands. Although our kingdom's soldiers have been greatly reduced, we are still capable of defending ourselves against the Terrawinian army.

Remember my advice. Do not let her know that you are afraid. Do not let anyone know that you are afraid. Smile in the face of the people. Let them know that you are a strong, powerful ruler.

If you show fear, then the people will simultaneously become afraid as well. They will lose all sense of hope. It is crucial that you maintain this act until the Terrawinians are defeated.

Your father, Cassian Winterbourne

I set the letter down on the table as I slowly stood up, my heart beating erratically in my chest. I walk towards the bronze mirror that hung in my sleeping chamber, and it was only dimly lit by the fireplace that roared in the corner.

There, I could see my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were frighteningly wide with fear, and my lips trembled pathetically. I appeared weak, helpless even.

I finally understood what my father meant in his letter. Imagine being the citizen of a kingdom at risk of war, and in times of peril, you look to the king and queen for help and guidance.

If they saw me in this state, they would undoubtedly begin to shake in fear. How could they not? If even the Queen is reduced to a trembling mess, then there must be no hope of victory at all.

I try to smile, but I could not. The fear of losing it all in the blink of an eye was very real, and if I began to smile on my own free will, trust that I have indeed lost my sanity.

But I also knew that the very thing I needed the most in a time of peril was reassurance.

    If my smile, my pretence of power and glory could reassure a citizen that Phoenicia is indeed at peace, then so be it.

I lifted my hands up to my face, and with my forefingers, I forced the corners of my lips up. There, I was finally smiling.

Tonight, both Edmund and Gilbert will leave for the northern front, leaving me to be in charge of the palace.

          "Promise me that you'll be safe," I whisper to my husband as I leaned against his hard chest, closing my eyes while listening to the soft rhythms of his heartbeat. "It's so cold up north. I'm afraid you cannot withstand it."

He lets out a laugh. "Anne, in case you have forgotten, I grew up in Cindertrappe, the northernmost city in Phoenicia. The cold does not bother me at all. Rather, I am more concerned about you, my lovely southern lark.

It's getting colder day by day, so put on more layers and eat well. When I arrive back home, I want to see you healthy and brimming with life, do you understand ?"

He gently pecks the tip of my nose, and I let out a giggle as I pulled away. "You made your point clear enough."

Edmund stood up from the bed, ready to put on his armour.

        "Wait, there's a rip in your shirt," I interjected. "Take it off, so I can mend it."

Of course, he had hundreds of other shirts to choose from, but he wordlessly took off the shirt that he was wearing and handed it over to me. I reached for needle and thread, and he sat beside me, watching as I stitched the shirt back together.

I knew that I could not help him much when it came to war. By mending his shirt, I felt as if I were being helpful to some extent.

            "Thank you, dear Anne," he said with a smile as he slipped on the shirt.

I nodded quietly as I lifted the gambeson that was neatly laid on the foot of the bed. "Here. Put this on."

        When he left for the northern front that night, he carried a piece of me along with him. But with his departure, I was bestowed with a position that I never thought I would ever occupy.

In his absence, I am now the sole Queen Regnant, ruling supreme until the day he returns.

As I step inside his study, my eyes lingered towards the black lacquered chest on the desk. I knew what the chest contained -- I had seen Edmund use it many times before.

But I never really had the chance to see it fully and hold it in my own hands. I ensured that the door was locked shut, and carefully, I lifted the latch of the chest.

      In the darkness, the two rubies of the eyes of the phoenix glimmered brilliantly against the shiny gold and silver feathers. I lifted it from the chest.

      The Royal Seal of Phoenicia was now safely nestled in my hands, and I could feel the cold metal against my skin. This is it. The very pinnacle of the power that I desperately thirsted for.

The golden phoenix soared into the sky victoriously, and carved out at the base of it was the symbol of House de Chauvelot, ready to be dunked into ink and stamped onto paper.

The seal was beautiful, terrifyingly so. If anything were to happen to my husband, then it would be mine indefinitely.

No one will be able to touch me again, and I will rule supreme in this land. I would be the most powerful woman to have ever lived! My power will be insurmountable!

No, no. What was I thinking?

I quickly stuffed the seal back into the chest and closed it shut. Edmund trusted me with his kingdom, so how could I wish such ill things like that?

His trust was hard enough to earn, and I could not just forsake it like that.

But I cannot lie that every now and then, the urge to open the chest and stare into the phoenix's eyes began to ravage me from the inside. I knew that it was my thirst for power, begging me to satiate it. It was my greed, wanting me to give in.

All these years, I have taken heinous measures to achieve what I wanted, and I know that I will do it again one day, but this time, I cannot relent. Just this once, I will not give in. Just this once.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Even though it has been two months now, I could still feel Edmund's warm embrace as if he had just left yesterday.

The final confrontation that would solve all our woes had yet to come, and the victory that we craved so desperately was nowhere to be seen.

Each day, I watch as Melissa Hasteburn's stomach swell with my husband's child, and I wonder if the soothsayer's predictions would turn out to be true. What if it does turn out to be a son?

I had learnt how to hide my fears now, but just because I did not let them show, does not mean that they are nonexistent.

But when a letter from the north arrived after weeks of no news at all, my fears were finally solidified.

To my sister, Gilbert wrote,

The Terrawinnians ambushed our camp last evening, and while we managed to get rid of them, the King has been badly injured.

His right arm and back were lacerated by a blade, and one of the Terrawinnians had gotten close enough to stab him in the abdomen. We will be retreating to Cindertrappe to have him treated. Even so, the outlook is bleak.

Under no circumstances should you leave the capital, and for God's sake, please do not come here. Prepare for the worst.

Your brother, Gilbert

It was written over a week ago. I do not even know if my husband is dead or alive right now. Shall I receive a letter of his death three days from now?

I read the contents of the letter, again and again, trying my best to understand what my brother wrote.

Ambushed. Injured. Lacerated. Stabbed.

Those were words that no one wanted to see in a letter regarding the one that they loved.

I stood up from my chair abruptly and threw the letter into the roaring fireplace, wishing that once the words were reduced to nothing but ash, the fact that my husband was gravely injured would also magically disappear.

But I knew it was all wishful thinking.

    My father had taught me well, and he had long prepared me in case something like this should happen.

    Confidentiality was vital, I was told.

I had to procure the crown jewels as well as the royal seal in order to prevent them from falling into wrong hands. And if something horrible truly happened to my husband, I would have to prepare my daughter Elisabeth's coronation.

         Once they were safely locked in a chest under my bed, I ventured outside my room, feigning calmness and ignorance.

And thankfully, my brother had guarded the news of the King's injury well, and it truly seemed as if no one knew, as if nothing had happened.

            "Lillianna, write to the Prime Minister. I wish to see him," I order, and she nodded curtly before leaving.

With Argenta in tow, I decided to go into the throne room, which I had not stepped foot in for a long time, ever since my husband left for the north.

I could still remember the glorious day of our coronation, when he and I were seated on the throne with golden crowns on our heads. We wore capes of ermine and robes of cloth woven with gold, and the sun had never shone brighter than it did on that day.

Today, the sun is pale and weak, as if it was drained of its energy. As if it was dying.

I had expected the throne room to be filled with nothing but dust and spiders, and needless to say, I was shocked to see the ecstatic Melissa Hasteburn sitting on my throne, her posture straight and noble, as if she was the true owner of that throne, not me.

          "Once the little prince is born, all of this will be yours, Your Majesty," I could hear a familiar voice whisper soothingly.

There, behind my throne stood Rosamund, her face littered with sores and scabs. She calmly stood beside her mistress, running her knobbly fingers through Melissa's dull brown hair.

           "Queen Melissa sounds very nice, doesn't it?" the vapid girl giggled. "Oh, but if we go with my middle name, then I shall be Queen Jane! That sounds lovely too."

Rosamund shook her head softly. "The previous Queen Jane's life ended in tragedy, so it isn't wise to choose such a name. Besides, don't you want to become the first Queen Melissa ?"

            "What shall we do with that Winterbourne bitch, Rosamund? Shall we tear her pretty face apart, just like she did to you ?"

             "Better yet, lock her in a barn and set it on fire, the way we dispose of heretics like her," Rosamund hissed into her mistress's ear.

That was the final straw for me, and I emerged from my hiding place, finally showing myself to them.

Rosamund's eyes grew wide like saucers, and Melissa was almost fell down from the throne. I was wordless as I calmly walked towards them, and there was no sound in the room other than the clacking noise of my sharp heels.

        The dust that had laid inert on the floor had risen up in the air, glowing softly as the rays of sunlight penetrated through the specks. It seems that the palace is in need of cleansing.

            "Your Majesty, there has been a mistake-" Rosamund began to apologise, but I felt as if her words were a slap on my face, especially when I saw that Melissa Hasteburn was still perched comfortably on my throne.

I took a step forward, my lips twitching with malice. Rosamund gasped, and immediately tried to stop me from going near Melissa, but Argenta was much faster, much more agile.

              "What shall we do with that Hasteburn bitch, Argenta?" I taunted, using the exact same words as she did earlier.

I reached out my hand and calmly patted Melissa's lanky brown hair, running my fingers through her coarse locks. Then, my fingers crawled up to the top of her head, and I gripped her hair as tightly as I could.

I could hear Rosamund trying to push Argenta away, but I knew that sweet little Rosamund could not match Argenta's strength. I heard a rough slap, followed by a tiny squeal, like the sound a dog would make if it were kicked.

               "Shall we cut her head off and feed it to the dogs?" I declared loudly, and with that, I tugged onto that tuft of hair as strong as I could, dragging Melissa Hasteburn away from my throne.

She let out a pained shriek as she tumbled down the steps, futilely attempting to free her hair from my iron grip.

    Then, at the most crucial moment, I let go of her hair, allowing her to slam down onto the floor.