The manor looked like something that had died and been left to rot. Pandra stood in the remains of the courtyard and took it all in. Crumbled walls held together by stubbornness and ivy. A roof that was more holes than tiles.
The whole structure leaned back as if the forest beyond was slowly swallowing it whole. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. Behind her, Susan’s voice. “This is no place for royalty.
There must be some mistake. ”
Pandra emitted an unladylike snort. This was no mistake. This was her husband, Godrick, saying, “This is what you get for failing me.
”
Pandra was the Alpha King’s third queen. The first had died with the baby in childbirth. The second had vanished mysteriously after eight years of failed pregnancies. Both had been shifters, like the king—strong, powerful.
Pandra was human. “An attempt at something different,” they’d said at the wedding. “Susan. ” She turned.
“Leave the poor man alone. He has a long journey back. ” She waved the guard away dismissively. “You may go.
”
“Your majesty. ” Susan squealed shrilly. “You cannot possibly suggest we stay here. It is unbecoming of a queen.
”
The entrance hall was a disaster. Rotting floorboards bent under their weight. Mold crept up the walls. “There are rats,” Susan whined.
“Probably. ” Pandra agreed. “It’s already bad enough being banished from court,” Susan continued. “But this—”
Pandra held up a hand.
“Susan, do you hear that? ”
Susan stopped mid-breath. “I—No, what? ”
“That’s the sound of freedom.
” Pandra exclaimed. “No gossiping courtiers, no side-eyeing mistresses, and most importantly—” She grasped Susan by her shoulders. “No matrimonial duty. ”
Five years of performing in the dark.
Five years of lying still and quiet while Godrick tried to get an heir out of her like she was a broodmare. Five years of feeling like a failure every single month. “I don’t even have to pretend to care about what he has to say,” Pandra said overjoyed. “Or wear corsets for him.
”
“That’s all good and well,” Susan grunted. “But what will we do when winter strikes? What about food? ”
Pandra softened her voice.
“We’ll figure it out. What matters is that no one’s telling us what to do. This place is ours. ”
They explored what was left of the manor.
The west wing had partially collapsed. The grand staircase was rotted through, half the steps missing entirely. Water had pooled into the kitchens, turning the floor into a marsh of broken pottery and rusted metal. Finally, on the east side, they found a smaller room.
Four walls that felt solid enough. A ceiling with only one small hole in it. Grim, but real. Days turned into weeks.
Pandra learned to live without servants, without silks, without the endless court politics. She patched the roof with her own hands. She planted a small vegetable garden behind the manor. She chopped wood until her palms blistered and callused.
And she slept. For the first time in five years, she slept deeply, dreamlessly, without the weight of a king’s expectations pressing down on her chest. Susan grew thinner, paler. She wasn’t built for this life.
Pandra caught her crying by the well one morning. “I’m sorry,” Susan whispered. “I just—I never thought this would be my life. ”
“Neither did I,” Pandra said gently.
“But we’re alive, Susan. Truly alive. That’s more than we were at court. ”
One evening, about a month into her exile, Pandra sat by the fire in the crumbling great hall, patching a hole in her only warm cloak.
She heard something outside. Twigs snapping. Soft footsteps. She tensed, reaching for the iron poker by the hearth.
The door creaked open. A man’s silhouette filled the frame—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the quiet confidence of someone used to the dark. Pandra raised the poker. “Who’s there?
”
The man stepped into the firelight. She saw sharp green eyes, dark hair, a face that was handsome in a rough, untamed way. Something about him seemed familiar, though she was certain she’d never seen him before. “You’re the queen,” he said.
Not a question. A statement. “Former queen,” Pandra corrected, lowering the poker slightly. “Who are you?
”
“My name is Nolrick. ” He moved closer to the fire, warming his hands. “I’m the Duke of Ashfolk. ”
Pandra’s brow furrowed.
“I don’t recall a Duke of Ashfolk at court. ”
“That’s because my family was branded traitors and executed six years ago. ” His voice was flat, emotionless. “I’m the only one who survived.
”
Pandra’s grip on the poker tightened. “Why are you here? ”
“To offer you a choice. ” He looked at her directly.
“The king thinks you’re dead. The court has already forgotten you. You could disappear, start a new life somewhere. No one would ever know.
”
“And the other choice? ”
Nolrick smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. “Help me destroy him.
”
The words hung in the air between them. Pandra felt something awaken in her chest—something dangerous, something hopeful. “Sit down,” she said. “Tell me everything.
”
Over the next few hours, Nolrick told her about his sister, Adelina. She’d been the king’s first queen. Beautiful, noble, beloved by the people. For three years, she’d failed to conceive.
When she’d finally become pregnant, she’d been overjoyed, certain it meant her position was secure. “She miscarried at seven months,” Nolrick said, his voice low and rough. “The king was furious. He said she’d failed him.
That she was useless. ” He paused, swallowing hard. “She got pregnant again within six months. Lost that baby too.
And then, within a week of the second miscarriage, she was dead. Poison disguised as complications from the loss. ”
Pandra’s blood ran cold. “The king killed her.
”
“He did. ” Nolrick’s hands clenched into fists. “When my family demanded answers, he branded them traitors and had them executed. I escaped.
I’ve been hiding among the rogues ever since—outcasts, rebels, people who have their own reasons to hate the king. ”
Pandra thought about Godrick. His cold hands. His dismissive words.
His complete disregard for her as a person. “What do you want from me? ”
“The king will need an heir eventually. He’ll take a fourth wife, and if she gives him one, she’ll become his favorite, and your death will be permanent.
” Nolrick leaned forward. “But if the nobles believe you’re carrying his child—the child of his rightful queen—they’ll demand you return to court. And once you’re back inside the palace, you’ll have access to things no one else does. ”
Pandra let out a bitter laugh.
“I’m not pregnant. ”
“Not yet. ” Nolrick’s eyes met hers. “But I have a plan.
”
She shook her head. “This is insane. The king is surrounded by guards, by healers, by servants loyal to him. You’re asking me to walk into a trap.
”
“I’m asking you to help me free our kingdom from a tyrant. ” Nolrick’s voice softened. “I’ve seen what he’s done. The work camps.
The starvation. The families torn apart. He doesn’t care about his people—he only cares about his legacy. If you help me, we can give them a chance.
”
Pandra fell silent. She thought about the years she’d spent in the palace, smiling at courtiers, pretending not to see the suffering outside the walls. She thought about the pain she’d endured, the humiliation of being treated like livestock bred for a single purpose. She thought about the king’s hands on her, cold and demanding, and the way he’d discarded her without a second thought.
“Even if I agree,” she said slowly, “how would I convince the king that the child is his? He sent me away because I couldn’t conceive. ”
Nolrick reached into his pouch and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a dark liquid. “This is a special tonic,” he said.
“One of the rogues’ healers created it. If you take it regularly, it will increase your fertility—or at least make it appear so. Combined with a few other tricks, we can make the timing work. ”
Pandra stared at the vial.
“And if I don’t get pregnant? Then what? ”
“Then we adjust the plan. ” Nolrick set the vial on the table between them.
“But I believe you will. And when you do, the king will be overjoyed. He’ll bring you back to court. He’ll trust you.
And that’s when we strike. ”
The fire crackled between them. Pandra made her decision. Two months later, Pandra returned to the palace, her hand resting on the small swell of her belly.
She’d taken the tonic daily, and the signs had appeared almost immediately—the missed cycle, the nausea, the exhaustion. She’d prayed it was real, not just a trick of the tonic. Because if she wasn’t actually pregnant, this plan would fall apart before it even began. The king was overjoyed.
He moved her into his chambers—a part of the palace she’d never been allowed during their marriage. He surrounded her with healers and servants. He didn’t know about the deal she’d made with Nolrick. Pandra lay awake at night, staring at the portrait of Adelina that hung on the wall opposite the bed.
The woman looked exactly like Nolrick—the same sharp cheekbones, the same green eyes. The queen the king had murdered because she couldn’t give him an heir. Four months passed. Pandra sat through council meetings, listening to the king make decisions that would starve villages and fill his own coffers.
She smiled when he placed his hand on her belly. She pretended not to see the fear in the eyes of the servants. And at night, when the king was asleep, she made her moves. A vial of poison slipped into the king’s wine.
A letter passed to Nolrick through a trusted maid. A meeting in the shadowy corners of the palace garden. “This is taking too long,” Nolrick said one evening, his voice barely a whisper. “The king’s advisors are growing suspicious.
They’re asking questions about your pregnancy. ”
“Another month,” Pandra insisted. “Just wait—”
“I can’t wait. ” Nolrick’s eyes were fierce in the darkness.
“He’s preparing to sign an order that will execute dozens of rebel prisoners. My people. If we don’t act now, they’ll die. ”
Pandra felt the weight of the decision pressing down on her.
“Fine,” she said. “Three days. Meet me in the throne room after the council session. I’ll make sure the king is alone.
”
Three days later, Pandra slipped a sedative into the king’s afternoon wine. He fell asleep in his study, slumped in his chair. Pandra sent the guards away with a plausible excuse, then opened the hidden door she’d discovered behind the tapestry. Nolrick slipped through, silent as a shadow.
They stood over the sleeping king—the tyrant who had destroyed so many lives. Pandra felt her heart pounding in her chest. “Do it,” she whispered. Nolrick raised the dagger.
The king’s eyes flickered open. “Wha—” The king’s gaze landed on his wife, standing beside the rebel. “Pandra? What—”
“This is for my sister,” Nolrick said quietly.
“And for everyone you’ve destroyed. ”
The blade fell. The king’s body crumpled to the floor. Pandra stood frozen, staring at the blood spreading across the marble.
A single sound escaped her lips—something between a gasp and a sob. It was done. The tyrant was dead. Nolrick turned to her, his expression softening.
“It’s over. You’re safe now. ”
Pandra placed a hand on her belly, feeling the baby kick. “We both are.
”
The news spread quickly through the palace: the king had died of a sudden illness. The queen was now regent, ruling in the name of her unborn child. The nobles, satisfied that the succession was secure, rallied behind her. Six months later, Pandra stood in the courtyard of the ruined manor—her first home in exile—watching soldiers help families find shelter within its newly repaired walls.
The entrance hall, once moldering, was now filled with cots and healers tending the wounded. The kitchens, once a marsh of broken pottery, rang with the sound of cooking. The house that had been her prison had become a refuge. Nolrick emerged from the manor, their son cradled in his arms.
The baby cooed softly, his small fingers curling around Nolrick’s thumb. “He recognizes your voice,” Pandra said. “He always calms down when you speak. ”
Nolrick smiled—that rare, genuine smile she’d come to treasure.
“That’s because I tell him stories. About a queen who was sent away to die and came back to save a kingdom. ”
Pandra laughed, the sound surprising even herself. “And what happens in those stories?
”
“In those stories, the queen tells the rebel duke that it’s time to get married. ” Nolrick’s eyes sparkled. “And they live happily ever after. ”
Pandra leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers.
“I think I’d like that ending. ”
She looked out over the courtyard—the soldiers, the families, the children playing in the sunlight. It wasn’t the ending she’d ever expected. But it was the ending they had earned.
“Thank you for staying,” Nolrick murmured against her hair. “Thank you for not giving up. ”
Pandra smiled up at him. “You’re welcome.
Now come on—we have a kingdom to build. “
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