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Reborn From Ashes: The King's Ruthless Queen

Chapter 3

Word Count: 853 | Released on: Today at 17:45

of gold leaf and red velvet, hummin

k, silent sheets. Inside, the air was

ering the upper half of her face, leaving

hissed in her ear. "Smile. Look lively. And if you see anyone of importance... w

ng was incognito,

Imogene. Just

a vase he wanted to show off. The altered dress did its job. She could feel

abruptly. "I see Lord H

. Just like he h

soon as his back w

go. The east stairwell. It was drafty, poorly lit, and led to the private boxes. I

vy velvet curtains and into

re, the air was cooler. A single gas lamp flick

counted the seco

Two.

descended the stone stairs. The sound of

d against her ri

ldered, dressed entirely in black. He wore a simple black domi

Ala

d when he

the light catching the silver of her m

Another sycophant trying to

," he said. His voice was deep, rougher than

urtsy. She d

turned her face just slightly to

angle. She had practiced it in t

ic f

id-air. She saw his pupils dilate behind the mask. The annoyanc

wn. Then another.

command was there, but beneath

. Two. She let him see the fear in

, sh

rts and bolted down

" he s

arrow. She was smaller, faster. She burst

didn't stop. She wove through the crowd,

lance

couldn't chase her. Not here. Not in front of ev

d, his chest heaving. His eyes were scanning th

and and snapp

red at his side. Sterl

ugh to see Alaric point in her direction. She cou

d h

ear. It was the thrill of the gambler who

e you

her around. "I told you to stay p

nd. He was sweating. He

lied smoothly. "It

nk the King is leaving early. There's a commo

the balcony, Alaric was still standing

was th

, Kenney," she said softly. "I th

Chapter End

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Reborn From Ashes: The King's Ruthless Queen

rabb Fantasy

“The house was a living inferno, the heat devouring the air in my lungs as I clutched my five-year-old daughter to my chest. Emily was dead weight, her skin already cooling even as the room turned into a furnace of orange and black. Through the stinging smoke, I saw my husband, Kenney, crawling toward the door with a wet handkerchief pressed to his face. He didn't look back at the crib, and he didn't call my name; he was simply leaving us to burn. I lunged forward and grabbed his ankle, my nightgown catching fire, but he didn't reach down to save me. He recoiled in horror at the sight of my burning hair and our dead child, kicking me back with a panicked shriek. "Let go!" he shrieked. I died as a massive, flaming timber snapped from the ceiling and crushed us both into silence. I couldn't believe that the man I loved would leave his family to die just to save his own skin, but the rage I felt was colder than the death that followed. But then the burning stopped instantly, replaced by a cold so sharp it made my teeth ache. I gasped, jerking upright in my bed to find the velvet duvet cool under my palms and the nursery quiet, with Emily still breathing softly in her crib. I had returned to the winter morning two years before the fire, the exact day Kenney finalized the deal to sell me to the King for a promotion. As Kenney stepped into the room with a practiced mask of concern, I realized I was no longer the victim of this story. "A nightmare, my love?" he asked, reaching out to touch my shoulder. I flinched away, my eyes burning with a hatred he couldn't yet understand. Tonight was the Winter Masquerade, the night he planned to offer me to the King as a prize, but this time, I was going to turn his social ladder into a gallows.”