The mont the man, the one the crowd believed to be Ian, dropped from the noose, the square erupted into cheers. Fists went into the air and shouts of approval erupted. The people had seen what they ca for: justice, in their eyes.
From her elevated position, the Queen lifted one hand to calm the roaring crowd. Her expression was cold, commanding.
"This kingdom will remain safe," she said, her voice clear and sharp. "Should another redhead be seen within my borders... they are to be captured and brought before . No questions. No delay. They will be executed."
"I promise to keep you all safe from their cursed blood," she added. "So long as I rule, no redhead will walk free beneath my sky."
They cheered again, louder this ti.
Then, with a nod to her guards, she gave the final order. "Remove the body. Burn it at once."
The guards moved fast. Two of them climbed onto the wooden platform and cut the body loose. The limp figure dropped into their arms, and without ceremony, they began dragging it toward the cremation pit.
Above, hidden from the public eye, Ian stood behind a narrow window in the Queen’s chamber. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just stared down in silence, watching the flas that would soon rise, flas ant for him.
His stomach turned, soone had died in his place.
Soon he heard the heavy wooden door creaked open, and the queen stepped in briskly, her robes trailing behind her like shadows that refused to let go. She looked annoyed, not furious, but clearly displeased, the kind of quiet frustration Ian had co to recognize in people who were used to getting their way.
She saw him standing by the narrow window, his eyes still fixed on the courtyard below.
"Stay away from that window, my lord," she said sharply, her voice low but firm.
Ian turned, eyebrows raised, caught sowhere between confusion and amusent. He pointed at himself slowly, like he wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or soone else hiding in the room.
It was still surreal. This woman, this powerful queen who had nearly crushed the life out of him twice with just her magic, was now calling him lord. The shift was jarring.
He tilted his head slightly. "May I finally ask," he began, voice half-dry, "why exactly are you calling lord now?"
The queen didn’t hesitate. "Your grandmother... she’s not just anybody." Her tone changed, softer, almost reverent. "She was the Empress of this world. The ultimate ruler. The one above all thrones."
Ian blinked, a slow breath leaving his lips. Then he laughed, not mocking, just deeply disbelieving. "My grandmom?" he scoffed. "Nah. You’ve got the wrong person. She’s... she’s gentle, reserved. Makes the best lemon tea, used to knit wool sweaters every winter. She’s a kind, ordinary woman. She never ruled anything but her kitchen."
The queen stepped closer, not backing down. "I’m not mistaken," she said calmly. "Seventy years ago, she vanished from this world. Disappeared completely... and she took an infant with her."
Ian frowned. "An infant?"
"Yes. A red-haired infant," she nodded.
He snorted and shook his head, amused again. "Okay, but I’m only twenty-four. You said seventy years ago. I think your numbers are off."
The queen gave him a look. One that suggested he wasn’t quite connecting the dots.
"I never said the child was a boy."
Ian’s eyes froze on hers.
"I said an infant," she continued. "A red-haired infant girl. I believe that child... was your mother."
Ian leaned back a bit, the wall catching him. He gave a slow, bewildered chuckle. "Well, that’s sothing," he muttered. He wasn’t laughing at her now. Just... stunned. Still processing. "That’s a hell of a theory."
The queen smirked faintly. "I thought you were smart," she said, almost teasing.
He squinted at her. "Hey now... you don’t talk to your lord like that," he said, half-joking, trying to shake the unease crawling up his spine.
But her words lingered in his mind like smoke that wouldn’t clear.
The queen’s eyes softened a little. "What about your mother? Is she alive?"
Ian looked away for a mont. "She died when I was born," he said quietly. "Childbirth complications. She was older when she had ... didn’t survive the delivery. I never knew her."
The silence in the room stretched between them. He didn’t realize he was rubbing the pendant around his neck again until he looked down and saw his own fingers clutching it tightly.
The queen extended her arm and pointed at a low cushion across from her. "Sit," she said.
Ian, still processing everything, lowered himself onto the cushion without a word. His eyes remained locked on hers, guarded but curious.
She moved with poise, her gown whispering against the polished floor as she took the seat directly opposite him. For a mont, she just studied him, the red of his hair, the curve of his jaw, the weariness in his eyes. Then she exhaled quietly and said, "Now I’m going to explain everything. You need to hear this."
Ian gave a single, slow nod.
The queen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "This world wasn’t always like this," she began, her voice calm but carrying weight. "Long ago... n ruled. Kings sat on thrones."
Ian tilted his head slightly, not interrupting.
"But everything changed," she went on, "when the knowledge of magic was discovered. Not all could wield it, and not all wielded it equally."
She paused, her expression sharpening.
"That’s when we learned the truth, won are more naturally attuned to magic than n. Not just slightly. Vastly. The more they trained, the stronger they beca. And as their power grew... so did their place in the world."
Ian’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t speak, just absorbed.
"Slowly," the queen continued, "won rose to power. Generals were replaced with High Mistresses. Kings faded. Queens took their place. Empires restructured. And eventually... the highest seat of all, the Empress, beca sacred. No man has sat on that throne in over four hundred years. Nor will they again, unless..."
She trailed off.
Ian noticed it. But before he could ask, she stood up with a fluid motion and walked to a nearby table, where an ornate crystal decanter rested.
She poured a deep amber liquid into two curved glasses, her back to him. "It’s a lot to take in," she said, her tone a little lighter now. "Drink."
She returned, handing him the glass, then sat down again, crossing her legs elegantly beneath her robes. She sipped once, then looked at him over the rim.
Ian stared into his drink for a second before lifting it to his lips. The burn was sharp, but he welcod it. It steadied him. He looked back at the queen, ready for more.
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