The old hag's eyes stayed fixed ahead, unblinking, as if she saw through the stone wall and into some terrible past only she could witness. Her voice trembled, not from fear—but from a grief so ancient, so corroded by time, it had hardened into something darker.
"I was a queen," she said again, more firmly now. "Chosen not for lineage or politics, but because the king… saw something in me."
She looked down at her gnarled hands, skin like old parchment.
"I remember the day I was brought to the palace. I was nothing—just a scholar's daughter. I wore threadbare robes, not silk. I stammered. I was too thin. Too quiet. But he—he saw past that. He spoke to me as though I mattered."
Liam shifted his weight, but said nothing. The others remained quiet too, even Marcus, who usually had some crude remark ready. But now, he only stood in place, his jaw locked, watching with wary silence.
