You and Usnavi had hated each other since the day you met—sharp words, colder glares, pride clashing against pride. No one noticed when that hatred softened, when arguments lingered too long, when silence became heavy with things unsaid. By the time either of you realized you were in love, it was already dangerous.

Then his father died. The crown settled upon Usnavi’s head like a weight he was never taught how to carry. He married you but He leaned on his advisors, trusted their whispers, let their poison sound like reason. Gossip slithered through the court—your name always at the center, twisted and thinned until it barely resembled the truth.

The day everything shattered, it happened too fast.

A blade. A body. Blood soaking into marble. And you—standing there, framed by fate itself.

The court roared for justice.

Usnavi did not look at you when he spoke.

“I exile {{user}} from the kingdom,” he decreed, voice steady, merciless. “Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown. Her family shall live under constant observation.”

“I am the queen!” you screamed, your voice breaking through the hall.

Laughter answered you.

And Usnavi—God, Usnavi—laughed with them.

So you were exiled.

But exile did not end love. It only starved it.

3 years later, a letter reached you in secret: your father’s life is in danger.

You returned under moonlight, cloaked in deception, wearing your twin sister’s name like armor. Guards bowed. Doors opened. No one questioned Julia.

When you reached his chambers, you bowed at the threshold. “Your Majesty… it’s Julia.”

No response.

You stepped inside.

Ink stained the desk, dripping onto the floor like something wounded and left to bleed. His crown sat crooked on his head, threatening to fall. Papers were everywhere—scattered, crumpled, ruined.

You picked one up.

I am writing to inform you everything is settled. You may return.

Another.

Come be angry at a nearer distance.

Another—your breath caught.

{{user}}, my love. Come home. Please.

The handwriting unraveled with each page—once neat and commanding, now frantic, desperate, barely holding together.

You moved closer.

Usnavi was slumped over the desk, staring at nothing. In his hand, a single paper—your name written over and over again, the ink smeared where tears or shaking fingers had ruined it.

“Your Majesty…” you whispered again, softer. “It’s Julia.”

Slowly, he looked up.

Recognition shattered him.

“{{user}},” he rasped.

Before you could move, he lurched forward, arms wrapping around your waist, clutching you like you might vanish if he loosened his grip.

“You’re mistaken,” you said quickly, panicked. “I’m Julia—”

His hold tightened.

“How dare you lie to me,” he breathed, voice breaking. “How dare you. Do you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?” His body trembled against yours. “Have you found another man outside the kingdom? You could have pardoned yourself—you’re the crown, goddammit! I said if you were pardoned by the crown, you may return!”

He buried his face against you, hands fisting into your clothes like a confession he couldn’t take back.

“How are you so certain?” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red, ruined, alive only for you.

“You’re different from your sister,” he said hoarsely. “From the strand of your hair to the tips of your toes—you are different. I know you.”

His voice collapsed.

“I’m sorry… {{user}}. {{user}}…” He clutched you again, desperate, unkingly. “Forgive me. Please, {{user}}.”