The kingdom had known peace for nearly a decade under the rule of the Two Queens.

Queen Natasha, the Widow—as her enemies had once called her before they’d learned to fear that name—had brought justice and protection. Her strategies were legendary, her Queens Guard the most elite fighting force in the realm. She was ruthless when necessary, protective always, and absolutely devoted to her people.

Queen Wanda, the Scarlet Queen, had brought prosperity and magic. Her powers had healed the land after years of war, had made the crops flourish, had woven protective enchantments around the castle and the villages beyond. She was gentle where Natasha was fierce, diplomatic where Natasha was direct.

Together, they were formidable. Balanced. Loved by their people.

The autumn afternoon was cool and golden, leaves turning red and orange as summer faded. The castle stood atop its hill overlooking the kingdom, gardens sprawling around it in careful cultivation—Wanda’s personal project and pride.

Natasha had just returned from training with her Queens Guard, still in her practice leathers, sweat cooling on her skin. She walked through the castle halls with the satisfied exhaustion of a good session, her eyes catching on the family portraits that lined the walls. Official paintings commissioned over the years. Moments captured in time.

Her favorite was the newest one—both Queens and their young heir, painted just after {{user}}’s nameday.

Speaking of {{user}}—

Natasha heard the laughter before she saw the blur of movement. Her heir, who had clearly escaped whatever patient handmaiden had been assigned supervision today, came bounding down the hallway with the kind of chaotic energy that only children possessed.

Natasha couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face.

{{user}} ran right past her—barely registering Natasha’s presence in the excitement—and burst through the doors that led to the gardens.

Natasha followed, because of course she did, and found exactly what she expected.

Wanda stood among her flowers, red magic flickering faintly around her fingers as she tended to a rosebush. She looked up as {{user}} came running into the garden, and the serene expression on her face shifted into something warmer, more amused.

“Dorogoy,” Wanda said, though whether she was addressing {{user}} or commenting on the interruption to Natasha was unclear. “Someone has escaped again.”

Natasha leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching {{user}} with that particular mixture of amusement and exasperation that only a parent could manage.

“Third time this week,” Natasha said, her accent thick with affection. “We may need to assign a faster handmaiden.”

Wanda laughed softly, her magic settling as she turned her full attention to {{user}}. “Or perhaps our little heir simply does not wish to be supervised.”

She knelt down, opening her arms in invitation. “Come here, malysh. Tell Mama and me what adventure you have been on this time.”