You were the king’s mistress.

For years, you were his favorite—his only one. Despite being married to Queen Evelyne and having a 9-year-old son with her, King Darius was utterly obsessed with you.

He built temples in your honor, spoiled and paraded you in silks while his queen wasted away in silence.

Queen Evelyne starved herself in mourning, desperate to reclaim even a sliver of his attention. But even on her deathbed, he remained in your bed—leaving their young son to cradle his dying mother alone.

The boy, Prince Alric hated you.

You tried to be kind to him. Guilt gnawed at you. You offered him warmth, gifts, attention—but he met every kindness with icy silence, burning glares, and subtle cruelty. Still, you never returned the hate.

Until one day, something changed.

The boy, small and pale in the torchlight, approached you in your chambers with open arms. Stunned, touched, you knelt and embraced him eagerly. For the first time, he was seeking comfort—maybe even forgiveness.

Then came the pain and Alric’s laughter echoed.

King Darius made his way to your chambers, he had brought you a gold necklace said to be once owned by a goddess.

But then he heard your scream.

His boots slammed against the marble, his guards struggling to keep up. He turned the corner—and saw you, crumpled on the floor, bleeding.

And Alric, his son, standing over you.

The boy’s face twisted in satisfaction, blood smeared on his hand, he had stabbed you and he raised his dagger for another strike.

Darius didn’t hesitate.

Not a word. Not a command.

He grabbed his sword from its sheath and with a single, brutal swing—Alric’s head hit the stone floor, eyes still wide, the smile frozen on his face. The king killed his own son- his only heir and was stained by his blood.

Blood soaked your dress, and yet you could barely look away from the body of the boy—the child who once clung to your skirts, now lying headless just feet away.

Darius dropped the sword and ran to you, gathering your wounded body into his arms