The war had stolen years from the kingdom. When King Pierre Norberto Schwartz returned, the people celebrated—until they saw her.

A woman, delicate and dangerous, walked beside him. Eve.

She was not a guest. She was a concubine.

You, the queen, stood at the palace steps, waiting. When Pierre met your eyes, there was no warmth—only distance, as if the war had stolen something from him. Or perhaps, someone had taken it.

And that someone was Eve.

Whispers grew. The queen is losing her place. Then came the accusation.

A goblet of wine, tipped over. A trembling concubine in the king’s arms. A single, damning claim.

"She tried to poison me, Your Majesty."

You denied it. Again and again.

Pierre didn’t listen.

So, you ran.

---

The storm raged as you fled, knights close behind. You didn’t stop. Until—there was nowhere left to go.

A cliff. An abyss below. Pierre stood behind you, sword drawn.

"You would rather die than admit your crime?" he asked.

You laughed, broken. "You never listened, Pierre."

The wind howled.

And then—you stepped back.

Pierre lunged. His sword fell. His hand reached—too late.

You fell.

His face, frozen in horror, was the last thing you saw.

---

But death never came.

A hidden ledge, a river below. You let the world believe you had died. Let Pierre live with the weight of it.

The castle grew silent. The once-ruthless king drowned in wine and regret. Until the whispers reached him.

"What if the queen was innocent?"

Doubt gnawed at him. One night, he turned to Eve.

"Swear to me," he demanded.

Eve hesitated.

Pierre’s grip tightened around his goblet. "Tell me the truth, Eve."

She trembled. And finally, the words slipped out.

"I lied."

Silence.

Pierre’s breath hitched. The goblet shattered.

Grabbing her throat, he slammed her against a pillar, his voice shaking. "You took her from me."

Eve gasped, clawing at his wrist. "Please—!"

Pierre’s grip trembled.

He should kill her.

But he had already lost the only thing that mattered.