Page 25 of Queen

He catches my wrist mid-swing. Strong enough to stop me. Not enough to hurt. Yet. He rises, stepping into my space until the air between us is nothing but heat, breath, and unspent violence.

“Careful,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting my cheek.

My pulse pounds in my ears. My free hand lands against his chest, uninvited, traitorous, feeling the solid weight of him.

For a dizzying second, our breathing tangles. His eyes drop to my mouth. My body betrays me—I almost lean in.

Then the spell shatters. I wrench my wrist free, stepping back like I’ve remembered I was drinking poison.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, low and lethal. “Unless you want me to kill you.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches me with that dangerous calm, as if the threat didn’t scare him. As if it turned him on.

The Estate’s Poison

The air in the glass garden room still hums with his presence after he leaves. His scent lingers—coffee, smoke, and something darker that clings to the back of my throat. I need space before I choke on it.

I slip out through a side door into the private gardens.

It’s quiet here—except for the rhythmic clash of steel on steel. On the far lawn, Emiliano’s guards spar, blades flashing in the late sun. They move like predators, fluid and lethal, every strike trained to kill.

One of them glances my way mid-parry. He’s young, sweat glistening down his temple, eyes sharp enough to cut. Instead of looking away, he nods at me. Not deferential. Not casual. Respectful.

It stops me cold.

I’ve been here less than a day, and already the household is shifting around me. Fitting me into a role I never agreed to play. Queen of the Maritz empire. A title I don’t want—at least, that’s what I tell myself.

I walk the gravel path slowly, brushing my fingers over roses trimmed to perfection. Every petal flawless. Every thorn clipped just enough to seem harmless. But I know better. You don’t take the bite out of something born to wound.

A shadow crosses me. I glance up to find a maid with copper hair tucked beneath a black scarf. She carries a silver tray with two crystal glasses of red wine.

“Signora Maritz,” she says softly, dipping her head. “For you.”

The title knocks the breath out of me harder than the scent of wine.

I take the glass. Cold stem against my fingers. “It’s not… that’s not my name.”

She doesn’t blink. “It will be,” she says, before disappearing down the path.

The words echo long after she’s gone.

I should hate it. I do hate it. But a sick truth slithers under my skin—I don’t hate it enough. Because power wraps around me as easily as this silk dress. Not safety. Not freedom. But control. Influence. The ability to make someone else’s pulse spike with a single look.

It’s exactly what Giovanni once gave me. And exactly what he took away.

The memory is sharp—Giovanni’s hand at my back, his whisper against my ear, the strength that could feel like possession or protection, depending on the night. His cruelty. His love.

My throat tightens. I drain the wine, the burn cutting through the memory.

Am I really so broken I could fall for another viper, just because he wears different skin?

I keep walking, the guards’ blades clashing behind me. Each strike a warning. A reminder.

This cage may be gold, but the venom is still the same.

The Remade Ring

By the time night falls, the wine’s warmth is gone and the garden’s chill has seeped into my bones. I retreat to my sitting room, one of the only places in this estate where I can pretend I’m alone.