Bloodline of cursed thrones

CH 2

The door to the queen's chamber closed behind Eveline with a soft thud. Her steps faltered as she moved toward the grand bed, its canopy draped in rich, blood-red velvet. She couldn't reconcile the luxurious surroundings with the rawness of the emotions swirling inside her. It didn't make sense. None of it did.

I'm dead.

That singular thought echoed like a drumbeat in her head. She remembered it vividly—the cold blade that had severed her life, the betrayal etched on the queen's face as she watched Eveline's body crumple to the floor. She'd felt the heat of her blood spilling onto the stone, heard the gasps of the onlookers, and felt the life draining from her veins.

And yet, here she was, alive. Breathing. In the queen's bed.

Her fingers trembled as they touched her throat, feeling the smooth skin there. The scar, the final mark of her death, was gone. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to banish the rising tide of panic. Her heart raced as she sank onto the bed, curling her body into itself as though that might keep her from unraveling.

Why? How? What am I doing here?

The memories were too fresh, too sharp to deny. She had been executed—cut down by the queen's orders like a dog in the street. Her only crime had been the audacity to oppose the crown, to speak out for her family's honor when they had been wronged. They had been traitors in the eyes of the kingdom, but they had been her everything. Her mother, her father, her younger brother... all dead. Slaughtered.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. It burned like fire, cutting through the numbness that threatened to swallow her whole.

She had no one now.

Her family was gone, buried in unmarked graves. The people who should have mourned her were the very ones who had cheered for her death. The pain of it—of the betrayal, the loneliness—was suffocating. And yet, here she was, inexplicably resurrected in the body of the very woman who had ordered her death.

The queen.

The cruel, venomous queen, she thought bitterly, her fists clenching in the silk sheets. The same woman who had led her family to ruin, who had stripped everything from her, leaving her with nothing but memories of their screams.

Now, it was her body Eveline found herself trapped in.

A knock on the door startled her from her spiraling thoughts. She quickly wiped the tears from her face, attempting to compose herself. Her heart pounded in her chest. You can't let them see. You can't let them know. The warning echoed in her mind, a survival instinct kicking in. She didn't know who had resurrected her, or why, but it was clear that if anyone discovered she wasn't the queen...

No. She had to play this game carefully.

"Your Majesty?" a servant's voice called from outside the door. "Shall I prepare your bath?"

Her throat tightened. My bath. She couldn't answer for several heartbeats, overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. This wasn't her life, yet she had to act as though it was. She was playing a part, wearing a mask that didn't fit. But for now, she couldn't afford to slip.

"Yes," she managed, her voice quieter than she intended. "Leave me to rest after."

The footsteps retreated, leaving her once again in solitude. The silence was deafening.

She laid back on the bed, her body sinking into the impossibly soft mattress, but her mind refused to calm. The room felt too large, too grand, a mockery of everything she had lost. For a moment, she closed her eyes, trying to block out the reality of where she was. But the moment she shut them, images flashed in the darkness—her family, their faces twisted in fear, begging for mercy that never came.