Alice wandered through the palace gardens, her steps sharp and restless. The rose bushes had bloomed beautifully this season, but she had no eye for them. Her mind spun like a wheel, caught between the crumbling control she had fought so hard to secure and the ever-looming threat of Philip's return. She needed air. She needed silence.
Instead, she found her.
The witch stood still as a statue by the marble fountain, her tattered cloak brushing the petals of the flowerbeds, eyes locked on Alice with a look too calm to be harmless. She didn't speak. She didn't bow. She simply watched.
Alice's lips curled into a bitter sneer.
"Well, if it isn't the swamp ghost herself."
The courtiers stiffened, watching from behind hedges and pillars, pretending not to eavesdrop.
"What do you want?" Alice demanded, folding her arms. "If you've come to threaten me, don't waste your time. I'm not easily frightened."
"Not yet," the witch said calmly, her eyes scanning the sky, then the tower looming behind the palace. "But fear... has a way of climbing."
Alice's jaw clenched. "I owe you nothing."
"Ah," the witch replied with an amused smirk. "That's not what you said before. Promises echo, Alice. Even if you pretend to forget them, they remember you."
Alice glanced sideways at the courtiers pretending to be lost in flower beds.
"Speak plainly," she snapped.
The witch tilted her head. "Let's just say... when the moment comes, your hands may tremble. And when you fall—don't blame the wind."
Alice's face paled, just slightly, as the witch's gaze flicked toward the highest tower.
"You've always had a gift for heights,"
She sauntered closer, the hem of her silk gown whispering across the gravel.
"You still carry the foul stench of wet leaves and rotting bark. I should have had you whipped from the gates the moment I saw your twisted silhouette lurking."
The witch didn't flinch. She studied Alice with a chilling serenity.
"And yet, here I am," she said softly, "standing under your roof... because some debts are deeper than soil, and treaties are older than crowns."
Alice laughed, a high, sharp sound that grated the silence.
"You and your cryptic words. What treaty? What nonsense are you muttering now? You're nothing. Just a forest rat in rags who got lucky once."
The witch took a slow step forward, her voice lowering, almost conspiratorial.
"You think luck tied our fates? No. It was blood. A promise sealed long ago. One you cannot break. One your son will inherit whether you wish it or not."
Something in the air shifted.
Alice stiffened. "My son will forget you before he learns to walk. And once he sits the throne, he'll never know your name."
The witch's eyes shimmered with something unreadable—sadness, perhaps, or warning.
"We shall see. Fate enjoys irony, my lady. And love... love finds its roots in the strangest soil."
She turned without waiting for a response, her figure disappearing into the shadowed edge of the garden path, leaving Alice cold in her wake.
Alice stood frozen, hands clenched at her sides. Her heart pounded, not from fear—at least that's what she told herself—but from something darker. Something she couldn't quite name.
Something that smelled like prophecy.
Alice stood there for a moment too long, her lips parted but speechless. The whispers began before her silence ended.
YOU ARE READING
The Queen
RomanceCOMPLETE She was never meant to be queen. She was never meant to fall in love with the king. And she was never meant to survive the price of both. In a kingdom where loyalty is dangerous and love is a liability, Queen Samira finds herself tangled in...
