Chapter 11- The Unloved Queen
1260 Words
Hazel’s POV
“Your Majesty… how was your night with the King?”
The voice came from right outside the door the second I stepped into the hallway. It was the older maid—the one with the kind eyes and the steady hands. The same maid who had been hovering around me since I woke up here.
She was standing there like she’d been waiting all morning, hands folded in front of her, head slightly bowed.
I stopped. Looked at her. And a slow, wicked smirk curled across my lips.
“Splendid,” I said, letting the word drip like honey. “Oh, I had a wonderful time with the King.”
Her face lit up. She actually smiled—small, knowing, like she’d been holding her breath for good news for years.
“Which means…” she started, eyes sparkling, “we’ll be expecting babies soon?”
I just kept smiling, wider this time. Inside, I was laughing so hard my ribs hurt. Babies? With that man? After I’d slapped him, kneed him in the family jewels, called his d**k small in front of his mistress, and sent him to sleep on a couch that was basically a torture device for someone his size?
Yeah. Babies were definitely not happening.
But I didn’t say that out loud. I just gave her a little wink and kept walking.
The two guards outside pushed the heavy doors open wider, and I walked back into the bedroom like I owned every inch of it. Which, technically, I guess I did. Queen and all that bullshit.
I dropped onto the edge of the mattress.
The older maid followed me in quietly, closing the door behind her. She stood a respectful distance away, hands still folded, waiting.
I turned to her, tilting my head. “What’s your name?”
She blinked. Looking genuinely surprised—like she expected me to know her name.
“Martha, my Queen. My name is Martha.”
“Martha,” I repeated, tasting the name. It felt solid. Real. “Nice to meet you, Martha. Properly, I mean.”
Her eyes flicked up, confused but soft. “My Queen?”
I leaned back on my hands, legs swinging a little. “Let’s say I really don’t remember anything at all after the fall. Like… nothing. Blank slate. Tell me everything that’s been happening in this palace. Everything.”
She hesitated. Her fingers twisted in her apron. For a long second I thought she might bolt.
Then she lifted her head, sighed like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and met my eyes.
“You’re not going to like this, my Queen.”
I smirked. “Try me.”
She took a breath. “You already know the King favors his mistress over you.”
“Oh, I’m very much aware of that,” I said dryly.
Martha nodded, like she’d expected nothing less. “You’re never invited to any gathering. The mistress—Lady Liora—is always the one seen on the King’s arm. You…you hide in your room. You became the gossip of the entire kingdom. The unloved queen. The forgotten queen. The King never wants to be seen with you. Liora takes everything away from you. The King. Your spotlight. Your place beside him.”
She paused, swallowing hard.
“They never let you eat with them. Liora is the one who sits at the table beside the King. Always.”
I held up a hand. “Hold on. Are you saying the queen has never had breakfast with the king?”
Martha shook her head slowly. “Never. You’re not permitted to have breakfast or eat with the King.”
A laugh bubbled up in my chest—sharp, bright, unstoppable. I stood up from the bed, holding the blanket tightly. I paced once, twice, then turned back to Martha with a grin that felt feral.
“Well,” I said, voice low and delighted, “I see.”
Martha’s eyes widened. “My Queen?”
“There’s always a first for everything, isn’t there?” I stepped closer to her, still smiling. “And after what happened last night… don’t you think the King would be delighted to see me?”
She froze. Actually froze. Her face went pale.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, my Queen,” she whispered.
I reached out and touched her shoulder—gently, but firm enough that she felt it.
“Relax,” I said softly. “I’m sure the King would be very happy to see me. Very happy.”
Her eyes searched mine like she was looking for the old Hazel—the quiet, broken one who’d spent three years hiding. She wasn’t going to find her.
Because that girl was gone.
And the one standing here now? She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t broken. She was f*****g done.
I turned away from Martha and walked to the tall mirror on the far wall. My reflection stared back—hair wild from sleep, cheeks still flushed from last night’s chaos, eyes bright and dangerous.
I didn’t know how I’d ended up in this body, in this life, in this goddamn palace. Maybe I was in a coma. Maybe this was the weirdest VR simulation ever invented. Maybe I’d actually died and this was some twisted afterlife punishment.
I didn't care.
As long as I was breathing, walking, feeling the cold stone under my feet and the silk against my skin—this was my life.
And I wasn’t about to let anyone bully the woman who shared my face and my name.
Not the mistress. Not the king.
They’d spent three years treating her like dirt. Whispering behind her back. Laughing at her pain. Letting her sit alone while everyone else feasted and danced.
I don't know how long I'd be stuck here, but this queen wasn’t going to be anyone’s punching bag anymore. I was going to take back every scrap of respect, every shred of dignity they’d stolen from her. And I was going to enjoy watching them squirm while I did it.
No more letting some side-piece parade around like she owned the crown. No more letting a so-called king treat his wife like dirt under his boot.
No more.
I was taking back the queen’s honor.
And I was going to make every single motherfucker who’d looked down on her pay.
I turned back to Martha. She was still standing there, eyes wide, like she didn’t recognize me.
“Martha,” I said calmly, “go tell the kitchen to set an extra place at the king’s breakfast table.”
Her mouth dropped open. “My Queen—”
“Tell them the queen will be joining her husband this morning.”
She looked like she might faint. “But… but the orders… Miss Liora—”
I stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
“Liora can choke on her own perfume for all I care. The queen is coming to breakfast. And if anyone tries to stop me…” I smiled, slow and mean. “They’ll answer to me.”
Martha stared at me for a long heartbeat.
Then—slowly—she nodded.
“Yes, my Queen,” she whispered.
She curtsied deep, turned, and hurried out of the room like her clothes were on fire.
The door clicked shut behind her. And I just stood there in the silence smiling.
Breakfast with the King?
Oh, this was going to be fun.
- Writer
