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The Queen’s Invitation

Chapter Seven

The palace audience hall was a cathedral of power and elegance, where marble pillars stretched toward a ceiling painted with the legends of old queens—women who ruled with blood-stained grace and uncompromising wisdom. Sunlight poured through tall arched windows, gilding the polished floor and crowning the woman seated upon the ivory throne.

Queen Seraphina.

Beautiful, sharp-eyed, and terrifying in her quiet composure, she was the true backbone of the kingdom. Ministers feared her tongue more than battlefield steel, andgenerals bowed not just in respect but in reverence. Her mind was a weapon, her presence a silent command. And Elisha… knew her.

No—Camila Everhart knew her.

Yet within Camila’s fragile body lingered the soul of a woman who once walked in shadows, an assassin who had crossed paths with this very queen on a moonless night long ago. That night, Elisha had learned that the gentle smile Seraphina wore before the court concealed a devil who danced with blades like they were threads of silk. A queen who could kill as gracefully as she ruled.

Now, fate had seated them face to face again.

Camila sat with perfect posture, pale hands folded in her lap, her expression calm and unreadable. Gone was the trembling noble girl who once avoided eye contact and apologised for breathing too loudly. In her place was a woman with steady eyes and quiet confidence — a woman who had died and returned sharpened.

The queen studied her openly.

“You have changed, Lady Camila,” Seraphina said softly, her voice smooth but probing. “Before your… unfortunate fall, you could scarcely lift your gaze without fear. Yet now you meet mine without flinching.”

Camila offered a slight smile. “Perhaps two years of silence teaches one the value of standing tall, Your Majesty.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed through the queen’s eyes.

Seraphina sighed, folding her gloved hands. “I did not summon you merely to observe your transformation. I wished to speak of my son… and of the past.”

Of course.

“The kingdom once hailed you as the perfect candidate for Crown Princess,” the queen continued. “Your grace, lineage, and temperament suited the role well. When you fell into that coma, the palace felt… emptier." My son was lonely. Confused. Weak in spirit.”

Camila’s eyes cooled.“He moved on quickly,” she replied flatly.

The queen’s jaw tightened. Still, she inclined her head — a rare gesture. “I have summoned you to offer my apologies. Not as a queen, but as a mother. Fredrick acted without thought or honour. For that, I beg your forgiveness.”

Camila’s smile sharpened — polite, deadly.

“Your Majesty need not apologise for an incompetent son,” she said calmly.

The air shifted.

The guards stiffened. Servants froze. Even the silk curtains seemed to still.

Seraphina’s eyes narrowed, fury flickering in their depths. “Careful, Lady Camila.”

Camila tilted her head slightly. “Am I wrong? Only an incompetent man would abandon his fiancée for her younger sister. Did no one consider the scandal? The whispers? The stain upon your own name?”

Silence fell heavy.

For a heartbeat, it seemed the queen might strike her where she sat.

Then Camila’s tone softened, honeyed as spring nectar.

“But enough of such unpleasant matters,” she said, turning her gaze toward the open balcony beyond the hall. “Your Majesty’s garden is more beautiful than any tale claims. The roses bloom as though theybow to you… just like your people do, mother.”

Mother.

The word slipped out with deliberate sweetness.

The queen blinked, thrown off balance.

Camila continued smoothly, “It must take a heart of rare strength to rule a kingdom and still find the time to nurture nature so lovingly. Truly, Your Majesty, you are as breathtaking as the flowers that bloom under your care.”

Seraphina watched her carefully now, suspicion battling reluctant admiration.

This was not the Camila she rememberedThis woman spoke with precision, charm, and dangerous elegance. Each compliment was placed like a piece on a chessboard, each word warming the air between them. It was the honey trap — subtle, irresistible, and expertly executed.

The tension slowly melted.

“And you take note of these things now?” the queen asked. “You who once avoided conversation like plague?”

Camila smiled demurely. “When one survives death, one learns to appreciate life… and exceptional women who shape it.”

A breath of laughter escaped the queen before she could stop it.

Then, as though surrendering to curiosity, she leaned back. “Tell me, Lady Camila. Do you truly have an interest in the arts of governance? In trade? In the balance of blade and coin?”

Camila’s eyes gleamed. “Swordsmanship, trade routes, seasonal crop management, foreign tariffs, soil chemistry for better vineyard yield…" these matters fascinate me, Your Majesty.”

The queen stared.

They spoke for hours.

Of commerce and coastal ports. Of rare herbs and their healing properties. Of stance techniques and royal duelling traditions. Of the silent language of leaves and the patience required for a thriving economy.

And with every passing moment, Seraphina’s mind sharpened with one painful truth:

This Camila… was fit for the crown.

She saw now the queen the girl could become. The ruler her son did not deserve. A woman not born to bow, but to command.

And that fool… Fredrick… had abandoned her the moment she fell.

The queen’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He had traded gold for rust. Wisdom for vanity. Strength for seduction.

Incompetent, indeed.

As Camila rose to leave, Seraphina spoke once more, quieter now.

“You have grown into someone formidable, Lady Camila.”

Camila inclined her head gracefully. “Growth is inevitable when the world tries to bury you, Your Majesty. Some of us simply choose to bloom instead.”

The queen watched her walk away, sunlight crowning her figure like silent approval.

For the first time in many years, Queen Seraphina wondered:

Had the kingdom just lost its futurequeen… or was fate merely rearranging the board?