ISLA
The marketplace was alive with noise and movement, a chaotic hum of life that seemed determined to drown out my thoughts. I tightened my grip on the crate of dried herbs I carried, my fingers numb from the chill. My stall was a small, rickety thing on the far edge of the market—a humble setup, but enough to scrape together a living.
“Fresh herbs!” I called out, forcing a smile. My voice was hoarse, my throat dry from the cold air. “For teas, for remedies, for cooking!”
Most people ignored me, their attention fixed on the larger stalls selling warm bread, fresh produce, and the occasional luxury item. I didn’t blame them. Dried herbs weren’t exactly enticing when your stomach was empty.
I adjusted the baskets on my table and tried to focus on my work, but my mind was a storm. I couldn’t stop replaying the events of last night—the quiet creak of the door, the soft glow of moonlight, and her. The woman in the king’s chambers. The truth I had stumbled upon, a truth that turned everything I thought I knew into ash.
The king was a woman.
And I had failed to kill her.
“Did you hear?”
The sharp whisper cut through the din of the market, drawing my attention. Two women stood a few paces away, their heads bent close as they gossiped.
“They’re revealing the king,” one of them said, her voice tinged with excitement.
I froze. My heart stuttered, then raced, each beat louder than the last. I strained to listen, my hands clenching the edge of my stall.
“After twenty years!” the other woman replied. “Can you believe it? No one’s seen him since he was a boy.”
Him. The word made my stomach churn. Lies. All of it, lies. The king wasn’t a boy raised in secrecy; she was a woman. A woman who had ruled with cruelty and cunning from the shadows.
I forced myself to breathe, to act casual, as though their words hadn’t just sent my world spinning. “What are you talking about?” I asked, injecting just enough curiosity into my tone to mask the tension beneath.
The first woman turned to me, her face alight with the thrill of scandal. “The king! After all these years, they’re finally revealing him. There’s going to be a public procession to the throne room tomorrow. They say the whole kingdom’s invited to witness it.”
“To witness what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“To witness his coronation as the official sovereign,” the second woman said. “They’re calling it the ‘Reclamation.’ They say the regents have been preparing for this for years.”
The word felt like a slap. Reclamation. As though the king were reclaiming power that had never truly been hers.
I nodded absently, offering a polite smile as they walked away, their conversation fading into the market’s din. My hands trembled as I adjusted the baskets on my stall, my mind racing.
They were going to reveal her. The woman I had seen in the chambers—the woman who had watched me with eyes that saw too much.
This was a game. It had to be. Why now, after all these years? Was it her doing? Did she know I was there last night? Was this her way of asserting control, of daring me to act?
I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as the implications began to sink in. If the people saw her—if they saw the truth—it would shatter everything. They had lived under the illusion of a faceless, male king for two decades. What would they do when they realized their ruler had been a woman all along?
“Isla.”
The sound of my name jolted me back to the present. I turned to see Leora, a fellow vendor, approaching with a basket of apples. Her face was flushed from the cold, her smile warm and genuine.
“Got anything for a sore throat?” she asked, setting the basket down on my stall.
I forced a smile, trying to push my swirling thoughts aside. “Chamomile and honey,” I said, reaching for one of the jars on my table. “Brew it in hot water, and it should help.”
“Thanks,” she said, handing me a coin. Her eyes flicked to the women who had been gossiping earlier. “Did you hear about the king?”
I nodded stiffly. “Hard to miss.”
Leora leaned in, lowering her voice. “I don’t trust it. Why now, after all this time? Doesn’t it seem… odd?”
Her words sent a chill through me. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged, glancing around as though someone might overhear. “It’s been twenty years. No one’s seen him, and now they’re parading him in front of everyone? Something about it doesn’t sit right.”
I nodded slowly, my chest tightening. Leora was no fool. The people of the lower city had learned to question everything, to see the shadows behind the light.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, picking up her basket. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”
She smiled and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
The market continued to bustle around me, but I felt detached, as though I were watching from a distance. My pulse thrummed in my ears, my skin prickling with unease.
I had to be there. I had to see what she was planning, what game she was playing. This wasn’t just about the king anymore; it was about control, about power, about the lies we had all been fed.
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. She had made a mistake. Whatever she thought she was doing, whatever game she was playing, I wouldn’t let her win.
The king might be a woman, but she wasn’t invincible.
I would be there tomorrow.
****
The throne room was a sea of bodies, the crowd pressed so tightly together that it felt hard to breathe. The air buzzed with whispers, a low hum of anticipation that grew louder with each passing second. Even the grand hall, with its soaring arches and intricate carvings, seemed to tremble under the weight of so many people.
I stood near the back, my heart pounding like a drum. I hadn’t wanted to come, but the pull was irresistible. I had to see this with my own eyes. I had to see how she would play this charade.
The regents lined the dais, their stern faces shadowed by the flickering torchlight. They looked nervous, shifting uncomfortably as they glanced toward the throne that had sat empty for so long. The crowd silenced as a trumpet sounded—a single, piercing note that cut through the tension like a blade.
“He comes,” someone whispered near me.
My stomach twisted.
The grand doors at the far end of the hall swung open with a deafening creak, revealing the figure who had haunted my thoughts.
The woman—the king—stepped forward, her every movement deliberate and calculated, as though she owned the very air we breathed. She was tall and commanding, her presence filling the room in a way that made it feel smaller. Her skin was dusky and smooth, a warm shade that glowed in the torchlight, as if she had been kissed by the sun. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe style, leaving her sharp, striking features exposed.
She was wearing a man’s attire—a tailored coat of deep midnight-blue that hugged her frame perfectly, the intricate gold embroidery shimmering with every step. The high collar framed her elegant neck, and the breeches and boots she wore emphasized her powerful stride. But there was nothing masculine about her; the clothes, though cut for a man, seemed made for her and her alone.
Her eyes—those cruel, piercing eyes—were a shade of gold so vivid they seemed almost inhuman, like a predator stalking its prey. They swept over the crowd with a cold, detached curiosity, as though she could see straight through us, down to our very bones. There was something almost vampiric about her, an unearthly beauty that was both terrifying and magnetic.
Gasps rippled through the room, the sound a mixture of shock, awe, and disbelief.
“A woman?” someone muttered, the words heavy with confusion.
“She can’t be—”
“She is…”
The whispers swirled around me, but I couldn’t speak. My throat felt dry, my hands clenching into fists at my sides as I stared at her.
She reached the dais and turned, facing the crowd. The silence was deafening now, all eyes locked on her as she slowly ascended the steps. The regents bowed their heads as she passed, their submission both strange and telling.
When she reached the throne, she paused, her gaze sweeping the room again. Then, with a fluid grace, she lowered herself onto the gilded chair, crossing her legs as though she had always belonged there.
For a long moment, she said nothing, letting the tension build, letting the weight of her presence sink in. Then she spoke, her voice like velvet wrapped around steel.
“So,” she began, her lips curving into a faint, mocking smile, “you’ve come to see your king.”
The words sent a shiver through the room. Her voice was low and smooth, carrying easily despite the size of the hall. It was a voice that commanded attention, demanded obedience.
“I see your confusion,” she continued, her tone almost playful. “You expected a man, didn’t you? A shadowy figure built on the stories you’ve been told for twenty years. A boy who grew into a faceless king. But no.” She leaned forward slightly, her golden eyes gleaming. “The truth is far more interesting, isn’t it?”
A murmur ran through the crowd, but no one dared to speak.
“I am the ruler you’ve feared and served,” she said. “The one who has kept this kingdom whole while others sought to tear it apart. I am the hand that strikes down threats, the mind that outwits enemies. And yes, I am a woman. Does that surprise you?”
She rose from the throne with an elegance that seemed almost supernatural, her coat shifting with her movements like liquid midnight.
“For twenty years, I have ruled you,” she said, her voice rising. “Not as a man, not as a woman, but as your king. I have wielded power that none of you can fathom, made decisions that none of you could bear. And look at what I have built.” She gestured to the room, to the city beyond. “A kingdom that stands strong, unbroken, while others crumble. Is that not what matters?”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.
“I care nothing for your expectations,” she continued, her tone hardening. “Your traditions, your prejudices—they mean nothing to me. I am here to rule. To lead. To protect what is mine. And I promise you this: anyone who dares to challenge me will learn just how little mercy I possess.”
Her eyes locked onto mine then, as though she had known exactly where I was all along. The faintest smirk tugged at her lips, a silent challenge that made my blood boil.
The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound jarring and almost surreal. They were cheering for her—for this woman who had ruled them in secret, who had lied to them, controlled them, crushed them. And yet, they loved her for it.
I clenched my teeth so hard it hurt, my hands shaking with rage. How could they not see it? How could they fall for her lies, her cruelty?
But as I watched her standing there, basking in their adoration, I realized something chilling.
She wasn’t just powerful. She was dangerous.
And she had just declared war on anyone who dared to stand against her.
****