Chapter 5 Left Behind

The nightmares came in quiet waves.

At first, it was just a sound-dripping water, somewhere distant. Then came the voice.

"You can't save them all."

Reina jerked upright in bed, breath shallow, skin damp with sweat. Moonlight streamed in through the long windows, pale and ghostlike across the velvet sheets.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

This wasn't the first time she'd heard that voice.

And it wouldn't be the last.

Three years ago

The orphanage hallway reeked of bleach and mold. Reina knelt beside the broken door to the laundry room, her knees scraped from being shoved down earlier. Her hands were sticky with soapwater, but she didn't move.

In front of her, little Mari sobbed silently, her bruised wrist tucked beneath her chin. Madame Cora had slapped her for stealing a second roll of bread.

"She was hungry," Reina had whispered. "She didn't mean to."

"She lied," Madame Cora said, cold and final. "And you know what I do with liars, Reina."

Reina never forgot the sound of that ruler cracking against skin. Or the silence that followed when it was over.

Later that night, Reina had sneaked into the pantry and left a heel of bread under Mari's pillow. It was moldy, stale-but it was all she could steal without notice.

She curled up in bed afterward, shivering with guilt and fury.

She hadn't saved Mari.

She hadn't done anything.

Just like always.

Back in the present, Reina threw off the blankets and walked to the window. Below, the garden shimmered in the moonlight, statues casting long shadows across the trimmed hedges.

She hated how beautiful it all was.

How false.

Here, she was safe. Fed. Clothed. Dressed in silk.

But it wasn't freedom.

It was a different kind of cage.

And worst of all-she was beginning to get used to it.

The next morning, she found Elise waiting in the foyer.

"There's an event tonight," Elise said. "A political dinner. Small, tight-lipped. Nikolai wants you there."

Reina raised an eyebrow. "He's trusting me with diplomats now?"

"He's watching to see if you can hold your tongue. That's trust, in his language."

Reina gave a tight smile. "Does he know I dream of burning this place down?"

Elise didn't blink. "He probably dreams the same thing."

She spent most of the day alone, drifting through the library, pretending to read. But her thoughts wouldn't stop circling.

She was remembering more and more lately. Not just the pain. The shame. But also who she used to be.

She used to believe in right and wrong. That good people always tried. That if you stood up, someone would notice.

But here?

In this house of locked glances and velvet knives, goodness didn't matter. Only strategy did.

And she wasn't sure which parts of herself were armor-and which were just fear in disguise.

Five years ago

Reina had been twelve when she learned what it meant to be invisible.

It was winter. The pipes had burst in the girls' dormitory, and half the mattresses were wet with freezing water. When Reina told the caretaker, she was told to sleep on the floor.

"No one's going to come fix your life," he said. "So stop whining and lie down."

She didn't cry.

She waited until he left.

Then she pulled Mari and the other younger girls onto her mattress-huddled close, tiny limbs tangled like knots-and whispered stories into the dark until they stopped shaking.

That night, Reina understood something she would carry into every room for the rest of her life:

People don't save you.

You save yourself.

By the time evening came, Reina felt like a stranger in her own skin.

The dress laid out for her was a sapphire-blue gown, slit high at the leg and backless. She stared at it for a long time, then put it on without hesitation.

If they wanted a version of her, they would get one.

But it wouldn't be her weakness they remembered.

It would be her control.

The dinner was small, just twelve guests. Two ambassadors, three CEOs, one known arms investor, and a former senator. Reina recognized none of them-but she knew the air of power when she walked into it.

Nikolai was already seated at the end of the long glass table, speaking in low tones to a man with a silver beard.

When he saw her enter, his gaze flicked over her once-and he nodded.

Approval.

But not warmth.

Never warmth.

She took her seat beside him and remained quiet for the first hour, listening. Names flew like currency. Alliances, trade routes, oil. Power in every syllable.

Then someone finally turned to her.

"You're very quiet, Miss..." the senator trailed off.

"Reina," she said, lifting her wine glass. "And I prefer listening. It's a dying skill."

The man laughed. "Careful. In this room, quiet women either have sharp minds or sharper knives."

Nikolai cut in smoothly. "She has both."

A strange pride bloomed in her chest.

She crushed it instantly.

After the dinner, as the guests departed, Nikolai led her to his office. He didn't speak until the door clicked shut behind them.

"You did well."

"I didn't say anything."

"Exactly."

She turned toward him, arms crossed. "Why do you bring me into these rooms? I'm not your wife. I'm not your puppet."

"No," he said. "You're the mirror."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

He stepped closer, his voice low. "You reflect exactly what they want to see. Innocence. Ambition. Submission. Fire. They see it, and they underestimate you. That's power, Reina."

"But it's not me."

"No," he agreed. "But that's the point."

She looked away. "It's exhausting, pretending I'm something I'm not."

He tilted his head. "Then stop pretending."

She blinked. "You want me to be real?"

"I want to see if you even know what that means anymore."

Reina's mind - two years ago

A boy had come to the orphanage. Seventeen, thin, eyes like regret. He was only there for three days before he vanished.

On the second day, he sat beside Reina and asked, "Do you ever wonder if this is it? If we're just... made to be forgotten?"

She hadn't answered him.

Because the truth was, she had wondered.

Every day.

And now, standing in a palace dressed as a queen, she still did.

Because no matter how many diamonds you put on your throat, if your heart still whispered doubts, you were never really rich.

Later that night, Reina sat on the windowsill of her room, staring at the city skyline.

The memory of Mari, cold and bruised.

The boy who vanished.

The guard who said no one was coming.

They all lived inside her.

Still.

"Who am I?" she whispered to the dark.

And for the first time in years, she had no answer.

Only a growing ache in her chest that said:

You're not done becoming.