Chapter 4 The Queen's Smile

The throne room shimmered with gold and white delicate silk banners swaying in the breeze, polished marble floors reflecting a perfect world.

But Thalia knew better.

This was a stage. A performance. And the queen was its most dangerous actress.

Queen Isolde sat on her high-backed throne with elegance carved into every movement. Dressed in crimson velvet and adorned with black opals - always black, never pearls - she looked less like royalty and more like a warning wrapped in beauty.

"Thalia," the queen purred, her voice like velvet stretched over broken glass. "You're blooming again. I feared heartbreak would wilt you."

Thalia stepped forward, her head bowed just enough to appear obedient.

"Your Majesty," she replied smoothly, "I have stronger roots now."

A flicker passed through the queen's gaze - brief, sharp, gone.

In her first life, Thalia had spent years trying to please this woman. Desperate for approval, inclusion, anything that felt like family. She had tried to become what the queen admired - graceful, devoted, quiet.

And it had ended with a blade.

Never again.

"I've summoned you," the queen continued, "because I believe it's time we address your future. You're nearing the age where the court will expect... more of you. Appearances. Poise. Purpose."

Thalia smiled, knowing exactly what this was: the beginning of the leash.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she said. "I'd be honored to serve however the crown deems fit."

The queen raised an elegant brow. "Truly?"

Thalia met her eyes - calm, unreadable. "I live to serve."

The lie slipped so easily from her tongue now.

Isolde leaned back, studying her the way one might examine an unfamiliar blade. Beautiful. Potentially deadly.

"You'll be seated next to Alaric at the Spring Ball," she said. "The court needs to be reminded that House Melbourne still holds value."

Another test. Another public display. The same one that had started everything last time.

"I'll do as you wish," Thalia said gently.

But in her mind, she was already drawing the map.

She would smile, and bow, and dance.

And behind the curtain, she would begin pulling threads.