I glance at Callen, who nods almost imperceptibly. Moving forward, I stand beside her chair. Up close, I can see the fine lines around her eyes, the subtle tremble in her fingers.
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "No. The dangerous one is gone now." Her fingers brush my cheek, cool and light as butterfly wings. "But they never believe me when I say that."
There's something unbearably sad about her. Not just sad, but wounded in a way that never properly healed. I think of what Callen told me about his father, the cruel king, and what this woman must have endured as his queen.
"I believe you," I say quietly.
Her eyes well with tears. "Do you? How strange. We've only just met."
"Sometimes you can sense things about people," I say, thinking of my own intuition, the way shadows speak to me now, how I see the threads of fate.
She nods as if this makes perfect sense. "Yes. Yes, exactly." She turns to Callen. "This one understands. The others just see brokenness."
I feel a wave of protectiveness toward this fragile woman. Whatever happened to her—whatever was done to her—left scars deeper than physical ones. I recognize trauma when I see it, having lived with my own.
"Mother," Callen says gently, "how have you been feeling?"
Her focus drifts again, gaze wandering to the plants around us. "The moonflowers bloomed last night. Did you see them? They open only in darkness." She sighs. "Like memories."
The conversation shifts like this several times. Callen asks direct questions, the queen answers in riddles or changes the subject entirely. It's like watching someone trying to catch smoke with their bare hands.
Throughout it all, I watch her, this queen who is both present and absent, powerful and vulnerable. I wonder what she was like before—before a cruel king, before whatever broke her spirit.
When we finally rise to leave, Queen Maywen catches my hand. "You'll come again," she says, more statement than question. "The flowers like you. They never liked him."
I squeeze her hand gently. "I'd be honored to visit again, Your Majesty."
She nods once, then turns back to her flowers, my presence already forgotten.
Callen lingers behind as Lochan guides me to the door.
"Has the Council been to see you recently?" Callen asks his mother, his tone carefully casual.
Queen Maywen's fingers still on a silver leaf. "They come. They speak." Her voice drops. "They think I don't understand what they say when they think I'm not listening."
Callen moves closer, kneeling beside her chair. "What do they say, Mother?"
"They speak of crowns and blood and power." She touches his face with trembling fingers. "They fear you. The son returns with darkness at his side." Her gaze flickers to me, then away. "They'll try to stop you before the moon turns."
"Do they hurt you?" Callen's voice is tight with barely contained rage.
She shakes her head. "Not since..." she trails off, her eyes going distant again. "But they wait. Like wolves. Hungry for what isn't theirs."
"I won't let them near you again." Callen takes her hand, his touch gentle despite the steel in his voice. "I promise."
The queen smiles, a small, sad thing. "My beautiful boy. Always fighting." She cups his cheek. "Be careful who you trust.
I watch them from across the room, transfixed by this tender side of Callen I've rarely glimpsed. His shoulders have lost their rigid set, his face softer as he speaks to his mother.
"The Council has called a meeting," Queen Maywen whispers. "I heard them. Something about… containment."
Callen's posture shifts subtly. "When?"
"Soon. Tomorrow, perhaps." She plucks at the sleeve of her gown. "They think I'm simple. That I don't notice things."
"You see more than they know." Callen presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'll return soon, Mother. When I do, things will be different."
I follow Callen and Lochan through the winding corridors of the palace. The guards stand at attention as we pass, but their eyes follow us with undisguised curiosity.
