In the following two months, the Shimizu household was practically on its way to dissolving into ash. Without Hiroki, Yuzu’s daughter, the only eligible heiress of the house, must learn to take over as the head at sixteen years old. Aki had been sent back to his family. Furong ended up remarrying to another household.

  Only Misbah remained, adrift in the ruins. Despite their past differences, Yuzu took pity on the boy and let him stay in his old chambers. It was as if it were haunted by a ghost, so quiet and lifeless, with only servants approaching to bring meals.

  Then, one day, an invitation to the Capitol from the Queen herself came.

  He found himself kneeling before her in the pace's inner chamber, alone. The vast, cold space dwarfed his petite body. The Queen regarded him from her dais, her expression betraying nothing.

  “I can send you home,” she said.

  The words took their time to reach him. He couldn’t believe his ears at first. When it registered, he didn’t immediately respond.

  Go home…?

  Yes, that was what he had always wanted. He had been brought to Dyss as a captive, a trophy of war. He had never asked to be here. In another life, he would still be in Cornaul, with his wife and children. Perhaps Noor would have finally learned to speak by now. Perhaps Sana would be taking his first steps, babbling his first words.

  The only reason he even stayed in Dyss—stayed alive—was to kill the one responsible for their deaths.

  And now… even that was taken from him.

  Was there even a point anymore? To staying here? To leaving? To breathing?

  Perhaps, at the very least, he could die in the soil of his homend. Perhaps that was all he had.

  But then, just before he could agree, the Queen’s demeanor shifted into one that sent a shiver down his spine. She leaned forward slightly, a hint of a smirk ghosting her lips, so small it was barely perceptible had Misbah not been hypervigint of her every move. His skin crawled from the way her eyes traveled over him.

  "In exchange," Her Majesty said, "you will remain in the pace with me for a time."

  Misbah went utterly still.

  "I have had my eye on you since you were first brought from Cornaul," she said in a soft, almost intimate voice. "Had I not needed to deal with that overreaching General Shimizu first, I would have taken you into my own household long ago. You should consider yourself fortunate, little Cornaulian. Fortunate to be useful to me. Fortunate to have earned my attention."

  Misbah felt the world tilt. Nothing about this felt real. To hear such words from the Queen of Dyss herself… he almost wanted to ugh from how much it sounded like a joke.

  To be given to woman after woman like an object. He wanted to throw up.

  The st spark in his eyes guttered and died. He knew in his heart that her offer was merely ceremony. When a tyrannical Queen wanted something, what choice did anyone have? He could refuse and be killed. He could accept and be used. Either way, his will meant nothing.

  So, he joined the pace.

  She promised that she wouldn’t touch him, merely summoning him to her chambers to “talk.” And talk they did, though Misbah scarcely remembered any of it. He would sit across from her, answering her questions in a voice that felt like it belonged to someone else. She asked about his life in Cornaul. About how he found Dyss. About his time with General Shimizu.

  He answered mechanically, his mind floating somewhere far away, watching the scene unfold from a great distance.

  Then whenever he felt her hand touch his thigh, ice would course through his veins, and he would flinch back to reality. He would stand abruptly, mumble a request to retire for the night, and flee before she could protest.

  It happened almost every night.

  From then on, he stopped caring about anything. He just wanted to go home.

  .

  .

  .

  How long had it been? Misbah couldn’t tell. Probably several months by now. Time had become meaningless in this pce.

  The chamber they had given him was pitifully small, barely rger than a storage closet. The ceiling sloped low, the walls were stained with damp, and a fine yer of dust coated every surface no matter how often he tried to clean. It made sense, he supposed. He was not an official royal concubine, after all. The fact that he had been granted any private space at all was already a privilege, however meager.

  His chambers in the Shimizu estate had been patial compared to this, as much as he hated to admit. He would chuckle humorlessly to himself, considering the irony of living worse in the Queen’s pce than a mere general’s.

  The Queen's interest had waned, as he had hoped it would. Each time she summoned him, he would ask the same question: when could he go home? And each time, her eyes would flicker with a cold glint that sent tremors through his body before she would dismiss him for the night.

  Eventually, the summons stopped altogether.

  The servants stopped acknowledging him after that. Some days they forgot to bring meals entirely. Not that it mattered much; his appetite had abandoned him long ago. The food sat on its tray, growing cold, while he stared at the grimy walls.

  When he looked in the mirror for the first time in an eternity, he noticed how much older he looked in just a couple of moons. His cheeks had hollowed, and hints of dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes—eyes that now looked dimmer than the room. Even his skin, which had always held a faint, sun-kissed glow, had faded to a sickly pallor.

  Stars… he found himself praying. Please let me go home.

  Then, one day, the Queen summoned him again.

  As usual, he dragged himself to her chambers as though walking through knee-deep water. She was already seated when he arrived, gesturing for him to take the pce beside her. He obeyed absentmindedly.

  She regarded him for a long, measured pause. Then, she said:

  “General Shimizu returned.”

  Silence.

  Misbah looked at her, confused.

  “...What?” His voice came out hoarse from disuse.

  “General Shimizu,” she repeated slowly, enunciating each sylble, “is alive.”

  Misbah stayed very, very still. Then, he inhaled sharply, and his eyes flew wide enough to burn.

  Confusion was overtaken by a flood of relief, terror, and ecstasy. She was alive. Hiroki… was alive.

  This was too much to bear. So, so much had happened, but that was all thrown into the back of his mind. All he wanted right now was to see her, to confirm this. Then, she could take him out of here. Take him home.

  Anything else was trivial. As long as he could see for himself that she was alive. Truly alive. He would see her face again. He would hear her voice call him her little flower. He would feel her arms around him, and everything would be—

  “Misbah.”

  The Queen’s voice sliced through his reverie.

  He blinked, the vision dissolving, then bowed his head. “Y-Your Majesty.”

  She leaned closer to him. He suppressed his instincts to recoil.

  “You wish to go home, do you not?”

  His throat tightened. Why was she suddenly bringing this up now? He swallowed past the constriction. “...Yes, Your Majesty.”

  "Then," her hand reached out, cool fingers tilting his chin upward until his eyes met hers, "be useful to me. One st time."

  His breath stopped. He dropped his gaze when he felt her take his limp hand and pce something in his palm. Her other hand closed his fingers around it.

  A small bag of red powder.

  Every vessel in his body grew cold upon recognition.

  His gaze flew to hers, his irises trembling like leaves in a storm.

  The Queen’s expression remained steady, holding his gaze with serene patience.

  “I have told you before, when you first came to my pace,” she said calmly, “I do not enjoy those who overstep their pce. I do not appreciate those who dare to speak over the Sun. The time to clean my court of such filth has been long overdue.”

  Misbah’s throat went completely dry.

  "This is your chance," the Queen said slowly, "to fulfill your purpose."

  A small smile finally touched her lips.

  "My little red spider lily."

  pangmida