"I'm such an idiot. Why did I fall asleep at a time like this?" Michael muttered to himself, his voice filled with frustration. He pushed himself harder, running toward the palace with every ounce of strength he had left. His legs burned, but he couldn't stop—not when everything was on the line.
Inside the palace, the queen stood tall, her voice cold and final as it echoed throughout the hall.
"Today, we gather to witness the death of the princess. She refused her punishment of exile, so she shall be executed. Do you have anything to say, Majesty?" she asked, her eyes sharp, expectant.
I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest. What could I say to a mother who could so easily decide to end her own daughter's life? The words felt stuck in my throat.
Silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. The eyes of the gathered crowd were all fixed on me, waiting for something—anything—from me. But there was nothing to say.
After what felt like an eternity, the queen finally gave the signal to end my life. "Proceed" she commanded coldly.
My heart sank, but nothing hurt more than what came next. The executioner stepped forward, his face hidden beneath a mask of steel helmet. And as he drew his sword, I froze.
What broke my heart the most was the realization that the executioner was none other than Javier, my childhood friend. The boy I had once trusted.
The crowd was eerily quiet, their faces blank but filled with judgment. Some watched with morbid curiosity, others whispered among themselves, their murmurs barely a ripple against the heavy silence that pressed down on the room. A few turned their eyes away, unable to bear the sight. I felt every single gaze, the weight of their judgment crushing me.
But in all, I was glad Michael wasn't here. If he was, he would have caused a commotion that would put him in trouble. Then an image of his stupid face popped up in my head and I smiled. I was going to miss him, that's for sure. I regret that the last thing we did was fight.
Javier raised his sword high, the blade gleaming in the light. He swung it down, his movements swift and sure, cutting through the air like a razor. I braced myself, but just before the blade could reach my neck, something unexpected happened.
A flash of steel deflected the blow, and a strong kick sent Javier flying across the room, crashing against the stone walls with a sickening thud. The room gasped in shock, and my heart skipped.
I turned, my breath catching in my throat.
Michael stood there, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his face as though he had run across the entire world to get here. His chest heaved with exhaustion, but his eyes were filled with a fierce determination. For a moment, I didn't know what to say. I had never seen him look so... alive, so full of purpose, so furious.
"Michael," I whispered, my voice trembling.
He met my gaze, a faint but reassuring smile on his lips. "I'm not letting you die today," he said, his voice full of resolve.
The tension in the room shifted, the crowd now watching with a mix of disbelief and anticipation. The story wasn't over yet.
I had prepared myself for death, but nothing could have prepared me for how terrifying it actually was. The weight of the moment, the finality of it, was far more crushing than I had ever imagined. My heart pounded, and I felt the cold grip of fear tightening around me.
But then, everything changed.
As soon as Michael broke my handcuffs, I scrambled to my feet, throwing my arms around him. I needed him. I clung to him like a lifeline, trembling uncontrollably.
"I'm scared, Michael," I whispered, my voice breaking. The tears came without warning, pouring down my cheeks. I knew I shouldn't feel relief, that I shouldn't be happy he had come to save me. But in that moment, I was—more than I had ever allowed myself to be.
Michael's hands gently gripped my shoulders, his voice soft and steady, something I'd never heard from him before. "Majesty, you won't die here today. Do you know why?" he asked, his words wrapping around me like a shield.
I shook my head, my emotions tangled and raw, not trusting myself to speak.
"Because I am here," he said bluntly, as if that was all that mattered.
His words, simple and clear, pierced through the chaos in my mind. Slowly, I pulled away from him, my face still wet from crying. I wiped my eyes, taking a shaky breath as I tried to regain control.
The room was silent. You could hear a pin drop as the weight of Michael's words and action hung in the air. The queen's eyes narrowed, her expression twisted with disbelief and anger. Her lips parted slightly, as though she couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened.
Orin's face was unreadable, his hands resting stiffly on his daggers. But there was something in the way he stood, a subtle tension in his posture, as if he, too, was unsure of how this moment would play out.
Javier, still recovering from the force of Michael's kick, slowly pushed himself up, his face flushed with rage. His eyes burned with fury as they locked onto Michael. There was a flicker of something else there too—something that almost looked like betrayal—but it quickly faded, replaced by the cold edge of a soldier's duty. He stepped forward, raising his sword again, this time with a deadly focus.
The crowd, still in shock, watched with wide eyes. Whispers spread like wildfire. Some were unsure, some were scared, but most seemed to be fascinated by the turn of events. A few of them even looked relieved, though they quickly hid their expressions. The air was thick with tension, and no one knew exactly what would happen next.
I turned back to Michael, my heart still racing, but now with hope, not fear. He stood strong, unwavering, ready to face whatever came next. But for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't afraid.
"Michael, what do you think you're doing?" the queen asked, her voice sharp and cold as ice. Her hand shot out to stop Orin, who was already stepping forward, his eyes locked on Michael with deadly intent.
Michael didn't flinch. He slowly dropped to one knee, lowering his head in a rare show of humility. "Please reconsider, Your Highness. I'm begging you," he said, his voice calm but full of urgency.
The queen looked down at him, unmoved. "I refuse," she said simply. "You've served this kingdom well. You've been loyal... and valuable. So for that, I'll overlook your disrespect just this once."
For the first time, something shifted in Michael's eyes. It wasn't fear or hesitation—it was disappointment. Deep, cutting disappointment. He had always known the queen could be cold, but hearing her place value on him over her own daughter made something churn in his gut.
It disgusted him.
"Then I'm afraid," he said, slowly rising to his feet, "you'll have to kill me first, Your Highness."
Gasps filled the room like a wave. The tension cracked through the silence.
"Are you disobeying me, dear Michael?" my mother asked, her voice soft and low, almost like a whisper. A dangerous whisper.
Michael stared at her without blinking. Then he raised his sword and pointed it directly at the queen. "I am."
The crowd reacted instantly. Whispers turned to stunned murmurs. Eyes widened. The very idea that someone—anyone—could stand against the queen so openly was unthinkable.
Orin didn't wait for permission. His body moved like a blur, closing the distance between him and Michael in a heartbeat. His dagger flashed in the air, swinging fast from the left, aiming straight for Michael's neck.
But Michael's reflexes were faster than most could follow. His sword clashed against the dagger just in time, sparks flying from the impact. He twisted his body and used the momentum to launch a kick toward Orin's side.
Orin spun mid-air, blocking the kick with his elbow. The force sent him sliding back a few steps across the marble floor, but he didn't fall. He landed like a predator ready to pounce again, his eyes sharp and focused.
The crowd stepped back, forming a wide circle around the two. No one dared to move. The palace hall, once filled with whispers and stares, was now dead silent, the air heavy with tension.
And in the middle of it all stood Michael—calm, firm, sword in hand—facing down one of the kingdom's most feared warriors.
This wasn't just rebellion.
This was war.