From behind the curtain, a figure emerged, stepping onto the stage. The crowd fell into stunned silence as they beheld her, her presence a living contradiction to all that had been assumed.

It was Fretia Cheryat, the former queen of Aropia, and though time had passed, the regal air she carried was unmistakable.

Her once vibrant auburn hair, now streaked with silver, cascaded in soft waves down her back, framing her pale, yet serene face. Her features, though touched by the passage of time, still held the grace and beauty that had defined her as queen—sharp cheekbones, a high, noble brow, and lips that, despite their quiet sorrow, still carried the faintest hint of a smile.

Her eyes, however, were the most striking: large, almond-shaped, and a deep, piercing green, they bore the weight of untold stories, glinting with an underlying strength that could not be hidden, even after everything she had endured.

She moved slowly, almost cautiously, as though the very act of walking before the crowd demanded every ounce of her strength.

Her royal gown, once rich and embroidered with gold thread, was now simple but elegant—a deep emerald green that contrasted with her pale complexion and echoed the colors of the kingdom she had once ruled.

The fabric flowed around her as she walked, the soft rustle of the gown accompanying each step, making her seem like a vision from the past—both familiar and foreign all at once.

Her gaze was steady, but there was a wariness in her eyes, a quiet vulnerability that few could see behind the poise she worked so hard to maintain. The low hum of confusion and shock from the crowd rippled around her, but she remained composed, a faint but bittersweet smile playing on her lips.

Fretia reached the stage, her hand gently resting on the railing as she looked up at Ren and Hazel, her heart heavy with emotions that threatened to break free.

Whispers rippled through the crowd, growing louder by the second. “It can’t be… She’s alive?”

“But the senate said she was dead…”

“Is it really her?”

Hazel froze, her breath catching in her throat as she turned to look at her mother, who was now standing beside Ren. Fretia’s face was pale, but unmistakably alive, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and sorrow.

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"Mom?" she gasped.

Hazel felt the world tilt beneath her feet, her mind racing to comprehend what was happening. Her body was still rooted in place, unable to grasp the reality that her mother had survived, that everything she thought she knew about the past was suddenly in question.

Ren placed a hand gently on Hazel’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze, though he knew full well this revelation was a bombshell for her. Hazel remained speechless, her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes met her mother’s. The emotions that flooded her—shock, confusion, joy—flooded her all at once.

She couldn’t even begin to form the words, her mouth dry as she looked between her mother and Ren.

"Hello dear ," her mother smiled back , then at Ren. There was a story in the look that she gave him.

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In the stands, the murmurs of the crowd grew louder, but it was a different sound now—a joyous eruption that spread like wildfire. The tension of the past days, of the uncertainty, had been lifted.

The queen was alive, and with her, the hope of the people. The very air seemed to vibrate with triumph as cheers began to rise, filling the stadium with overwhelming joy.

But amidst the jubilation, a darker energy lingered on the edges of the stage. Lucius Antony stood frozen, his face pale, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"What the fuck is going on ?" the man had muttered to himself.

His carefully crafted lies, his web of manipulation, had all come crashing down. The senators around him shifted uncomfortably, their scheming expressions turning to worry. This was not part of their plan.

The queen’s survival was a wrinkle they hadn’t accounted for, and they now found themselves caught in the spotlight of truth, no longer able to hide behind shadows.

Hazel’s gaze shifted to Lucius, the man who had plotted her father’s death and the fall of her family .

The feelings swirling in her chest were overwhelming—relief that her mother was alive, rage at the lies that had been spun, and an eerie sense of triumph for Ren, who had seemingly orchestrated this entire moment. She turned to him slowly, still lost for words, her gaze softening as their eyes met.

She remembered what he had said about his informants not being able to confirm her mother’s death and how she had lashed out at him for filling her with hope.

Ren, ever the strategist, had turned the tables on their enemies in one bold stroke, revealing the truth and the admiration of the people in a single, spectacular gesture.

"Ren , I ..." Hazel found no words.

Ren didn’t smile, didn’t revel in his triumph—his focus remained on Hazel, his queen, who stood beside him, both of them caught in the overwhelming emotions of a moment only he had seen coming.

The crowd’s celebration washed over them, but it was the silent exchange between the two of them that spoke volumes.