The Fire II.

**

"How did the fire start?" I asked, stepping closer. My voice was calm, but I needed the truth. The king nodded beside me, as if to say, Let's hear the real story.

"I… I have no idea," Fortuna whispered, her voice trembling. "I can't remember how it started."

Of course she'd say that. I should've known. She was hiding something, and as a woman, I could feel it. If anyone found out the truth, it would destroy her.

"Fine," the king said softly, "you don't have to remember right now. Just rest."

"Thank you, Your Highness. I was so scared," she added, and then the tears came. Like a child, she wept into her hands.

"Shhh," the king murmured as he leaned in, wrapping her gently in his arms. "You went through a lot. And I wasn't there for you."

He held her close, rubbing her back. I looked away. She was doing it on purpose. I knew it. But still… she was his wife. His queen. She had always been here—long before I ever came.

And if I understood all of that, then why did my heart still hurt?

"You should rest," he said as he pulled away from her.

"The nurse said the same," I added quickly, keeping my tone polite.

"Yes, I will," she replied, her voice cold despite how weak she looked. Her eyes said everything—sharp, accusing, unkind.

Maybe Marissa was right… maybe she should've—

No. That thought was too cruel. I pushed it away.

"Get well soon, Queen Fortuna," I said, forcing a smile. Fake. But it was the best I could give.

She didn't respond.

I turned away, pretending not to care, as the king gently drew the blanket over her. He leaned down, brushing her cheek with a soft kiss.

"Sleep tight. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Are you leaving?" she asked, her voice suddenly small again.

"No. I'll go check on the other woman who was hurt and come right back. Okay?"

She nodded, but her eyes were locked on me the whole time.

As we stepped out of her room, I looked up at him and asked, "May I change into something else before we go?"

He agreed with a simple nod.

Once I was in my room, I shut the door behind me and quickly found a plain dress. I slid into it, wiping away the last of the scent from his robe.

I noticed something by the window, half-hidden beneath a white cloth. Curious, I stepped closer. It was a portrait, carefully placed, as though someone had intended for me to find it.

I hesitated at first—thinking I should ask who put it there—but curiosity got the best of me. I reached for the cloth and pulled it away.

My breath caught.

It was me.

I was staring back at myself, perfectly captured in delicate pencil strokes. Every curve of my face, every detail… it was all there. I leaned in, eyes scanning the lower corner of the paper—and then I saw it.

Karl.

My heart skipped.

Did he draw this? Or did he ask someone else to? Either way, it was… stunning. But I couldn't stop staring at the signature. It was his handwriting. I'd seen it before.

"Do you like it?" his voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I turned quickly. He was standing at the doorway, watching me. I didn't even realize he'd followed me.

Without answering, I rushed to him and threw my arms around his neck.

His hands moved through my hair, then down my back in a gentle sweep. He leaned in and whispered, "I'm glad you do."

I pulled away just enough to look at him. "Who drew it?"

"I did," he replied simply.

"Really?" My smile faltered. Was he joking?

"I'm the master of pencils," he said, grinning proudly.

I believed him. The drawing was perfect—just like the one I saw of Fortuna. And suddenly, that thought brought me back to reality.

"Thank you for the portrait," I said softly, "but we should check on the concubine. She was injured."

"I know," he said, turning toward the door.

I cast one last glance at the portrait. I wished I had more time to admire it, but there were more important things now.

We walked in silence to the room where the injured concubine was resting. Her arm and part of her face were bandaged, the burns still raw. She lay there, still and quiet.

"The sleeping potion will keep her unconscious until morning," one of the nurses said. "She doesn't remember how the fire started."

Of course she didn't. Just like Fortuna.

It was strange… Fortuna's room was the origin of the fire, yet she was unharmed, while this poor woman had suffered serious injuries. Something didn't add up.

There wasn't much to do except wish her a full recovery.

Outside, the women had returned to their quarters. The fire had been put out. Ashes still hung in the air, a reminder of what had almost happened.

The queen mother stood tall and calm as she addressed everyone. "Precautions will be taken," she said. "This will not happen again. I expect you all to be careful going forward."

The women bowed their heads in agreement, and after a few more words, she dismissed them.

One by one, they returned to their rooms.

But the night had left a scar—on more than just the walls.

"I still haven't recovered from seeing that concubine's injuries," Rania confessed as she joined us.

"The girl is strong," I said, trying to sound hopeful. "She'll recover quickly."

Rosalind stepped out of Fortuna's room just then, her face flushed with anger. "Aren't you the healer?" she snapped, eyes burning into me. "Shouldn't you be in there, trying to save her?"

My heart skipped. Her voice, sharp and accusing, drew the attention of everyone around us. I felt their gazes shift toward me—questioning, waiting. My hands clenched by my side. How could I explain to them that I wasn't some miracle-worker? That I'd done all I could and the rest was up to fate?

"Rosalind," the Queen Mother's voice rang out as she approached. "Watch your words."

"She's right," Rania added, gently but firmly. "You're talking too much, sister."

I was grateful for their defense, even though the sting from Rosalind's words still lingered. I dared a glance at Karl. He didn't look at me, didn't flinch—but I knew he had heard every word.

But Rosalind wasn't done.

"Isn't that why she's here, anyway?" she pressed on, arms folded. "Wasn't she brought to Xylonia to be a healer? Not to warm my brother's bed?"

Her words sliced straight through me.

A hush fell. I felt as though every bone in my body had turned to glass. The humiliation came crashing over me in waves. I had done nothing to deserve her hatred, yet her words painted me cheap, like some pawn who had bartered her dignity.

And then—

"Get out of my sight." The king's voice boomed, sharp and commanding.

Rosalind's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Now," he barked, stepping forward, "or you won't believe what I'll do to you."

She looked around—first to her mother, then to Rania—but neither of them came to her defense.

With a trembling breath and a wounded pride, Rosalind bowed stiffly and stormed off, muttering under her breath.

Silence followed her departure.

I stood there, heart pounding, wanting nothing more than to vanish. Even though Karl had defended me, the shame still clung to me like smoke. I had just been called a whore in front of the royal court—and there was no taking it back.

"Forgive her for what she just said," the Queen Mother apologized softly, clearly pained. She was a gentle woman—graceful, even—but I often wondered what she had done to deserve such chaos in the form of her daughters. A sweet rose among thorns.

"Rosalind can be immature at times."

"It has to do with Fortuna…" Rania began, her voice quiet, but the king raised his hand sharply to silence her.

He didn't want explanations. Not tonight.

"You better control your daughters instead of making excuses for them," Karl said, his voice clipped with restrained fury. "I won't forgive her next time."

With that, he turned and walked away, headed back toward Fortuna's room. I watched his back as he disappeared down the hall. I didn't follow. Not after what just happened.

"Forgive us, please," Rania said, stepping toward me.

"Do not worry," I replied with a forced smile. "I understand her."

A lie. One I told only to end the moment.

The Queen Mother pulled me into a light embrace. "Will you join us in Fortuna's room?"

I was about to decline when something unusual caught my eye.

One of the palace maids whispered something urgently into Rania's ear. Her eyes widened. Without another word, she turned and rushed off in the same direction Karl had gone.

We followed. I didn't want to miss whatever this was.

"I just found out something," Rania said once she reached the king. "The fire started in Fortuna's room—about an hour ago."

"I'm aware of that," Karl said, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, but…" she hesitated, then pressed on, "it spread to the other room and injured the concubine because she was sleeping. Fortuna, however, got out in time—without so much as a scratch. That means she was awake when the fire started."

The Queen Mother stepped closer, visibly concerned. "What are you saying, Rania?"

"She went to her room with Angelina, one of the maids. Moments later, the fire started," Rania explained. "Someone saw them."

My heart skipped. This was too calculated to be a coincidence.

"It means Fortuna must have known when the fire started," I added. "Maybe she even started it."

But why? Why would she risk her life—and someone else's—just to gain attention or sympathy? It didn't add up. Unless… this was her way of fighting back.

"Fortuna told me she doesn't remember what happened," Karl said stiffly, hands clasped behind his back.

"I'm not a liar, brother," Rania replied.

Karl gave a small nod and looked toward the room where Fortuna lay asleep. She looked peaceful. Undisturbed. Almost untouched by everything she had supposedly endured.

"We'll hear from Fortuna when she wakes," the king said at last.

And this time, I told myself, the truth will come out.

Because Rania had witnesses. And the queen's nine lives were running out.