His wife

​William stood in the doorway, blocking the frame, keeping one hand on the handle. He didn't step inside. He just watched Mia where she stood pressed against the table.

​“You have ten minutes,” William said. His voice was flat and cold. “The kitchen already delayed dinner once. I’m not dealing with another night of this.”

​Mia’s fingers dug into the wood behind her back. “Listen to me. I don't know who you are, but I don't belong here. I'm a firefighter, and I need to get back to my station right now.”

​William stared at her, tilting his head slightly like he couldn't make sense of her words. “What are you talking about?”

​He reached back, pulled the door shut, and walked into the room.

​“Put the dress on,” he said, stepping closer. “And come downstairs. I don't have time for games.”

​Mia took a sharp breath, ready to scream at him, but her throat suddenly locked up. A sudden, deep instinct to obey washed over her, making her freeze.

​“Yes, my King.”

​The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Mia froze, terrified. She hadn't wanted to say that.

​William’s eyes narrowed, catching the slight shake in her jaw. He looked her up and down, turned, and walked out, letting the door slam shut.

​The second he was gone, Mia dropped her face into her hands, gasping for air. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

​She turned and grabbed the navy dress off the chair. Her fingers were so clumsy she dropped it twice before pulling it over her head. The fabric clung tight to her waist, feeling completely wrong on her body.

​A quick knock rattled the door. Clara slipped inside, her face pale, checking over her shoulder before closing the door behind her.

​“Your Majesty, we have to hurry,” Clara whispered, smoothing down the back of Mia's dress with fast, nervous hands. “The King is waiting, and the Queen Mother hates being kept.”

​Mia let the girl pull her toward the hallway. The cold stone floor bit into her bare feet. “Who is that man? What does he mean?”

​Clara flinched, pulling her hand back and staring straight at the floor as they walked past high arches and massive oil paintings.

​“Please, don't talk so loud,” Clara whispered. “There are guards everywhere. Just keep your head down and be polite to the Queen Mother.”

​Mia grabbed Clara's arm, pulling her to a stop under a wall torch. “Why does everyone keep bringing up a garden? What happened out there?”

​Clara went completely pale. She bit her lip so hard it lost all its color, then yanked her arm free and kept moving. “I can't talk about it. Please, just walk.”

​They reached a set of double doors guarded by two men in dark uniforms. One guard pulled the door open, showing a long dining room lit by three massive chandeliers.

​William sat at the head of the table, staring down at an empty plate. To his right sat an older woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun, wearing a high collar of pearls.

​“Ah, Khelani,” the older woman said, setting down her glass. “Sit down, dear. You look pale. Is your head hurting again?”

​Mia walked over to the chair on William's left, her knee bumping the table as she pulled herself in. “I'm fine. Just tired.”

​“You look worse than tired,” Eleanor said, leaning forward. “William said you stayed in your room all afternoon.”

​William rested his chin on his hand, his eyes locked straight onto Mia.

​“Tell me, Khelani,” William said, his voice quiet across the quiet table. “What did I give you on our first anniversary?”

​Mia’s hands froze in her lap. Her stomach dropped. Another sudden urge pulled at her a strange impulse to give a specific answer but she forced her jaw shut and fought it off.

​“I don't remember,” Mia said, her voice rough and plain.

​William set his fork down. The loud clatter made Clara flinch by the wall. Eleanor's soft smile faded, her hands dropping flat onto the table.

​“You don't remember?” William asked, his voice low as he leaned back. “You don't remember the necklace? The one you never take off?”

​Mia stared at him, her mouth completely dry. She reached up instinctively, her fingers hitting bare skin. No necklace. She hadn't even noticed. She had nothing to say.

​“William, please,” Eleanor interjected, turning to her son. “The doctor said she took a hard fall when she collapsed in the courtyard. Loss of memory is normal.”

​“She didn't hit her head, Mother,” William said, his eyes never leaving Mia. “She fell onto a pile of cushions. She didn't hit anything.”

​Eleanor went quiet, her jaw tightening as she pressed her napkin to her lips.

​William stood up. He walked slowly around the long table until he stopped right behind Mia's chair. He leaned down, his shadow falling over her.

​“You're acting strange,” he said quietly, right near her shoulder. “I don't know what you're trying to do, but I'm going to figure it out.”

​He straightened his jacket, turned on his heel, and walked out, letting the heavy doors slam behind him.

​Mia sat completely still, her heart pounding against her ribs. Across the table, Eleanor hadn't moved either. She was staring at Mia with a cold, sharp look.

​“He's right, isn't he?” Eleanor said softly.

​Mia looked up. “What?”

​“You don't even hold your fork right,” Eleanor said, looking down at Mia's hand. “Khelani spent years learning how to behave at this table. She never sat hunched over, and she never looked William in the eye when he was angry. You're completely different.”

​Mia tried to answer, her heart hammering in her throat, but no words came out.

​Eleanor stood up, smoothing her dress as she looked at Mia. “Did you really lose your memory?”

​She walked toward the doorway, her shoes clicking against the stone floor. Near the exit, she stopped and turned around.

​“Don't ask about the garden again,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping. “Not to the staff. Not to anyone.”

​She turned and left, leaving the double doors wide open.

​Mia sank back into her chair, her arms dropping to her sides. Clara hurried over, her hands trembling so much she almost knocked a glass off the table as she tried to clean up.

​“Clara,” Mia said, grabbing the girl's sleeve. “Tell me. What happened in the garden?”

​Clara glanced toward the dark hallway, her chest rising and falling fast as she leaned in close.

​“You lost control out there three weeks ago,” Clara whispered, her fingers clamping tight onto Mia's wrist. “You tried to run away. The guards dragged you back. You haven't been the same since.”