17: Not me

Ashley’s POV

I wasn’t going to come.

Not after the slap. Not after he humiliated me in front of some nobody. Not after he looked at me like I was the dirt beneath his boots. I had packed my bags, had even zipped up the last suitcase and tossed my heels into the corner. But when the music started drifting in through the open windows, when I saw the lights blinking across the courtyard like stars had fallen to the earth, something in me shifted. Something old and ugly that refused to stay buried.

I stood by the window for nearly half an hour, arms crossed, chewing on the edge of my lip while watching the maids scurry in their stiff white uniforms, watching the guests in rich colors and long cloaks pour into the ballroom. I told myself I wasn’t interested. That I didn’t care. That they could crown her Queen tonight for all I cared.

But I still got dressed.

I didn’t wear anything too loud. Nothing golden or red. That would be too obvious. Instead, I wore black. One shoulder bare, a slit down the side high enough to make jaws drop if they dared look long enough. I wanted to be remembered without trying. I wanted them to know that even when I was unwanted, I still outshined whatever it was they thought she was.

The palace was louder than I’d heard it in years. Not chaotic. Just… alive. Servants lined the walls. Guards in fresh uniforms stood stiff and still. The chandeliers were brighter, dripping with crystal. The smell of wine and roasted lamb filled the air. Everything screamed wealth and royalty.

But it was all fake. I could see it.

They were playing along. For the King’s sake.

Because no one with working eyes and a sane mind could look at her and see royalty. She looked confused, like a guest at her own party. Sitting there in that soft purple dress, wide-eyed and dainty, like someone had plucked her from a barn and thrown her on stage.

She didn’t even know how to wave properly. I saw her raise her hand slightly when someone clapped, then drop it back in her lap like it didn’t belong there. She was trying, I’ll give her that. Trying to sit tall. Trying to look like she belonged in that throne-like chair next to the King.

But she didn’t. And she never would.

That chair was mine.

It was supposed to be mine.

I kept walking, heels tapping gently on the polished floor as I made my way toward the middle of the room. Heads turned. Eyes followed. Some whispered, some nudged.

I didn’t care about their whispers. I just kept walking. Past the giant floral columns. Past the string quartet playing something slow and royal. Past the fake smiles and tight laughs.

The Elders sat across the hall, to the right side of the stage. Dressed in their ceremonial black and silver robes, each with their little emblems stitched over the heart. Their expressions were carved from stone, most of them too proud to let anything slip. But not all.

I watched their faces carefully.

Not all of them looked happy.

Elder Damar kept shifting in his seat, arms crossed, his lips pursed in a line. Elder Yule didn’t even clap when Lucien introduced her. And then… there was Hadrek.

I locked eyes with him.

The man didn’t blink. He didn’t even look away. He stared right at me, face unreadable, eyes dark and steady. But there was something in them. Something boiling just beneath the surface. Something close to fury. Not the kind that shouted. The kind that waited. That planned.

He looked like if he was left unchecked for just a second, he would tear this entire room apart. Rip down the banners. Shatter the wine glasses. Pull that crown from Lucien’s head and crush it beneath his heel.

And for some reason… he was looking at me.

Like he knew something.

Like he was daring me.

I tilted my head slightly, held his stare, gave him a small smile.

Whatever he thought he saw in me… he wasn’t wrong.

I kept walking, slowly, making my way to the far end of the room where the pillars cast longer shadows and the music didn’t drown out every thought. I stood there, drink in hand, watching the so-called Queen wave nervously at the crowd. She smiled at the wrong time. She whispered too loudly. She kept glancing at Lucien like she was waiting for a sign, a nod, some sort of invisible permission.

She wasn’t ready.

She wasn’t built for this.

And everyone knew it.

They were just too scared to say it out loud.

But not me.