Page 23 of Queen
It’s still a cage.
I swing my legs over the side, my bare feet sinking into a rug so thick it could hide a body. The thought makes me smirk bitterly—of course Emiliano would dress a prison in silk and call it mercy. Even his cruelty comes polished, wrapped in velvet and gold.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. Not the kind of silence that soothes, but the kind that watches.
When I open the door, I see them—two of his men, pretending they’re not here for me. Standing a little apart, arms loose at their sides, trying to look like they’re guarding the hall instead of me. They don’t stand close enough to look like guards. They don’t have to. I know a shadow when it follows me.
“Morning, Signora,” one of them says, voice smooth as glass.
I ignore him.
The hallway stretches on forever, lined with oil paintings of dead men with sharper eyes than smiles. Giovanni’s bloodline staring me down in thick gilded frames, a reminder that I’ll never belong to their legacy no matter how many crowns I wear. My steps echo against the marble floor, sharp and deliberate, as if each heel strike is proof I’m not afraid.
Every door I pass is closed. The few I try are locked. Of course they are. The sound of the latch rattling is a tiny confirmation of what I already know.
I keep my pace slow. Measured. Controlled. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattle the bars.
Through a set of glass double doors, sunlight spills into a sitting room trimmed in ivory and pale blue. French doors open onto a balcony that overlooks the gardens—manicured within an inch of their lives. Beyond the gates, the trees move like they remember freedom.
My fingers twitch toward the handle, but I stop. The balcony’s too high to jump, and there’s no way past the menstationed at the gates. Even if I made it, I’d be running straight into another wolf’s territory. Out of one cage, into another.
I keep walking.
Every surface in this house whispers of him—his wealth, his taste, his control. Even the air smells expensive, like someone bottled power and sprayed it in every room. Leather. Smoke. Metal. The scent of a man who built his empire from ashes and expects me to breathe it like perfume.
Queen of what? I think bitterly. A tomb?
I pass another locked door and smile to myself. He doesn’t trust me alone in his kingdom. Good. That means he’s smart. That means he knows I’m dangerous.
But so is he.
I reach the far end of the hall and stand in front of a set of floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the iron gates are closed, the guards posted like statues.
Silk walls. Gold trim. Locked doors. Eyes always watching.
A golden cage is still a cage. And if Emiliano thinks I’ll sing for him, he’s out of his fucking mind.
A Child’s Instinct
The gardens outside don’t move for me. They sway in the wind like they belong to someone else—which they do. Their beauty is curated, leashed, trimmed into submission. Just like me.
I’m still standing at the window when I hear the soft padding of bare feet behind me. Small, quick steps. I don’t need to turn to know.
“Can we go out there?” Guido’s voice is muffled, like he already knows the answer and hates it.
I glance down at him. He’s half-hidden by the heavy curtain, one small hand clutching the fabric like it’s the only thing anchoring him. His hair sticks up in the back, his T-shirt crooked. My son—my whole world—looking out through bars he can’t yet name.
“We’ll go out soon,” I say, smoothing my voice into something light. Something that doesn’t sound like the truth. “It’s nice out, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the gates. “Are we safe here?”
The question lands like a knife under my ribs.
I drop into a crouch beside him, putting myself at his level. My knees press into the polished floor, cold through my silk pants. I touch his cheek, forcing him to look at me.
“Of course we’re safe, baby.” The lie rolls off my tongue like it’s muscle memory. And it is. I’ve been lying to him since the day he was born. Not about who I am, but about the world I brought him into.
Still, there’s a weight behind his gaze that tells me he’s not buying it.
