Prologue

A crown is no shield from the fire, it only burns brighter when the flames come for you.

The courtyard of Dragonbury Castle shimmered like a mirage beneath the golden light of the setting sun. 

A place of fabled beauty, it had once been the pride of enchanted lands. Rolling fields had stretched endlessly, their blooms kissed by crystal streams. The air had hummed with life—birds of impossible hues, butterflies that looked as though they were painted by the gods themselves. But that world, that paradise, was gone now, buried beneath years of tyranny.

Now, the sky above Dragonbury was smudged with ash. Flowers wilted in fields trampled by years of unrest. Rivers ran sluggish and gray, their waters choking on neglect. And standing in the heart of this wounded land, Juliette Remington, the future Queen of Dragonbury, gripped the balcony rail with hands that trembled, though none would see it.

The crowd below roared her name.

"Juliette! Juliette!"

Their chants surged, crashing against the ancient stone walls, shaking the flags that hung limp in the still air. 

They did not chant for her beauty or grace or any noble trait attributed to royalty in fables. 

No, they hailed her for what she was about to do.

"People of Dragonbury," Juliette called, her voice steady despite the storm that churned in her chest. It echoed over the square, a clarion call that demanded silence. "A new era is upon us. In one week, the Wicked Queen will die, and the chains that bound this kingdom will be broken forever."

The crowd erupted again, but Juliette barely heard them. Her gaze lifted toward the distant hills, where the executioner's block awaited its infamous guest. The very mention of the Wicked Queen sent waves of satisfaction rippling through the gathered masses, but Juliette's words hung heavy on her own heart.

Seven years. That was all it had taken for the world to twist itself beyond recognition. 

Seven years for a girl named Queenie Weston to become the monster that everyone now feared.

Juliette forced herself to keep looking at them, though her throat tightened with every word she had to deliver. 

"For seven long years, she has stolen from you. From us. The fields were hers to burn, the rivers hers to poison. But no more." Her fingers gripped the railing harder. "The crown she wore will fall, and Dragonbury will rise anew."

Another wave of applause, more thunderous than the last, surged toward her. The noise almost drowned her out, but Juliette pushed forward, her voice sharpening. 

"Some of you wonder how it came to this. How a girl with no crown, no lineage, and no claim could take so much. The truth, dear citizens, is that the Wicked Queen did not begin as a monster."

This time, the crowd quieted.

Juliette forced a smile, though it felt like a mask stretched too tight over her face. 

"I myself never imagined this day would come," she continued, her voice softer now, though the crowd still clung to her every word. "There was a time when I knew the Wicked Queen. She had been… kind."

The whispers began, sharp and curious. No one wanted to believe that the savior of Dragonbury could have shared bonds with the villain they so despised.

"She was different then," Juliette pressed on, her voice faltering for the first time. She felt the weight of a thousand eyes narrowing in disbelief, their adoration teetering precariously. But she refused to flinch. "We were both different. Once."

The whispers started, rippling through the crowd like wind through dry grass.

"But a crown can twist even the best of us. It turns loyalty into chains. It turns hope into greed." Juliette paused, drawing a deep breath. "And so, for the sake of Dragonbury, I have accepted the duty to end her reign myself. In one week, I will be the one to pull the lever."

Her voice cracked on the last syllable, but the crowd didn't notice. Their fervor swept up her confession, twisting it into something triumphant, something holy. They didn't care about her pain. They cared about justice, about revenge.

"Juliette! Juliette!"

She gave them one last nod before stepping back from the balcony, away from the adoring faces that would never truly understand.

The heavy wooden doors closed behind her, muffling the crowd's cries. Inside, the royal chamber was dimly lit, a flicker of firelight casting uneven shadows across its stone walls. Juliette released the breath she'd been holding and slumped against the cool stone, her composure unraveling now that no one was watching.

"It doesn't get easier, does it?"

The voice came from the corner of the room, soft but edged with wryness. Juliette turned to see Professor Ligarius seated by the hearth, his sharp features half-illuminated by the dancing flames. The brim of his wide hat obscured his eyes, but she could feel his gaze, keen as ever, fixed on her.

"Does what get easier?"

"Carrying a kingdom on your back." 

Ligarius had been her professor during her time at the Royal Ascension Princess School—RAPS—and though she had never ascended to Princess herself, she had taken him as her advisor after leaving. His wisdom had been invaluable, but his inscrutable demeanor often left her on edge.

Juliette straightened, smoothing the wrinkles in her gown. "It's not about ease, Professor. It's about necessity."

Ligarius rose, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the chamber. 

"And yet, necessity has its price. Do you feel it yet, Juliette? The weight of every promise you've made to those people out there?"

"I don't need you to remind me," she muttered. "I think about it every moment. Every second."

"Good," he said simply, stepping closer. "Because that lever isn't just a lever, Juliette. It's a choice. One that will shape Dragonbury's future—and yours. Good night."

Juliette's gaze drifted again to the window, to the hills, to the executioner's block. Memories, unbidden and unwanted, began to stir—of laughter and sunlight, of simpler days, the Wicked Queen who had once been her best friend. She thought of Queenie Weston—Q, as she had once called her. The girl with dirt on her hands and laughter in her voice, who had followed her into a world neither of them could have foreseen.

The girl who would die in a week's time.

Juliette's heart ached with the weight of it. 

And though she didn't realize it yet, the story she thought was ending had only just begun.

To understand the end, one must first understand the beginning.

And so, the tale rewinds, to a time before crowns and levers, before kingdoms and executions. 

To a time when a girl named Q stood at the gates of a school that would change her forever.