Instead, I focused on getting away with step two by throwing out the goblets full of poisoned wine just in case the investigating mage tries to oust my crime with a poison trace spell. Last night, the night I’ve spent so many nights dreaming of came true.

I poisoned my in-laws.

It happened like this. I came to their quarters with my husband in tow, insisting that we all drink together to celebrate the first week of our marriage. The King looked disinterested. However, the Queen hated to be rude and she was the key to my success. She drank half a cup while the king drank just a sip. Soon, they both yawned and went to sleep. When morning came, which was hours ago now, I heard a scream from their quarters. A maid had found the royal pairing dead. I feigned horror and grief while my husband, the prince, appeared stone-faced.

He never talked much and I was unsure that he even could. Our romance had been a strange one. I approached him one day with a flirty smile, my fingers touching a cut on his skin.

“I think I have a healing balm or a potion somewhere,” I said, reaching into my bag.

Earlier that day, my loyal dog, mischief, had a wolf lure on his snout that the prince had unknowingly touched when petting him. In the end, the prince was unprepared for a wolf attack but I had come in with my majestic cape flowing in the wind to rescue him.

He fell for me at first sight.

Okay, maybe not at first sight. It had taken me five years to capture the prince’s heart. In my defense, he is a prince, and with princesses being thrown at him for political alliances I was bottom of the barrel. A peasant woman who had no royal blood in her veins and who could only offer her undying love and devotion.

Yes, undying love and devotion that’s as fake as the ex-queen’s sincerity.

He’s unaware that I’m a fraud. A liar. Maybe, just maybe I feel a bit guilty about the role I made him play. I needed him to get close enough to his parents so I could end their oppressive reign but…a horrifying thought hits me. Now that they're finally gone the only people left to rule are me and the prince.

When I return to my bedroom, I write down a list of all the reasons I shouldn’t be queen.

Reasons I’m Not Queen Material:

1. I know nothing of politics!

2. I hate staying in one place.

3. I can only lead people to their deaths.

Number three hits me the hardest as I remember how my Initial plan got started. Once, I had two loving parents. My father was head of the King’s treasury and after a miscount, he was accused of thievery. The King set out to make an example out of my father and so he was killed along with my mother, and my younger twin brothers. All for miscounted coins.

I only escaped because I wasn’t home. I was off adventuring and foolishly writing letters that would never be read. How am I supposed to do this?

I rip up my list, throwing it on the floor as my body is wracked with guilt and sobs. Revenge. I longed for it and now, I have it but I’m not happy. I’m terrified. I’m lo-

“I know what you did,” I hear a quiet cracked voice say from behind me.

I turn, seeing the prince. My husband. His expression is grim and filled with confusion. I look at him with confusion too but my expression is mixed with awe.

“You speak?”

“Years,” he says, his voice barely audible.

The years of disuse are evident and I can tell every word he utters happens after a battle partakes in his mind.

I lean a bit closer. “What?”

“Years,” he says louder, his hands moving to rub his throat. “You could’ve waited years and you would’ve had the throne but you didn’t. You killed them.”

“I don’t know what you mean, dear.”

He moves away, walking out of the room. I prepare to be hauled off by a guard. I imagine my execution, feeling the blade’s sharpness as it hits my neck but when he walks back in he’s only carrying letters. He hands me one and I see my familiar handwriting.

“Why do you have this?”

“I would-“ he says then coughs.

I move to him, my eyes full of concern. He shifts away and I notice the blueness of his fingers. I grab his hand, concerned. Pulling it towards me, I examine it. He takes long slow breaths.

“I don’t have much time now.”

“Are you dying?” I say, upset.

“No, much worse,” he informs, taking another slow breath. “Parents made a deal. I was once sickly. I died. They-“

He falls and I catch him. I try to help balance him but it seems useless. I led him to a chair. His lips have become blue too.

“Whatever he offers, say no,” he utters, before slouching forward.

He falls to the floor again but I don’t catch him in time. I move to pick him up, using up all the strength I can but I feel devoid. Weaker than I’ve ever felt before. I flip him over, relief floods in me as I see he’s still breathing.

My mind wracks over everything that’s happened. Why did he have my letters? Does this mean he always knew who I was and that my love wasn’t as genuine as I portrayed?

“Well, hello, to the new queen,” Someone says.

My head whips in their direction and I watch as a man, I didn't recognize walks further into the room. He wears a suit the color of the ocean. I get up from the floor, standing protectively near my husband.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your step three, sweetheart.”