Vishendor's unlikely Queen

The King's chambers

I stood by the tall window, lost in the blur of the midnight horizon. The stars outside barely blinked, veiled beneath clouds that hadn't wept in days. My thoughts wandered—not to matters of war or rule—but to something I couldn't name.

The soft creak of the door didn't stir me. I hadn't heard the knock—perhaps I was too far away from the world to notice.

"Simon," a familiar voice called gently behind me.

Philip. He was the only man left who still called me by name and not by title.

I didn't turn. I didn't need to.

"You've been... off lately. More than usual," he said, stepping into my chambers with the weight of a friend.

I didn't answer.

He took another step forward. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."

Silence stretched between us, but not the kind that demands to be filled—the kind that filled space to breathe.

I let out a long, weary sigh, the kind that pulls from a place deeper than lungs. I knew Philip wouldn't be satisfied with "I'm fine." He never was. And truthfully, I wasn't.

I turned away from the window and finally looked at him—really looked at him—my most loyal friend, the one person who had stood beside me before the crown ever touched my head. He deserved the truth, even if I didn't fully understand it myself.

"I've been having strange dreams lately," I admitted, my voice low, like I was confessing to something sacred or shameful.

He stiffened slightly, concern settling into the furrow between his brows. "Dreams?" he echoed, eyes urging me to go on.

"In the dream," I began, "I'm kneeling... and she's dying." I went on, staring into the dark as if I could see it happen all over again.

Philip's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"She's in my arms, her blood everywhere. I don't know who she is, but the pain is deep, like losing something I was never meant to live without." My voice cracked at the edge, but I didn't stop. "I try to save her. Every time. But I always fail. And there's this mark..."

"What mark?" Philip asked gently.

"My mark," I whispered, the weight of it heavy on my tongue. "On her shoulder. As if fate had branded her... mine."

"I don't know who she is," I added. "But I know she matters. I cared about her deeply, and I don't even know her name."

Philip's voice was gentle. "Do you see her face?"

"Yes, clearly, as if I've always known it."

Silence again—heavier this time.

Philip took a breath, thoughtful, steady—the way he always was when the world didn't make sense.

"She could be your mate," he said.

I gave a bitter laugh and said, "I don't even believe in mates, at least not the way everyone does."

Phillip just waited, as he always did.

"I've spent years searching," I admitted, voice low. "But not for love. I wanted the bond because it would make me untouchable."

My fingers clenched against the cold stone windowsill.

"But these dreams…" I shook my head. "

"They've been haunting me, Philip. Always the same, someone I don't even know, she's dying in my arms, I'm holding her, and I feel…" I faltered, hating the words I had to say. "I feel like I'm breaking, as if I'm losing everything. And I'm not even the one who killed her."

Philip turned slightly, brows furrowed.

"That sounds like the mate bond," he said carefully.

I looked away. "Then I want nothing to do with it."

Silence stretched between us.

"In the dream, I care too much. I can't stop the pain. I'm weak. I'm... helpless. And the worst part is—" My voice broke off, jagged with frustration. "The worst part is I wake up grieving a stranger, someone I don't know."

Philip stepped in, quiet and calm as ever. "Maybe it's not love you're afraid of, Simon. Maybe it's losing control."

My jaw tightened. "I've worked too hard to give in to something I didn't choose," I said.

"And yet," he said gently, "the dreams keep coming."

I turned my back to the window. 'That's what terrifies me the most."

"You're afraid, Simon," he said. "Not of death, not of losing your crown. But of someone seeing you and loving what's still human in you, because that's the only thing you can't command."

The silence that followed wasn't cold—it was full.

I turned to look at him—my oldest friend, my brother in all but blood.

"Why do you stay, Philip?" I asked, the question escaping before I could stop it. "You've seen what this crown has turned me into."

He didn't hesitate. "Because you're still you, and someone has to remind the king that he's still human."

My throat tightened.

"Thank you," I said at last, voice low, almost hoarse. "You're the only one I trust to say this to."

He smiled. Not the kind he wore in court—this one was real. Worn and weathered, like something that has been tested for years. "You don't need to thank me. Just… get some rest. I'll stay as long as you need me to."

I nodded slowly.

"And give Catelyn my regards," I said. "She's lucky to have you."

"No," he replied. "I'm the lucky one."

He clapped a hand to my shoulder and turned to leave, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

I stayed by the window a little longer, the night no less dark. but far too empty.

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