Page 290 of Vexatious Queen

Christov collapsed backward and his body hit the floor with a final, hollow thud. He continued to stare at me, and I would’ve sworn that I felt a cold draft touch me as the light left his eyes.

Only Vicky’s cries cut through the silence, and my head jerked in her direction.

I ran over, put the gun down, and wrapped her in my arms as she cradled her mother’s lifeless body. She was sobbing, and I could feel it tearing her apart from the inside.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m so sorry.”

I held her tighter, my own chest cracking open as grief and shock collided.

Gunfire erupted outside, and it sounded like a war zone. The window shattered, and I ducked as glass flew everywhere, but Vicky didn’t move. She was frozen to the spot, lost in her pain. I couldn’t leave her. The fighting didn’t last long before footsteps thundered up the stairs.

“Ren,” Nash yelled.

“In here!”

The door exploded inward. Nash was first through, gun out, eyes hard as he took in the scene. The other guys rushed in behind him, and then—my mother.

A complex combination of relief and sadness twisted in my gut as Vicky’s sorrow felt like an echo of what I’d once experienced. Like we’d swapped places. Nash slowly walked closer, his eyes never leaving mine as he kneeled and placed a hand on my shoulder and then one on Vicky’s back.

She cried harder, rocking her mother.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered in Vicky’s ear. “I’ve got you and I’m not going anywhere.”

For the longest time, I thought surviving was the same thing as living. I thought if I stayed standing—if I didn’t break—then the pain would eventually make sense. That the fear, the blood, the impossible choices would stop following me like a shadow.

But with the room full of those I would die to protect. I understood the truth. This was never about endurance.

It was about love.

Love was the reason my mother ran with me and then left again to protect me when she thought she had no choice.

Love was the reason my father stayed away, why Neil sacrificed himself, why Ella stood in the line of fire, and why Nash kept his secrets.

Love was the reason five Kings stood in front of bullets and monsters and didn’t ask me to choose between them.

Every secret, betrayal, and night I cried believing that I was alone led me here—not to become harder, but braver. Not to stop caring, but to learn that mercy was not weakness, and hope was not a flaw.

I had been hunted. Used. Nearly destroyed. And still, I stood. Still, I chose a future where love did not have to bleed to be real. This was the cost of that choice.

One thing had become clear. The darkness may have shaped me, but it did not own me. The war tried to take everything, and it failed.

Because I was never meant to survive this story.

I was meant to rise from it.

And I finally understood—queens weren’t created in safety.

They were crowned in fire.

And I was always the phoenix in my mother’s painting.

MAY 21 – THURSDAY 1:30 PM - GRADUATION

Ren

The front lawn of Wayward felt unfamiliar in the best way. Sunlight spilled across the grass in wide, golden sheets, warming my shoulders through the fabric of my gown. The scent of freshly cut grass and spring flowers enveloped us with every quiet shift of bodies in their seats.

A soft breeze moved through the crowd, lifting loose strands of hair, fluttering programs, and tugging gently at the corners of the Wayward banner on the wooden podium as if the world itself was breathing with us.