The scent of rare lilies hung heavy in the air, a perfume of power and poise.
Lady Selene sat on the edge of the velvet chaise, her silken gown gathered in trembling fists. Her eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks flushed with frustration. Queen Maravelle stood by the window, elegant and composed, watching the sky darken over Vargorath's spires.
"I love him," Selene said, her voice low but firm. "I've waited. I've played the part you asked of me, held my tongue, smiled when I wanted to scream. I've done everything you promised would matter."
The queen turned slowly, her expression unreadable. "And he will be yours." she said evenly. "But you must have patience. Thornak is… difficult."
"Because of her... that girl. The one he brought into the castle like some..."
Maravelle's gaze sharpened, a flicker of disdain passing through her expression. "She is a passing complication. One I intend to resolve. You will not be replaced by some... stray."
"I gave up everything," Selene said, lifting her chin. "Not out of weakness, but choice. I chose him. Doesn't that mean anything?"
"Control yourself, Selene," Maravelle said coolly. "This is not the time for tantrums."
"He won't even look at me, Maravelle. He avoids me at every turn!"
The queen moved closer and gently took Selene's hands. "And you shall have him child. But we must be patient. A king's heart is not so easily moved, especially when he believes fate has other plans."
Selene's voice sharpened. "You said I would be queen."
"And you still can be," Maravelle replied smoothly. "But for now, you will stay here. As my guest. Let Thornak see your strength, your grace remind him of what he could have, were he to choose wisely."
Selene drew in a shaky breath, nodding.
Queen Maravelle offered a rare smile. On her writing desk, she reached for a parchment and sealed it with her royal sigil and handed it to a waiting attendant.
"Thornak will come around." She assured Selene
...
Lara turned the corner with a faint smile lingering on her lips, her thoughts still adrift in the pages of the book she'd been reading. She came to an abrupt halt as a tall, elegantly dressed woman stepped into her path, pausing with a sharp intake of breath, her eyes narrowing the moment they met Lara's.
Selene took a deliberate step back, her gaze sweeping over Lara with unhidden disdain. "Well. They're letting all kinds wander the royal corridors now, aren't they?"
Lara blinked, startled but composed. "Forgive me, my lady."
Selene's gaze sharpened. "And who might you be?"
"I am a guest of His Majesty," Lara replied, her tone measured but respectful.
Selene's smile curved, all ice and precision. "Ah. So you're the little stray he dragged in from the woods."
Lara's posture stiffened, but she said nothing.
Selene stepped closer, her voice lowering to a murmur meant only for Lara. "You may think the king's protection makes you safe. But palaces are full of sharp edges… and not all of them are visible."
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with false warmth. "It's easy to lose your footing when you don't belong."
Lara met her gaze, jaw tight, silent.
Selene straightened, her tone sweet again. "Enjoy your stay, dear. However brief it may be."
Lara remained still, fists curling at her sides as Selene's retreating steps echoed down the corridor.
"Lady Lara!"
She turned as Dorian approached at a brisk stride, the small leather-bound notebook in his hand.
"You left this in the library," he said, offering it to her with a slight smile, though it faded as he caught the expression on her face. "Is everything well?"
She accepted the notebook slowly. "That woman… who was she?"
Dorian's expression darkened slightly. "Lady Selene of Silverfen. Daughter of Alpha Andros. She arrived this morning with Queen Maravelle."
Lara glanced back down the corridor. "She didn't seem very friendly."
Dorian gave a short, mirthless laugh. "She seldom appears unless there is something she desires. And the king has long held her interest."
Lara's stomach coiled, but she inclined her head. "I understand."
"Do not let her words trouble you," Dorian added, his tone softer now.
Lara offered a faint, grateful smile. "Thank you… for the notebook."
He fell into step beside her, a quiet but watchful presence as they walked the corridor once more.
....
The chamberlain entered Queen Maravelle's chambers with measured steps, her white hair pinned in a precise coil, her face serene but her eyes sharp with intelligence. She had come promptly, summoned by the Queen's attendant without delay. Reaching the center of the room, she bowed low with practiced grace.
"I received your message, Your Majesty," she said softly, her tone respectful, yet steady.
Queen Maravelle gave a slow nod, her expression unreadable as she studied the older woman. "You have served this palace for many years, Chamberlain Ysara. I know I can trust you with... delicate matters."
Ysara straightened, her voice smooth and steady. "My loyalty is to you, Your Highness. Whatever you require."
Maravelle turned to a side table and picked up a folded parchment, sealed with wax. "This concerns the girl Lara. I believe she is not who she claims to be and I need eyes within her chambers."
"Her maid… Mira. She's young, loyal to the girl, but not immune to pressure. She's already started speaking, though she thinks it's harmless." She proceeded to inform the Queen of everything she had learnt.
Maravelle's lips curved into a slow smile. "Excellent. Sometimes, the smallest cracks let in the most light."
The chamberlain inclined her head again. "What would you have me do, Your Highness?"
"For now," Maravelle said, reaching into her cloak, "you wait. Observe. Listen. And when I say move…" She extended a small velvet pouch, its weight unmistakable. "You move."
The woman took it without hesitation, tucking it into her sleeve.
"Thank you for your loyalty," Maravelle murmured, stepping past her toward the window. "Remain unseen. Let the wolf think his den is safe."
"Yes, Your Highness."
The chamberlain turned and vanished into the shadows of the corridor. Her footsteps made no sound, her cloak brushing the cold stone. Outside, the wind howled faintly, like a warning.
Maravelle did not turn to look. Her eyes remained fixed on the night beyond the forests.
"Let the games begin."