Lolita sat on a red plush chair in her elegantly decorated bedroom, the soft glow of her laptop illuminating her face as she accepted a video call. On the screen, Robin appeared, situated in the modest confines of his retirement home room, a stark contrast to her lavish surroundings.
"I heard you were partying and not working." He said, his tone tinged with disapproval.
"It was my birthday. I'm allowed to take days off."
"You're not taking your job seriously. You're not the same as your brother Ethan, who was a hard worker," he countered, his words sharp and unyielding.
"I put in more effort than anyone else in this nation," she retorted, her confidence rising as she defended her work ethic against his accusations.
"No, you're a joke. You've inherited your mother's laziness," he shot back, his disdain palpable, igniting a fire within her.
"Shut up!" She exclaimed, her cheeks flushing crimson with anger. "I've endured tremendous pain. The loss of Ethan was a heavy burden; it took me months to navigate through my sorrow."
"You exploited his death as a convenient excuse to escape to your private island. At his funeral, you were too inebriated to deliver your eulogy," he accused, his voice dripping with contempt.
'I was overwhelmed with grief. Axel offered me solace, not you," she defended, her voice trembling with emotion as she recalled the painful memories.
"I was too disgusted by the fact that you were drunk at Ethan's funeral to even look at you. You need to mature. This country needs a better Ruler. I don't want you to change for me, I want you to change for your country."
"Why don't you mind your business and go on living your days in the retirement home?"
"I can't ignore the fact that you're the ruler of this country. The decision affects everyone in this country!"
"I have to go take a bath!"
Without waiting for his reply, Lolita's finger jabbed the "end call" button. The screen went dark, severing his presence. Stood up, her jaw clenched, refusing to let his words poison her. He wanted her to be a better ruler.
A ruler doesn't tolerate insubordination. She would wash away the memory of his insolence and move on.
***************
The doctor stepped out of Lyra's room and approached Osa in the hallway.
"She's clean."
"That's great news!" Osa clapped his hands.
"But she can't...Have children, unfortunately."
"What, why not?"
"The malnutrition and trauma from the camps caused irreversible damage. Her reproductive system is destroyed. She'll never carry a child."
"What am I supposed to do without an heir?" Osa hissed, throwing his hands up in a rare display of open frustration. "If Lyra can't provide me with a child, then I have no choice—I must take on another wife immediately!"
"You could adopt a child-"
"No!" Osa snarled, stepping aggressively into the doctor's space. "An adopted brat isn't my blood! The world rulers are already whispering about Racheal's defective womb. Now Lyra too? They'll say I'm shooting blanks. I won't be mocked."
He slammed his fist against the hallway wall, his chest heaving with rage.
The doctor swallowed hard, adjusting his medical bag and looking desperately toward the exit. "Right. Well... I must take my leave, sir—"
"Wait." Osa clamped a heavy hand onto the doctor's shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Before you go—do you have a sister? Or a cousin? Someone young and fertile?"
The doctor stepped back. "That's… not something I can help you with."
Osa's voice dropped, cold and threatening. "Alright, I'll have to look to find someone myself, even though it isn't easy! My sister keeps avoiding me. She says she's married now. Who cares about her husband? I need a child of my own blood, and who needs her body more than me?"
The doctor froze. "Sir, the genetic risks are high-"
"But she's my half-sister!" Osa scoffed. "We're only half related. You're making a fuss over nothing."
"But the risks are still high-"
"Doctor," Osa smiled. "A man of your education belongs in a clinic, not stooped over crops with the rest of the labour prisoners. Don't make me reconsider where you sleep tonight."
The doctor's face turned ashen. "I… I have to go."
"Very well. I'll call for you again when I marry. One way or another, I'll find someone suitable."
After the doctor left, Osa entered Lrya's room, yanking the door open.
"Lyra, darling! I have news—some good, some bad."
Lyra pressed herself deeper into the pillows, eyes wide with dread.
"The doctor says your body is too ruined from the camps to give me a child. It is a tragedy, really," he said, clucking his tongue before brightening up again. "But don't you worry! I'm not going to throw you back out into the mud just because you can't give me a child! I'm far too kind for that. I'm going to keep you right here in your beautiful room—I'll just have to find another wife to handle the breeding!"
Lyra swallowed past the dryness in her throat, her voice barely a whisper. "You... you still have Racheal."
"Oh, yes," Osa scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "But Rachel was born with a defective womb, so she can't bear me a child either. So, I'll just have to go back to the camps and rescue another damsel in distress."
Lyra's heart seized, a memory flashing in her mind. "But you... You killed women right after we left—"
"You don't really think those were the only women there, do you?" Osa interrupted, letting out a short, amused laugh. "The camps are full of them! I will order my guards to sweep through and find a fresh one. A proper one who can actually give me a child to carry my name."
Lyra shrank back against the headboard, her voice trembling. "You're... you're terrifying...
Osa's smile vanished instantly, replaced by a petulant sneer. "You know, you are not sexy at all when you say things like that. Do you know that? Pfft. Besides, I don't even want to remember that girl I had to turn down at the camp."
A spark of defiance cut through Lyra's terror, and the truth slipped past her lips before she could stop it. "She... she refused to be with you—"
In a flash of pure, unhinged rage, Osa lunged forward. He climbed onto the bed, pinning her down as his hand seized her tightly by the throat.
"What did you say to me?" he hissed, his face inches from hers, his eyes bulging. "Do you know that nobody refuses me? Nobody!"
"Please... let me go," she choked out, tears streaming down her temples.
He released his grip, sliding off her chest and smoothing down his clothes as if nothing had happened.
"Lyra," he said, his voice entirely calm again, though his eyes remained dead. "I am bringing in another queen. She'll remind you of your place."
"She won't be happy here—"
"Shut up." He slapped her hard across the face. "You were nothing but a filthy camp rat when I found you. I gave you silk sheets, spa treatments, manicures, waxing — everything. And this is how you repay me?"
Lyra held her bruised throat. "You hurt me. You control me. You think comfort erases that?"
"My darling, do you forget that you were rotting in the dirt? I'm not the one who starves you. I'm the one who makes sure you eat—even if I have to force the spoon between your teeth myself."
He kissed her on the lips and slipped his hand under the pink silk sheets, grabbing her breast.
"Don't skip out on lunch," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her dark nipple. "I like my women with big breasts, not small ones. Remember that."
Then he left. The only peace Lyra ever found in the palace.
**************