The sound of music and applause still lingered faintly from the banquet hall when the Queen Consort swept through the corridor, her gown whispering like thunder against the marble floor.
Moments ago, the envoy from the kingdom of Vathehall had signed the peace treaty — in full view of the court. And not in her favor.
Her gloved hands curled at her sides. All her careful whispers, the bribes, the subtle persuasion — wasted.
"Your Majesty?" one of her attendants asked nervously, struggling to keep pace.
"Silence," she snapped, eyes fixed ahead.
At the far end of the hall, the envoy was making his way toward the guest chambers. Two royal guards accompanied him, his posture still dignified even after the exhausting banquet.
The Queen consort's voice, soft but cutting, echoed through the marble corridor.
"Lord Envoy."
The man stopped mid-step. His attendants hesitated, clearly uncomfortable as the Queen consort approached.
Why," she said, "did you sign it? You were offered everything your kingdom desired—wealth, trade, protection. And yet, you chose to side with him?"
The envoy merely smiled, his gloved fingers adjusting the cuffs of his coat. "Your Majesty," he began smoothly, "your offer was indeed… generous."
"But," the envoy continued, "His Highness's proposal—" his eyes flicked deliberately toward Lucien, was leaning lazily against a marble pillar, engaged in quiet conversation with another noble—was far more tempting."
The Queen consort followed his line of sight, her jaw tightening. Lucien, realizing her attention, tilted his head and flashed a mischievous grin, one corner of his mouth curving in unspoken mockery. The envoy gave a short bow, thanked the court for their hospitality, and left with his guards in tow, leaving the hallway with heavy with unspoken tension.
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When Lucien entered the Queen consort's chambers not long after, her attendants immediately dismissed themselves. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, and the Queen consort's voice, low and silk-edged, filled the space.
"My dear nephew," she said, her smile sharp. "How long has it been since you last visited your beloved aunt? You didn't even have the courtesy to greet me before flaunting yourself beside him in the council."
Lucien bowed slightly, though the gesture held no sincerity. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I had no intention of interrupting your… lively display earlier."
Her eyes narrowed. "Lively display?" she repeated coldly. "Tell me, Lucien—what exactly did you and Alaric offer the envoy? What could possibly make him reject my terms so easily?"
Lucien crossed the chamber with the ease of a man who knew exactly how far he could test her temper. "That," he said, tone mild but deliberately vague, "is a private matter. Surely you understand the importance of discretion in politics, Your Majesty."
The Queen consort's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Discretion? Or defiance?"
He met her gaze without flinching. "Interpret it however you wish."
Her gloved hand gripped the armrest of her chair, nails digging into the fabric. "You've grown bolder," she hissed. "Perhaps too bold. I could remind His Majesty that your loyalty has always been… flexible."
Lucien chuckled softly. "You could," he said, "but then I might remind His Majesty who funded your son's failed campaigns in the south."
The air between them turned razor-sharp. Then, with disarming ease, Lucien stepped back and offered a bow, his grin returning. "If that is all, Your Majesty, I must take my leave. My wife is waiting for me in the north."
The Queen consort's eyes glimmered dangerously. "Then bring her with you next time," she said, her tone deceptively sweet. "I would love to meet the woman who tamed the northern wolf."
Lucien paused at the doorway and looked over his shoulder, his grin deepening. "Oh, I'm sure you would." And without another word, he left her seething behind him.
The moment the door shut, the Queen consort's composure shattered. "Foolish boy," she spat, knocking over her goblet. Red wine splattered across the floor like blood. "He thinks he can mock me?"
Her closest attendant hesitated before speaking. "Your Majesty… shall I summon your informants?"
She waved her hand impatiently. "Do it. I want to know everything Alaric has been doing these past few days."
Moments later, one of her spies knelt before her, hood shadowing his face. "Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "it took us… some time to discover the truth. The prince's attendants believed His Highness was resting due to illness. However, in reality—he left the capital. In secret."
The Queen consort's eyes gleamed with dangerous curiosity. "Left? For what reason?"
The spy hesitated, then lowered his voice. "To search for someone, Your Majesty. A person he has been looking for over the past four years. And according to the last reports from the southern scouts—it appears he has finally found them."
A sharp, delighted laugh escaped her lips. "So that's what this is about," she murmured. "The herbalist… the one who tamed his pheromones."
She rose from her chair, the train of her gown whispering across the marble as she approached the window, looking out toward the distant city bathed in twilight. "How amusing. We went through so much effort creating false leads, yet he still refuses to give up."
Turning back to her court, her eyes gleamed with cruel delight. "But it seems the gods are generous. After years of searching, he's finally led us straight to his weakness."
Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Send word to our people in the south. Have them watch closely—but do not act yet. A caged bird must first be allowed to believe it is free… before the door closes for good."
Her laughter echoed through the chamber—soft, elegant, and dripping with venom.