"Hmm," I hummed, letting my eyes drag across the other two attendants. One was young, barely older than my younger sister, the other seemed indifferent, but not hostile. Still. Guilt by association.
I followed them in silence, letting them think I was still docile. Still the human queen with no bite. Still the weak little girl who cried in silence while her king ignored her and his mistress spat venom beside her throne.
But I was already watching.
Taking notes.
Counting sins.
At the breakfast table, everything was pristine. Fruits, pastries, delicate little crystal glasses of juice lined with care. But something smelled off.
Cerys approached with a steaming cup on a silver tray.
"Your usual herbal infusion," she said, setting it before me. "For calmness of mind. You've had… a rather delicate week."
I picked up the cup slowly.
Sniffed.
Something in the back of my mind sparked. Bitter. Too sharp. Not Joelle's usual.
I remembered it from the book, a throwaway line about Joelle getting rashes after certain teas and perfumes from "the east wing servants." Johan had dismissed it, said she was overreacting.
But I remembered.
I remembered.
"Lady Cerys," I said softly, holding the cup up. "What blend is this exactly?"
Cerys didn't falter. "Linden flower and goldenroot. A classic for human constitution, mild and effective. You've always liked it."
Bullshit.
Goldenroot caused severe skin reactions in some humans, migraines, dizziness. I'd read that, too. Joelle had stopped drinking it after collapsing once during a royal brunch. Cerys knew that. She just didn't expect me to remember.
I tilted my head.
"That's strange," I murmured. "Because I distinctly remember this tea giving me a rash."
Cerys blinked. "I, pardon, Your Majesty, I must have confused it with the other infusion, "
I slammed the cup down, hard enough for the china to crack.
The sound echoed.
The other attendants flinched.
Cerys went still.
"I'm sure you did," I said coolly. "A mistake, of course. Not an attempt to poison your queen. Because that would be treason, wouldn't it?"
The silence was thick. Delicious.
"Guards," I called, still staring at Cerys.
Cerys's face finally cracked. "Your Majesty, please, surely this isn't necessary, "
"Oh, but it is," I whispered, standing. My smile was razor sharp now. Willow sharp. "Because I've decided something, Cerys."
She trembled.
"Guards," I called again, louder now. "Escort Lady Cerys to the punishment chambers."
I waited.
One second. Two.
No one moved.
I turned slowly, catching their hesitation like a slap across the face. The guards, two tall beasts in human form dressed in fine navy uniforms, shifted awkwardly. One of them scratched the back of his neck. The other looked at Cerys with thinly veiled sympathy.
"She didn't mean anything by it, Your Majesty," one muttered. "It's just tea."
I blinked.
My vision sharpened.
Oh.
So it wasn't just the ladies-in-waiting.
Joelle really had no power here.
None. Not even among the palace staff.
And they were used to it.
I let out a soft, incredulous laugh.
"Did you just defy a queen's order?" I asked, turning to the one who spoke.
He scoffed. "No, I just, I meant…"
But I stopped listening, I moved.
Not toward him.
But to the ornate buffet table at my right, where a heavy silver candleholder rested.
I picked it up slowly.
Let the weight of it sit in my palm.
And then I turned, locked eyes with Cerys in the reflection of the grand mirror behind her…
…and swung.
The crash was thunderous.
Glass shattered like a scream, raining down in glittering shards. Gasps filled the room. One piece sliced the air and landed near the guards' boots.
I reached down. Picked up a jagged fragment. Pressed it into my palm until a single drop of blood bloomed.
Red. Sharp. Defiant.
I didn't even wince in pain even though it hurt like hell.
I smiled.
"Let me make this very clear," I said, my voice calm, too calm. "I may have been overlooking your incompetence. I may have been quiet. But I'm not your stupid little lamb. Not anymore."
I walked toward them slowly, holding the blood-stained glass like a promise.
"The next time you ignore my command, I will have your tongues nailed to the throne room doors. And I'll feed them to the hounds."
That got their attention.
"Yes your majesty."
The guards moved.
Without another word, they seized Cerys by the arms, her protests suddenly shrill and desperate. The other attendants stood frozen, pale as moonlight, watching as their superior was dragged away like a criminal.
But it wasn't enough.
It wasn't satisfying.
Not yet.
"Stop," I said, just as they reached the door.
The guards froze mid-step, Cerys still dangling between them like a terrified rabbit. I tilted my head as I stepped forward, glass still biting into my palm, a quiet hum vibrating in the back of my throat.
Everyone turned to look at me.
I wasn't done.
Not yet.
That witch had bled Joelle dry with subtle cruelty for more than two years of her staying at the palace. And I had no intention of letting her slink away with just a little scare.
"She's not going to the dungeons," I said sweetly. "No."
The guards blinked. Cerys whimpered.
"I have something else in mind," I continued, running a finger along the edge of the blood-streaked shard in my hand. "Something a little more… intentional."
I glanced at the nearest maid, young, trembling, clearly one of Cerys's lackeys.
"You," I said, voice low but clear. "Fetch me a whip."
She blinked.
"S-sorry?"
"A whip," I repeated. "Leather. Stiff. Something that bites back. I'm sure you know where the guards keep them, don't you?"
Silence fell like a guillotine.
The maid gaped at me in horror, her eyes darting to the others like she was waiting for someone to intervene. They didn't. Of course not. No one knew what the hell to do. Joelle had never raised her voice, let alone raised a hand.
The maid stuttered, "But, Your Majesty, surely there's no, "
I stepped toward her.
"Would you like to join Lady Cerys in her punishment?" I asked, sweetly. "I imagine your hands would bruise beautifully."
She screeched, turned on her heel, and bolted out of the room so fast you'd think I had grown claws.
I could practically taste their fear from across the hall. Omegas.
Everyone called them wolves but they weren't hard to figure out once you'd watched enough of them crawl. They ranked the lowest in the werewolf setting and often reduced to the minor nobles and servants.
Cerys, whose parents were lucky enough to be considered nobles despite their rankings as werewolves, was sent to the palace to serve the human queen directly.
And for someone who knew what it felt like to be treated harshly for being the lowest ranking werewolves, you'd think she'd learn to gain empathy from that and bond with Joelle. But no. This witch made sure of the opposite.
She and many other culprits I'd get to later, cut her out of every gathering, intentionally ruining her reputation and isolating her. They misdressed her, ruined her makeup, made her look sick and ridiculous.
They spread lies about her until the whole kingdom believed them. They moved her things, burned her notes, letter, made her doubt her own mind. They even continually fed her what they knew would make her sick. Every one of them… little smiles, soft hands… delighting in her ruin.
And this bitch was one of the best masterminds of them all.
Why you ask?
Because in her delusional mind, she could have been the queen.
Not Joelle. Not even Grace whom Johan actually gave a fuck about.
But her. However she could not take out her frustrations on Grace and so her next best target was the foolish human. Joelle.
Sure, Omegas healed faster than humans… but not fast enough. Not where it counted. Whip them once and they'd still be flinching hours later, skin raw, nerves screaming. I'd read it before. I'd made notes.
The moment she left, I turned back to the guards and smiled. "You see? Obedience is not that hard."