Lysara had a bad habit of lingering near the kitchens near the end of a ball or when the party was all over.
It all came down to timing; nobles were terribly loose-mouthed when drunk, you see, but their tales weren't juicy enough for Lysara. At least not as mouthwatering as the gossip the servants carried about whilst snickering and grinning from ear to ear. She wasn't a gossip herself, but it wouldn't do any good to cover one's ears with cotton balls, not when the information was right there for the picking. So there she lingered, near one of the larger kitchens where most of the palace's food was prepared. She sipped on the near empty glass of wine in her hand, leaning conspicuously on the wall with a prude scowl on her face just in case any stupid alpha thought she was interested in them.
Giselle had excused herself earlier, looking a tad pale. Lysara had half the mind to follow but her Lady had declined. She didn't blame her.
After what Vivienne pulled on the ballroom floor, she wasn't surprised Giselle wanted a little space.
A plump cook tittered about the counter with cheeks red from the flames. Three other women lounged on chairs with leftovers from the ball strewn all over the table. Lysara couldn't see them clearly from where she stood but she could hear them.
"I heard from a reliable source that the Grand Princess might be barren." The cook was saying.
"From a reliable source? Or simple hearsay?"
"Reliable. Ol' Johnny the footman confirmed it to me this morn'. Says it hadn't been for lack of trying, they seem to be a passionate pair."
A hushed voice joined the whispers, "Very unlike the King and his Queen, that's for sure."
They laughed loudly at the jest. Lysara's stomach tightened at the sudden change of subject. It wasn't uncommon for servants to whisper about nobles; hell, she was here with the sole purpose to listen to these whispers and carry whatever useful information she could gather to her Lady. It didn't feel nice, especially since she had started to care for the unassuming Queen. Lysara couldn't help but fear for her. Something about her seemed doe-eyed, innocent. She masked it well, though, did her best to carry herself with all the airs of a monarch. Lysara had seen too much of aristocratic life to see through her facade. She was scared that one day, her Lady's facade would shatter and leave her vulnerable and bare to the wolves of the Court.
The whispers and hushed cackles continued.
"Well, it is no secret that the King cares very little for his wife. Even now, at the ball, he shared only the first dance with her!"
Gasps followed.
"Who else would he dance with for the entire night?"
"Isn't it obvious? Countess Vivienne is said to be the King's new amoure!"
"My word! I took her for being merely a harlot, but she is audacious for catching the biggest fish of all!"
"Wait a minute, wasn't the Queen his betrothed? I only heard stories of love between them."
"It wouldn't surprise me if their love turned sour from impropriety on the Queen's part. It would explain the King's lust for other omegas."
"Or perhaps the Queen is a feral wolf–"
A wave of nausea, either from too much wine or the endless spew of false information, rose to her throat. Lysara decided that she had heard enough.
She slammed the ajar kitchen door wide open, startling the gossiping staff. They all scrambled to their feet, scurrying to their former positions with mutters of "apologies, milady."
"Lazing about when you should be working—I should report you to your superiors!" Lysara raved, waging a finger and holding a wine glass in the other. This was more fun than she thought, or perhaps she was simply drunk.
"We were done with work for the day, milady–"
"–and decided to lay in this…this absolute mess! The least you could do is clean up after yourselves!"
She made them fetch a pair of brooms, a mop and a bucket of water, yelling at them until the kitchens reeked with the scent of fear. While they cleaned up, she poured herself another glass of wine from the pantry.
"Scrub harder!" She screeched.
Served them right for speaking ill of their Queen.
She left the kitchens somewhat satisfied and headed back to the half empty ballroom. Music still played and some couples still danced but most had escaped into the night or promenaded under the moon in the gardens. With a stroke of luck, she may yet see Giselle there if she hadn't retired to bed already.
Lysara wasn't drunk; it took her more than five wine glasses to completely wipe her out. Outside wasn't as well-lit as inside the ballroom was, though. She tripped and slammed into a hard wall of flesh.
The alpha was taller than her by many inches and vaguely familiar.
She was ready to tell him off even if she was in the wrong. He was in her way, he should be careful of blocking random omegas paths next time.
"Apologies, miss."
In her semi-drunken haze, she nearly did tell him off; for calling her 'miss' and standing aimlessly on the path.
"Are you looking for your Lady?"
She cocked her head suspiciously.
"How do you know who I'm looking for?"
He never answered that question.
"You are the Queen handmaiden, Lysara right?"
"That's Lady Lysara to you, sir."
A handsome smile tugged on his lips. "I'm Sir Dorian."
Her eyes widened as she recognized the King's personal guard.
"Oh."
"The King took her to his chambers a while ago. She went into heat quite suddenly."
"Oh."
***
It was not quite a good morning for Fabio. The day, for one, had started off as cold and dreary with not an ounce of sun in the sky. Also, Giselle's alluring scent of heat still clung stubbornly to his skin, only fading when he had a thorough bath. Dorian sauntered around the room as though he owned it, which he did of course but who was he to say no to the King when he came knocking on your door in the middle of the night asking for refuge?
As he shrugged on a shirt he'd managed to sneak away with, Dorian pelted him with curious questions. He was currently the only one apart from the Elders to know the truth about his marriage with Giselle. Right now he was regretting bestowing him with such knowledge.
"So you didn't do… anything? And your wolf didn't go feral?"
"Of course not, I am here aren't I?"
"You must really despise her then."
Thoughts of wild red hair and soft skin on satin sheets flashed through his mind.
"Obviously."
Dorian was already fully dressed and sitting on his bed, in deep thought. Fabio never did like his best friend thinking, it usually didn't end well.
He threw him a damp washcloth, snorting at the other's grimace.
"Get your head out of the clouds. We have a busy day ahead. Where's my schedule?"
"On its way. Your personal advisor is a mess, by the way."
Fabio buttoned his shirt. "Adrian may be eccentric but he does his work well. When are we expecting the King of Ravathorne again?"
"About a week or two from now." Silence filled the room. Dorian was now stroking his chin, an even worse sign. "You know, it still doesn't make sense to me–"
"–Dorian–"
"–Genevieve's letter seemed straightforward, it was written in her handwriting too. Perhaps she really was besotted by another and was too afraid to confront you. It is nothing uncommon after all. Why do you still search for her when it's clear she wants nothing to do with you?"
Fabio ground his teeth. It wasn't a possibility he hadn't explored over and over in his head yet it still hurt to hear out loud.
"That is my business as King." He said tightly. "And your business is to do as I ask. My reasons are mine alone."
"The same reasons you used to bed Countess Vivienne?"
Fabio bit back a growl. He could feel his wolf rearing its head, raging within him to claw off the face of whoever dared challenge him; so he moved a few paces back until there was ample space between them.
Dorian, thankfully, didn't follow. They have known each other long enough for the knight to gauge when his King was fighting his wolf for dominance.
"I know I gave you the advice to do so, but at this moment I am speaking to you as your best friend, Fabio," The knight continued, his kind eyes warm with familiarity, "Maybe the only friend you'll have when all this is over–"
"–go to hell."
They chuckled. Fabio felt calmer. His friend was truly the only one to offer him true respite whenever his wolf went on rampage.
"Tell me, really. Why are you doing all of this?"
Fabio shrugged, the answer bitter on his tongue.
"It's the only way, Dorry." He replied sullenly, suddenly tired, "It's the only way to break the bond. She can't just leave, not without turning the Court against me. I have to break the bond before I find Genny."
"And then you'll force her to be with you? Even if she doesn't want to?"
"I'll woo her back, beg on my knees if I have to." Fabio admitted, his eyes shining with fervor. "She's my first and only love."
Dorian nodded as if it was all clear to him now.
"We found a lead; someone claimed to have seen Genevieve near the border with Ravathorne. He is a simple farmer, I have asked him to tell us everything he saw and heard."
Fabio's eyes widened.
"Send him to my private office immediately."
***
"You look absolutely worse for wear, dear child!" Madame Maeve exclaimed, squeezing Giselle's cheeks in his puffy hands. "The palace is not treating you well at all!"
Giselle left the King's room at the crack of dawn, soaked herself in steaming water and dressed herself despite Lysara's protests. She could feel the lady-in-waiting follow her across the room with curious eyes but she didn't ask questions, thankfully, just readied her schedule as usual. Giselle could feel the latter's questions at the tip of her tongue, 'shouldn't you be resting?' or 'what about your heat?' Her heat had come and passed, praise the goddess for that. Omegas no longer spent days cooped indoors after their heats, that was long left in the past when their ancestors roamed the wildernesses. Before she had thrown on a cloak for warmth and headed to her tutor, Maeve, for her first activity of the day, Lysara had asked if she was feeling alright.
"Better than I have in days." She had replied.
Madame Maeve would not let her get away with such a lie though.
"You still stink of your heat, too!" She was still fussing, "You should have taken the day off!"
"I…needed to get my mind off…some things." Giselle answered truthfully.
"Well, no dancing today."
The plump tutor pulled out a large book from her bag, Royal Ethics was scrawled on its hardback.
They studied for a while, Maeve was on one end of the tea table and Giselle was on the other. Whenever her mind wandered and she found herself not able to answer Maeve's questions, the tutor would fix her a nasty glare.
Giselle laughed the third time she glared at her.
"Is there something funny about Royal Ethics, girl?"
"No." Another snort. "Just your face."
Maeve opened her mouth like she was going to tell her off but something made her halt abruptly.
"Giselle, are you well?"
The silence was like static in her ears.
Giselle couldn't seem to tell, but her face had slackened and her bright eyes had grown dim in a matter of minutes. Whatever pain she'd felt yesterday during her heat dulled in comparison to what she felt now.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream.
"Mah-Maeve—"
Her speech was slurred, her vision blurred in seconds.
The sound of a chair falling noisily to the floor and harried voices was all she could hear.
"–elle! Giselle!"
Nothing more made sense after that. The world spun round and round and she moved with it, like a ditzy flower in the wind. Hefty arms lifted her off the floor but she still felt heavy, as though concrete bricks weighed her down. Silence continued. Then panicked voices bled through but they seemed so far away. The sound of a door opening and shutting suddenly broke it.
When soft sheets enveloped her, Giselle gasped for air.
"–hen did it happen?" Leandra's voice was like a beacon. When did she get here, Giselle faintly thought.
"–ust studying…and then the next moment–"
Giselle slipped into the darkness just as an unfamiliar scent entered the room.
Leandra had sent for the court healer, a wiry beta in her 50s. Giselle's room was shut to everyone but the Grand Princess, Lysara and Madame Maeve who still looked stricken from watching helplessly as the unfortunate child dropped like nothing to the floor.
The healer examined the Queen's perspiring body, wiping away sweat from her temples with a cloth.
"Her scent is very weak but she is strong." She simply said, pressing her index and middle finger gently onto the pulse of her neck. She pulled out a small magnifying glass, pulling down the sleeve of her dress to examine her scent gland. "She is the King's soulbound mate I presume? Not just married?"
"Yes." Leandra answered. "I had already shared the…private details of the King and his mate. I wouldn't like to rehash it, just give me your diagnosis."
Maeve and Lysara shared a look.
"Very well. Soulbound mates share a deep connection; they share a piece of each other's very soul. The Moon herself made this so many millennia ago to preserve wolves from extinction and encourage reproduction. If one half of a soul rejects its other half, what do you think will happen?"
Leandra sighed, rubbing her throbbing head. The healer was only confirming what she feared all along but this was news to the other two women in the room.
"The King's…extramarital affairs and outright rejection is killing the bond, especially since he has refused to mark her as his." The healer continued without waiting for a reply. "If he doesn't stop now, the Queen could lose her ability to have children. A worser outcome could be losing her wolf or death."
A cold silence engulfed the room. Lysara was sobbing quietly in her palm, nervously biting her nails out of habit.
Maeve sunk into an armchair by the bedside, staring wordlessly at Giselle's limb body.
"Grand Princess, I strongly suggest you tell the Elders about this." the healer said. "The Queen may barely have a month or two left if this isn't stopped."