The warm bath did nothing to temper the ice in Jackline's veins. She had hoped the anger—a hot, consuming rage directed at her new husband, Christopher, the King she barely knew—would dissipate with the steam, but it clung to her like a second skin. Submerged in scented water, she rolled her eyes and let loose a low, guttural scoff, muttering a string of silent curses under her breath.
Later, as a maid gently pulled the heavy silk gown over her head, the attendant misinterpreted the stiff tension in Jackline's shoulders.
"I'm sorry, my queen, did I do that too roughly?" the maid asked, her voice tight with immediate worry.
"No," Jackline snapped, then softened her tone slightly. "I just thought of someone annoying. A persistent fly."
"Who could be troubling the Queen?" the maid asked, her curiosity overriding protocol for a brief second.
"Don't worry about it," Jackline dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I'll handle it."
Even though every fiber of her being despised Christopher—for his arrogance, for his coldness, for the entire forced arrangement—she had to win his trust. That meant swallowing her hate, plastering on the facade of a dutiful wife, and biding her time. The performance began now.
Fully dressed, Jackline headed downstairs. In the lower hallway, she found Elara carrying a silver tray with a single, steaming cup of coffee.
"Is that the King's?" Jackline asked, her voice sharp. Elara, her mousy black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, looked up. Her grey eyes, cold and hard as flint, couldn't conceal the deep, simmering hatred she held for the new Queen. She merely nodded, offering a tight, faint approximation of a smile.
"I don't know why you hate me this much," Jackline started, stepping closer, unwilling to let this small slight go unanswered. She felt the need to assert control, to be respected somewhere in this suffocating palace.
"My Queen, I do not—" Elara began, but Jackline cut her off with a single, slicing gesture.
"As long as I am Queen, you'll have to respect me," Jackline said, now standing toe-to-toe with the maid, their faces inches apart. "Whether you like it or not." Her husband already disrespected her in private; she was not going to let a servant do the same in public. They would all learn to fear her authority.
Elara's gaze finally dropped, the hatred temporarily masked by fear and submission. She offered a quick, mumbled apology.
"Now." Jackline's voice was triumphant as she reached out and took the heavy tray from Elara's hands. "I'll be the one to take this to the King."
"He's in his study room," Elara said, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Jackline turned and walked away, her back straight and proud. She didn't see the pair of cold grey eyes that followed her departure. She didn't see Elara's hands clench into fists at her sides, nor the slow, devilish smile that spread across the maid's thin lips once Jackline was out of sight.
Jackline navigated the long, tapestried hallway toward Christopher's study. The scent of coffee filled the air, the liquid sloshing slightly in the delicate cup as she walked. When she reached the study door, she paused, about to knock, but a familiar voice from within stopped her cold.
She recognized the voice instantly: Alex, the King's closest and only friend. She hesitated, remembering the last time she'd been accused of eavesdropping, but the conversation that followed rooted her to the spot.
"...I'm not planning on leaving your side ever," Alex chuckled, the sound low and intimate. "She'll soon find out about us eventually."
Us? Jackline was in shock. The whispers, the rumors she'd dismissed as petty court gossip—they were true. Christopher didn't dislike women; he disliked her because his affections lay elsewhere. With him.
The tray trembled violently in her hands.
As she stood there, paralyzed by the revelation, the heavy oak doors suddenly flung open. The sudden movement, the sight, the confirmation—it was all too much. The tray slipped from her numb fingers, crashing to the stone floor with a deafening shatter of porcelain.
The sight that greeted her confirmed every suspicion. Alex stood there, his back to the door, in the process of taking off his shirt, the smile in his handsome face did not change even after seeing her. Christopher was seated behind his desk, a look of cold, calculating fury directed not at Alex, but solely at her.