The grand dining hall of Velmora glowed like polished ivory in the morning light. Tall windows framed with scarlet drapery spilled gold across the long carved table. Every inch of the room whispered wealth—every candlestick, every painted tile, every chilled goblet filled with crushed berries and spring water.
At the table, two queens sat opposite each other.
Queen Selene in deep emeralds, her golden tiara matching the vines embroidered on her sleeves. She ate in small, graceful motions, her posture stiff with a silent kind of rage. Across from her, Queen Virelda wore robes of midnight blue and silver, her face as calm as the water before a storm.
They both moved elegantly, the sound of clinking cutlery soft and refined.
Then Selene scoffed—loud enough to interrupt the quiet hum of the chamber. Her fork tapped too sharply against the porcelain plate.
"She had the audacity," Selene muttered, her voice dipped in venom, "to lean into the king like a concubine while he carried her on horseback."
Virelda didn't look up from her plate. "I wonder when you'll stop talking about this. It's been four days," she replied coolly.
Selene stabbed at a piece of fruit. "I won't!" she snapped, "because I know she faked being unconscious."
Virelda's lips twitched into a dry smirk. She didn't grace Selene with an answer, only shook her head once and continued cutting through her food with perfect grace.Then—
The great oak doors creaked open. And all sets of eyes turned.
Aurora stepped in.
The air shifted.
She stood at the entrance like something conjured from a dream—cloaked in white and gold, her dress flowing around her like liquid light, her hair braided back with gold clasps, and atop it, a delicate golden tiara catching every ray of sunlight.
She glowed.
Her eyes widened faintly as they landed on the queens—this was the first time she was seeing them alone. Two women, powerful and poised, seated at the king's table. Their beauty was carved, sharp, practiced.
And now, she stood before them—alone.
Selene's smirk returned instantly, lips curling like she'd been handed a gift. She opened her mouth but before she could speak, the second set of doors opened.
And in walked Ava, the king's mother. Regal and graceful, she wore robes of soft crimson and gold, her hair woven into a perfect knot behind her head. Jewels adorned her wrists and throat, yet her presence didn't need them—she carried power the way kings carried swords.
Selene and Virelda stood immediately and bowed.
Aurora, though still uncertain, bowed as well.
Ava walked calmly to the head of the table and took her seat with effortless elegance.
She looked at the queens, then at Aurora.
Her gaze lingered.
"My son," she began, voice smooth as silk, "neglected to run the proposal of his marriage to you through me first."
Aurora's heart dropped. A chill ran through her body. She gulped hard.
"I was upset," Ava continued, gently lifting her goblet. "But now that I've laid eyes on you…"
She paused, studying Aurora with eyes both warm and piercing, "You're quite beautiful."
Aurora's head snapped up in surprise. She had expected punishment, not this—but she quickly bowed her head again.
Selene's lips tightened into a tight-lipped smile, the kind that meant anything but jealousy.
Virelda's face remained unreadable, her expression the same as before, her eyes unreadable.
Ava gestured with a flick of her hand. "Sit."
Aurora hesitated. She looked toward the richly carved chairs. Sit—where? Did she mean the floor… or the chair?
Ava tilted her head, her voice firmer now. "Aurora, is it?"
Aurora nodded quickly. "Yes, Your Majesty."
She didn't need anyone to tell her—this woman was the king's mother.
Ava turned slightly. One of the servants immediately stepped forward, pulled out the empty seat beside Queen Virelda, and looked to Aurora.
Her stomach twisted. That seat?
Still unsure, she walked slowly toward it, her steps as quiet as falling snow. When she sat, the chair didn't resist her weight—it welcomed her, as if this place had waited for her.
The servant poured her drink. Others brought a plate filled with warm bread, roasted meat, honey-glazed root vegetables.
She didn't move.
Her hands stayed folded in her lap, too afraid to pick up the cutlery. Selene was already watching her like a hawk. Virelda remained neutral. Ava sipped her drink and glanced out the window.
The food's aroma filled the air, but Aurora sat still.
Then—Ava spoke again.
"Eat child." she said. Her voice was quiet, but there was something kind in it now. "Don't be afraid. This is your home now."
Aurora's eyes flicked up, her mouth parting slightly.
Home…?
Child…?
She had never been called either of those things before.
Not in Elareth.Not even by her own father. No one had ever looked at her and offered that simple word.
And yet somehow, here—at the table of queens—it had been given to her.
Her fingers shook slightly as she reached for her fork. She ate slowly at first, cautiously then a little more. The food warmed her belly, softened the tension in her shoulders. She stole a glance toward Ava again, who only gave her a small nod before continuing her meal.
Selene remained quiet, though her fury brewed silently behind a polite smile. She stabbed at her food more than ate it.
Virelda, ever graceful, said nothing.
Aurora chewed slowly, her body relaxing bit by bit.
She was still afraid. But as the warmth filled her body, and the scent of roses drifted through the hall, and the tiara on her head glinted softly in the light…
A tiny voice in her mind whispered, maybe I can survive this place after all.
After the final bite of roasted fig, the clink of silverware faded into soft silence. Queen Ava, composed and quiet at the head of the table, placed her goblet down and stood.
"Come," she said, rising with gentle authority. "You should all walk with me."
The three queens rose without question.
Virelda led, as always—dignified and elegant, her long navy gown whispering against the floor, her servants trailing in silent order behind her.
Selene followed next, emerald sleeves glinting with sequins, her tiara angled just perfectly to catch the light. Her servants glided behind her like shadows.
Then came Aurora.
Still new to the weight of silk and gold, she walked slowly, unsure whether to keep her head bowed like a servant or raised like a queen. Behind her, her newly appointed attendants followed—quiet, poised, and dressed in soft cream.
They're my servants… she thought. They're walking because of me.
As they passed through the palace corridors, footmen and maids they passed all bowed respectfully to each of the queens—but many eyes lingered on Aurora. Their gazes weren't mocking or cruel… just curious. Whispered rumors had flown ahead of her—the slave-born wife from Elareth, the white-haired girl who had survived a snow sentence and returned with the king himself.
There she is, they must have thought. The one with blue eyes like frozen lakes.
Aurora looked away quickly, heart thudding.
They arrived at Ava's Grand Garden—a vast walled courtyard blooming with life.
It was a breathtaking sight. Vines wrapped around arched pillars, lilies floated on still pools, and the air smelled of roses, lilac, and citrus. Birds hopped across sculpted fountains. The shade of a great magnolia tree cast coolness over a round marble table adorned with cut fruit.
Each queen took her seat. Ava sat at the head.
The servants withdrew.
Aurora sat at the far end, slightly uncertain. She had never sat at such a place without being summoned to serve others. Still, she composed herself—straight spine, folded hands, eyes low.
On the table sat grapes—huge, ripe, bursting with juice.
She couldn't help it. She stared.
They looked nothing like the half-rotten scraps she used to sneak from kitchen corners in Elareth. These were whole, gleaming, purple like twilight.
Ava noticed. With a small smile, she slid the silver platter gently toward Aurora. "Go on, child," she said softly.
Aurora hesitated only briefly—then picked one. Then another. She ate slowly, with careful grace. Not too fast. Not too eagerly. But every bite tasted like stolen heaven.
Then came Ava's voice—smooth, casual, but laced with steel.
"So," she said, eyes on Virelda and Selene, "I've been waiting for feedback from both of you since you arrived, but none came. And here I am myself." She paused, then continued, "Tell me—did either of you succeed in lying with His Majesty at the fortress?"
Silence. The sound of a breeze rustling the garden leaves.
Both queens stiffened in place. Virelda blinked. Selene's jaw tensed.
Aurora, who had still been chewing gently, froze.
Virelda shook her head once. "No, Mother." she said with practiced calm.
Selene frowned. "Of course not," she muttered. "He barely looked at me."
Ava raised a brow. "That's… disappointing." She sipped from her goblet, then set it down gently. Her voice lifted a notch.
"I sent you both to that fortress for a reason. After battle, a man needs relief—comfort, something warm in his bed. I assumed he would at least glance at one of you."
Both women shifted in their seats.
Ava turned her eyes toward them again, calm but piercing. "So tell me plainly. Has His Majesty ever lain with either of you?"
Virelda and Selene looked at each other—really looked. Suspicion. Realization. Each woman now seeing the other not as a rival who had won—but a rival who also lost.
Virelda spoke first, slow and cold. "I thought… His Majesty chose her instead of me."
Selene snapped back, "And I thought it was you."
"Didn't you say he visits your chamber more?" Virelda smirked.
"I only—"
Ava's brow furrowed, her patience thinning. She cut in.
"I asked a question," she said firmly.
Both queens answered in unison, "No. Mother."
Ava gasped softly—one hand lifting to her chest in genuine disbelief.
"All these years?," she murmured, "and not once?."
.....Aldric had been crowned king at eighteen, the youngest to ever take Velmora's throne.
Virelda, daughter of the late war commander who died protecting him, was wed to him as a sign of honor at twenty.
Selene, daughter of the current war commander, was married into the royal house when Aldric was twenty-two—to preserve the alliance and consolidate strength.
Six years for Virelda. Four years for Selene.
And still Aldric had not laid with either of them.
Not once.
He would enter their chambers from time to time, lie beside them until they slept… then disappear before dawn. They'd tried everything. Candles. Wine. Bare skin. Soft touches. Seductive perfume.
Nothing moved him. A king married to power, not pleasure...…
Ava's lips parted in disbelief. "When," she whispered, "will I ever have a grandson?"
Then she turned her head. And her gaze landed on Aurora.
Aurora, still chewing softly, paused—her hand halfway to her mouth.
Ava smiled gently. "Perhaps," she said, "you'll succeed where they could not."
The words slammed into Aurora's heart like thunder.
She blinked. Her fingers trembled around the grape. Me?
She means… sleep with him?
Selene clenched her fists beneath the table. Her nails bit into her palms.
Virelda looked down at the table, face suddenly unreadable, her appetite gone.
Ava sighed and rose with her customary poise. "You need not let our discussion today burden you. Keep your heads held high. You are dismissed," she said lightly. "I have matters that demand my attention."
The queens stood one by one and left the garden.
On the way back, Selene stepped directly in front of Aurora. She didn't speak.
She only hissed—a low, dangerous sound like a snake warning its prey—then turned on her heel and walked away.
Virelda said nothing, but her silence was different now. Weighted.
Aurora blinked and continued walking in silence, her thoughts spinning.
She expects me to share his bed?
I barely understand him. I've barely spoken to him!
That is utterly impossible!
She turned to her maids. "Where is… His Majesty?" she asked quietly.
One of them, the youngest, replied, "He departed two days ago for an outer district, Your Highness."
"Do you know when he will return?"
They shook their heads. "We're not told, my lady."
She fell silent again, following one of the maids who guided her toward her wing of the palace.
Then another maid, softly, almost shyly, asked, "Would Your Highness like to visit your garden?"
Aurora blinked. "My what?"
"Your garden, my lady," the maid smiled. "Each queen has one."
Her garden.
She had a garden?
Aurora could only nod.
They led her through a winding stone path flanked with flower beds and trees hung with golden chimes. A white gate opened slowly—and beyond it, a vision that made Aurora gasp.
It was like stepping into a story.
Fountains danced in the sun, and flower beds burst with color—peonies, lilies, violets, all arranged around marble benches and hanging lanterns. A swing swayed from a low fig tree. A row of soft, ripe strawberries grew at the edge of a reflecting pool. Butterflies fluttered across the breeze like silk ribbons.
She stepped inside slowly, heart swelling with something she couldn't name.
This is mine?
She bent to touch the petals. Inhaled the sweetness of jasmine and morning grass.
She giggled—once, twice—and then more freely.
She kicked off her shoes, stepped into the grass, and spun once like a child.
Then she laid down, arms spread wide, the grass warm beneath her, and the sky overhead blue and boundless.
For the first time since Elareth…
No hunger. No frost. No command. No shame. No silence. Just sun, green, and her.
And for the briefest moment, the world felt gentle. She laughed, forgetting, for a fleeting instant, that she still had a king to lie with.