The sky over Aethelgard was painted in bruised purples and deep oranges as the sun began to sink behind the jagged peaks of the Iron Mountains. A cold wind swept through the valley, rattling the gold-trimmed window frames of the Royal Palace.
However, the atmosphere inside was filled with the suffocating heat of thousands of scented candles and the heavy aroma of roasted meat and old wine.
It was the night of the Great Victory Feast.
King Kaelen sat atop his high throne of carved obsidian. His fingers, adorned with heavy signet rings, drummed rhythmically on the armrest—a sound like a ticking clock in the middle of a battlefield. His eyes, sharp and dark like polished flint, scanned the sea of noblemen and generals below. They were laughing, their faces flushed with wine, but Kaelen felt a growing coldness in his chest.
The throne beside him was empty.
The velvet cushion of the Queen's chair sat undisturbed, its golden embroidery mocking him under the flickering chandelier light.
"Another cup, Your Majesty?" a servant whispered, his voice trembling as he noticed the tension in the King's jaw.
Kaelen didn't answer. He watched the white and blue silk banners draped from the ceiling. They swayed in the breeze, as if dancing above the heads of the guests. The marble floor beneath—a masterpiece of red and yellow veins—seemed to pulse like a living heart.
"Where is she?" Kaelen's voice was a low growl that cut through the music of the harps.
Lord Vane, the King's shadow and chief advisor, stepped out from behind a silken curtain. His face was a mask of practiced neutrality. "Your Majesty, the Queen... she remains in the North Wing. She claims the noise of the celebration disturbs her peace."
The drumming of Kaelen's fingers stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. Even the noblemen at the nearest table froze, their wine cups halfway to their lips.
"Disturbs her peace?" Kaelen repeated. A dark smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "This feast is for the blood spilled by our soldiers. It is for the glory of Aethelgard. And the Queen finds it... noisy?"
He stood up slowly. The screech of his heavy chair against the marble floor sounded like a dying bird. He looked at the guards standing by the massive oak doors.
"Go," Kaelen commanded. "Bring Queen Lyra here. Tell her she is not being invited. She is being summoned. Tell her to wear the Crown of Stars—the one I took from the treasury of the Fallen Kings for her. I want her to stand here, by my side, so the world knows who the Mother of Aethelgard is."
The guards bowed and vanished into the darkness of the corridors.
The Queen's Defiance
In the North Wing, the atmosphere was different. Here, the scent of roses was so strong it was almost sickly. Queen Lyra stood at her window, gazing out at the scenery, swelled with pride. Her beauty was undeniable—pale skin like fine porcelain and hair as black as a raven's wing—but her expression was one of absolute disdain.
When the guards entered and delivered the King's command, Lyra didn't even turn around. She slowly adjusted a ruby earring, her movements deliberate and mocking.
"The King wishes for a showpiece?" she said, There was a lot of rudeness in her voice and she spoke in an arrogant tone."He wants me to stand amongst his drunken generals like a captured slave girl from his wars?"
"My Queen," the guard stammered, "he was very specific. The Crown of Stars..."
Lyra finally turned. Her eyes were like shards of ice. "Take a message back to my husband. Tell him that a Queen's dignity is not a garment he can put on and take off at his whim. If he wants beauty to look at, tell him to stare at his golden statues. I am not coming."
The Shattering
Back in the Great Hall, the tension had reached its breaking point. When the guards returned—alone—the hall became so quiet that the crackle of the fireplace sounded like thunder.
Lord Vane stepped forward as the guards whispered the Queen's response. Vane's eyes flickered with a hidden spark. This was the moment he had waited for.
"Your Majesty," Vane said, his voice loud enough for the entire court to hear. "The Queen has not just insulted you. She has insulted the very crown you wear. If the people see that the King cannot even command his own wife, how will they believe he can command an empire? The law of Aethelgard is clear: obedience is the foundation of the throne."
Kaelen's face was no longer red with anger; it was pale. A cold, calculated fury had taken over. He looked at the golden utensils on his table—symbols of his wealth—and suddenly felt like a prisoner of his own making.
"Lord Vane," Kaelen said, his voice eerily calm.
"Yes, Majesty?"
"Draft the decree. By dawn, Lyra will no longer be Queen. Strip her of the Crown of Stars. Strip her of her name. She wanted peace? Give her the peace of the forgotten."
He picked up his golden chalice and threw it against the wall. The sound echoed through the hall as the gold dented against the hard marble.
"The search for a new Queen begins tomorrow," Kaelen announced, his eyes scanning the room like a predator. "And this time, I will not choose a woman for her bloodline. I will choose a woman for her soul."
Far away, in the Tower of Shadows, Lyra heard the faint sound of the King's decree being shouted by the heralds in the courtyard. She didn't flinch. She picked up a small, silver whistle and blew a silent note.
From the shadows of her room, a figure emerged. A maid with a scarred face and cold eyes.
"The King thinks he can replace me," Lyra whispered, a dark, chilling laugh escaping her lips. "He thinks he can just bring another girl into my palace. Let him try. I have spent years poisoning the very air of this court. Whoever she is... she won't survive the first week. Is the 'Devil's Breath' ready?"
The maid nodded slowly.
Lyra looked back at the empty throne room in her mind. "Let the games begin, Kaelen. You wanted a Queen with a soul? I will make sure her soul leaves her body before you even learn her name."