The Lycan's Queen : A tale of fate

The Queen had wasted no time and left to confront the King, excusing herself from the table where the Duchess was left to scold Lady Beth.

"You are honestly too old to still be a snake, Beth Radcliffe," the Duchess said with a shake of her head while the culprit at hand was seemingly pleased with her work, her head held high.

"I believe snakes have a long lifespan, my lady. And if they did, they also don't change their type and become goats. A snake will always be a snake. And besides—"

"There is no besides, Baroness Beth. The Queen is distraught," another lady entered the conversation while the Queen felt her body getting weaker because of the sickness—she wouldn't allow her heart rate to be increased by a sneaky snake like Beth and die.

"Distraught? She is thankful. I understand your vision is bad, but I believe you can still detect emotions by the tone of a voice. The Queen is thankful," Beth said with an evil gleam in her eyes.

And while the Duchess jumped back in the conversation to put Beth back in her place, Elara was allowed to enter the King's study, where he was.

The moment Elara entered the room, her silvery eyes flared as they darted to the King's companions. The air in the study was thick with importance, a tension that was only heightened by the presence of the royal clerk, the captain of the guards, and the King's trusted royal advisor. But it was the sight of Morgana—poised and composed—that set her on edge.

Elara's thoughts raced. 'Why wasn't I included in this discussion ?' It gnawed at her, but anger overrode reason . Wasn't she the Queen ? Her presence should have been just as essential. Yet here stood Morgana, the court lady whose name whispered rumors of something far more illicit.

As Elara lingered by the doorway, her emotions barely contained, Theron looked up and met her eyes. He could see the storm brewing within her—annoyance, frustration, and something deeper. With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed the royal clerk , captain of guards and his royal advisor in the room.

"You're all dismissed for now," he said, his tone commanding. "We'll reconvene to finalize matters later."

The royal clerk and captain of the guard bowed respectfully to both the King and Queen before exiting. Harrison, however, lingered briefly, tipping his head to Elara with a sly smirk tugging at his lips. His cunning demeanor was unnerving, but not in the same way as Lord Volkov's; Harrison's eyes lacked the haunting sense of knowing secrets better left buried.

Elara turned her gaze away from Harrison, her unease growing as she focused on the King, who now approached her with deliberate steps. She swallowed, steeling herself. This confrontation would not reduce her to weakness. She was determined to balance her roles as Queen and wife with poise, even as her fury simmered beneath the surface.

Theron's voice was sharp, tinged with irritation but also something playful, almost mocking. "Why bother me, dear? Is there something more serious than the Kingdom's matters that requires my attention?"

Elara ignored his tone, her voice steady but edged with tension. "I was at lunch with the ladies—baronesses, duchesses, earls' wives, and others," she began, carefully choosing her words.

Theron nodded slightly, folding his arms as though waiting for her to get to the point.

"And they told me something disturbing," she continued. "Something you never addressed to me or any of you." Her voice tightened, and her fiery silver eyes darted toward Morgana, who stood tall and poised, her expression unreadable.

"And what is that?" Theron asked, his tone betraying no hint of concern, only impatience.

Shifting her gaze back to Theron, Elara spoke, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. "That you have mistresses. You blinded me into thinking Morgana is just a court lady, and Olivia is merely your personal attendant. How could you—"

*Slap*

The sound of a hand connecting with flesh cracked through the room like a whip.Elara's head snapped to the side, her hair flying across her face, obscuring the anguish that flickered in her eyes. She staggered slightly, yet her hand didn't move to cover her cheek or any thing further . She stilled in position as if in disbelief.

Theron stood rigid, his hand still mid-air. His voice, low and cold, carried the weight of his fury. "How dare you? You raise your voice at me?"

Elara didn't reply, her mind reeling from the shock and pain. As Theron raised his hand again, both Morgana and Ralf rushed forward, panic flashing across their faces. They moved as though to stop him, but Theron didn't strike. Instead, his hand caught Elara's wrist in a vice-like grip.

Before anyone could react further, Theron yanked Elara toward the door, his grasp unrelenting as they disappeared out of the room .

Morgana rushed outside immediately, her pace brisk and determined as she followed them. The guards stationed at the door stood rigid, clearly under orders not to move. Her heels echoed sharply against the stone floor, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. "Your Majesty," she called, her tone firm, authoritative, and unyielding. "Your Majesty, this is—"

Theron halted abruptly, spinning around to face her. His glare was sharp enough to silence her instantly, his eyes dark and searing with unspoken anger. "Stay out of this, Morgana," he ordered, his voice dangerously low, like the rumble before a storm.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her chin lifting defiantly but her words held in check by the command in his voice. With a sharp inhale, she watched as he pulled Elara farther down the corridor, their figures fading from view.

When they were out of sight, Morgana exhaled heavily, running a hand through her dark hair. A flicker of irritation crossed her face as she turned sharply on her heel, muttering under her breath, "This will only make things worse."

Without wasting another moment, she made her way toward the garden where the ladies' lunch was still ongoing. Morgana's stride was purposeful, her mind racing as she considered how to contain the fallout. If she didn't step in soon, she knew the situation would spiral further out of control.

This castle thrived on secrets and chaos, and Morgana had learned long ago that her role wasn't just to assist the King—it was to ensure the entire structure didn't collapse under its own weight. Fix this , smooth that , silence the whispers , she thought bitterly as she approached the garden. Another mess to clean up, another fire to put out.