บท 10: Royal Palace
In the southern part of the Kingdom of Waeric, the royal palace of Valeshia stood grand yet cloaked in tension. Its tall spires and intricate stonework rose against the skyline, but the opulence felt like a veneer over the discontent simmering within. The air was thick with whispered conspiracies and ambition as the nobles vied for power, each maneuvering to position themselves advantageously in the court of King Alaric.
In the depths of this ornate palace, a maid named Elara approached the queen's quarters, her heart racing with anxiety. She smoothed her simple dress, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. The polished wooden door loomed before her, and she could hear muffled sounds from within—laughter mingled with whispers, suggesting a private gathering that she was not meant to witness.
Swallowing her trepidation, she knocked gently. "Your Majesty, may I come in? I have an order from the king." The sound of her voice trembled slightly, betraying her nervousness.
After a moment of silence, the queen's voice drifted out, a mixture of irritation and breathlessness. "Come in!"
Elara entered, quickly turning her gaze toward the wall, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. The queen lounged on the bed, casually draped across the king's brother, Prince Dorian, who lay there in a relaxed state. The sight made the maid's heart race with embarrassment, but she was determined to fulfill her duty.
"Your Majesty," Elara stammered, the words tumbling out awkwardly. "The king requests your presence at the council."
The queen, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall of silk, clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Is he finally in his right mind to attend the council?"
The maid didn't answer, feeling the weight of the queen's piercing gaze.
"Child," the queen continued, a smirk playing on her lips, "tell the king that I am... otherwise occupied and cannot attend. I don't wish to see that pig's face, though it is quite handsome," she muttered under her breath.
Elara hesitated, wrestling with the implications of the queen's words. "I—I cannot lie to the king," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
In a flash of anger, the queen seized a nearby glass, filled with rich red wine, and splashed its contents toward the maid. "You dare disobey me? The king may be kind, but I am not. Go before I lose my temper!"
Startled, Elara rushed from the room, her heart pounding as she fled down the corridor. The echo of her footsteps faded, leaving behind the oppressive atmosphere of the queen's quarters.
Once the door closed behind her, the king's brother, still adjusting his clothing, watched the exchange with a bemused expression. "Don't you think you were too harsh on the poor girl?" he asked, leaning back against the bed with a casual air.
"She's a peasant. There's nothing to consider but her place," the queen retorted, her tone sharp yet dismissive.
Dorian approached her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Don't you want to know what they discuss? What about the throne you cherish so much?"
A hint of suspicion flickered in the queen's eyes. "You seem most curious about the council's affairs."
Dorian deftly shifted the conversation, his voice smooth and persuasive. "We should think about how to present ourselves at the upcoming banquet. After all, appearances matter."
The queen considered his words for a moment, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "Yes, the banquet will be a splendid affair. It's essential to showcase our power and unity, even if it is but an illusion."
As the conversation faded, the queen moved to the balcony, her expression hardening. She leaned against the railing, gazing out over the sprawling city of Valeshia. The view was breathtaking, with the sun casting a golden hue over the rooftops and the bustling streets below. Yet, beneath the beauty lay a grim reality. She could see the poor shuffling through the narrow alleyways, their clothes tattered, their faces gaunt.
Her lips curled in disdain. "Look at them," she said, her voice low but filled with venom. "A disgrace to the kingdom. They are a blight on our prosperity." The city seemed to pulse with life, but to her, it was a reminder of her own privilege. "They should know their place."
Dorian stepped beside her, sharing her view. "It's a necessary evil. The strong must thrive while the weak languish. We cannot waste our resources on them."
"Exactly," the queen replied, a sense of satisfaction washing over her. "Their misery only reinforces our power."
Meanwhile, in the grand hall of the council, King Alaric sat with a furrowed brow, deep in thought as his advisor Garick approached. "Your Majesty, the queen has sent her excuses," Garick reported, having learned from Elara.
Alaric sighed, his expression a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. "Very well. Begin the council." He straightened in his chair, the weight of his crown pressing down on him, yet he resolved to face the pressing matters at hand.
The council chamber, adorned with tapestries depicting the kingdom's rich history, filled with the rustle of parchment and the murmurs of noblemen preparing for the meeting. Alaric glanced around at the faces of his advisors—some loyal, others eyeing him with barely concealed ambition.
As the discussions began, the issues of governance, trade, and security were laid bare. Yet, Alaric's mind often drifted to the absence of his queen. He recalled the vibrant, lively spirit Giana had brought to the court and felt the stark contrast with Firanza's cold ambition.
Back in the queen's quarters, Firanza and Dorian continued their conversation. "We should plan for the banquet," Dorian said, a glint of mischief in his eye. "After all, the king's presence is merely ceremonial now."
Firanza nodded, her gaze distant as she contemplated her next move. "Yes, we must make a statement. Show them that we are in control. I will not allow Alaric's weakness to undermine my position."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the kingdom, a new layer of determination formed in the queen's heart. She would not let anyone, not even her husband, dictate her fate. The shadows of ambition danced in her mind, plotting the next steps in a game where the stakes were nothing less than the throne itself.
The tension within the palace continued to simmer, the wheels of fate turning quietly, with secrets waiting to unfold. The council gathered, unaware that the true conflict lay not only in the affairs of the state but in the hearts of those who sought power.
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