Chapter 98: The Queen’s Affair

Voices.

Low. Muffled. Coming from somewhere ahead.

He moved closer. Slowly. Quietly.

The voices became clearer.

A man’s voice. Low. Urgent.

A woman’s voice. Hers was breathless and laughing..

Emeric’s brow furrowed.

He crept forward. Pressed himself against the wall. Peeked around a corner.

There was a door.

Slightly ajar with light spilling through the crack.

He could hear them now. Clearly.

The sounds of bodies moving. The creak of furniture. A woman’s gasp. A man’s groan.

Emeric’s face flushed.

What the—

He should leave. He knew he should leave. This was none of his business. This was the palace. This was—

He peeked through the crack.

He saw them.

The Queen, Sylvia Magenta.

Her back was to him. Her gown was pooled on the floor. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the candlelight. Her dark hair was loose. Wild.

And behind her—pressed against her—a man.

Tall. Dark-haired. His hands on her hips. His lips on her neck.

Lord William, the Queen’s uncle.

Emeric’s blood ran cold.

He couldn’t move or breathe for fear that he would be found out.

"Harder," she whispered.

He obliged.

Emeric’s stomach turned. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

But it was.

He was watching the Queen of Meganta fuck her uncle.

He needed to leave. He needed to leave now.

He stepped back. Slowly. Carefully. His foot found the stone floor. He tested it. No sound.

He stepped back again. Then again.

Then—

His elbow brushed against the wall, a faint sound. Barely audible.

But enough.

The Queen’s head turned.

"What was that?"

Emeric froze.

William stopped. "What?"

"I heard something."

Emeric’s heart pounded. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

Hide. Hide now.

He reached for his Wind affinity. Pulled the air around him. Wrapped it tight. Made himself smaller. Quieter. Invisible.

The shadows deepened around him.

The Queen stepped away from William. Pulled her gown up. Her eyes swept the room.

"Is someone there?"

Silence.

William moved to the door, pulling. He peered into the hallway.

Emeric didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

William’s eyes passed over him. Through him. Over him again.

"Nothing," he said. "Just shadows."

The Queen was quiet for a moment.

"Close the door." He did.

Emeric stood there for a long moment.

His heart was pounding. His hands were shaking. His mind was racing.

I have to get out of here.

He moved, slowly. Carefully this time, back the way he came.

The shadows clung to him. The wind wrapped around him. He was a ghost. A whisper. Nothing.

He found the corridor. Traced his way back.

Then the great hall. Isolde was still talking to some noblewoman.

He crossed to her. His face was pale. His hands were still shaking.

"We need to go."

She looked up at him. Confused.

"What? Now?"

"Yes. Now."

"But—"

"Please."

She studied his face. Read the tension in his shoulders. The fear in his eyes.

She nodded.

"Alright."

He took the handles of her chair. Pushed her through the crowd. Toward the doors.

The whispers followed them.

He didn’t care.

The carriage ride was silent.

Isolde watched him. His face was pale. His hands gripped his knees. His eyes stared at nothing.

"Emeric."

He didn’t respond.

"Emeric. What happened?"

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he spoke.

"I saw something." He said in a whisper avoiding the ears of the coach driver.

"What?"

He turned to her. His eyes were haunted.

"The Queen. And her uncle."

Isolde frowned. "What do you mean?"

"They were... together. In a room. Alone." He paused. "They weren’t talking."

Isolde’s eyes widened.

"You mean—"

"Yes."

She was silent.

"That’s... that’s treason. That’s—"

"I know."

They sat in silence.

The carriage rolled on.

They reached the inn.

Emeric helped Isolde inside. Fileria was behind the counter. She looked up. Smiled.

"My lord."

"We’re leaving tomorrow. First light."

She blinked. "The room you reserved is ready—" she said.

"Let me show you to your room."

She nodded.

"Of course, my lord."

He took Isolde to their room.

He closed the door.

Isolde looked at him. Her eyes were worried.

He sat on the bed. Stared at the floor.

"You can’t tell anyone."

"I know."

"If the Queen finds out you know—"

"I know."

She wheeled closer. Took his hand.

"We’ll figure this out. Together."

He looked at her then squeezed her hand.

"Together."

---

Somewhere in the capital.

A room with no windows.

A table of black stone. Twelve chairs. Only seven occupied.

The figures wore masks. Porcelain. Featureless. Each one different—a fox, a crow, a serpent, a spider, a wolf, an owl, a moth. Their voices were distorted. Low. Mechanical. Impossible to trace.

They spoke in whispers.

"The Halden boy."

"The one who won the Trials."

"He also killed Beeran."

A pause.

"He’s become a problem."

The figure in the moth mask leaned forward.

"He was supposed to die in the Molten Citadel. The rift was seeded. The creatures were amplified. He should not have survived."

"But he did."

"He did."

The figure in the serpent mask spoke.

"And now he’s a baron. He has land. A title. The protection of the Crown."

"The Crown doesn’t protect anyone. The Crown uses people."

"But it makes him harder to touch. We can’t move against a baron without drawing attention. The wrong kind of attention."

The figure in the owl mask nodded.

"He has allies now. The Guild Master. They would die for him."

"Then we don’t touch him directly."

The figure in the crow mask spoke.

"We’ve been watching him. He’s careful. Cautious. He doesn’t trust easily. But he has weaknesses."

"His wife."

"The cripple."

"Isolde Rowan. The Storm Mage. She’s dying. The curse is eating her alive. He’s been searching for a cure. The Blood Lily. Other components. He’s desperate."

"Desperation makes people careless."

"It does."

The figure in the wolf mask spoke.

"We could use her. Draw him out. Force him to make a mistake."

"That would draw attention. The wrong kind. The Queen watches him. The Guild watches him. The elves watch him. Everyone watches him."

"Then we wait."

The figure in the spider mask spoke.

"We’ve been patient before. We can be patient again. The Halden boy will make a mistake. They always do. And when he does—"

"We take everything from him."

"His wife. His title. His life."

"He dies."

"And the blessing?"