A day after Roselin's grand coming-of-age ceremony, the sky over Chancellor Shansha's manor darkened with the heavy banners of the royal guard. The air shimmered with the scent of rare incense as King Arthro's betrothal gifts arrived—chests of gleaming gold and silver, the fabled Phoenix wedding dress woven with celestial fire, and dazzling accessories that once adorned queens of legend. The procession was silent, disciplined, a reflection of the man who sent it.
Standing before the offerings, Chancellor Shansha and Roselin bowed with measured grace, accepting their fates with folded hands and unreadable expressions. Roselin's fingers trembled against the rich silk of her robes, but her lips curved in an elegant smile. A future queen had no need for nerves.
Later, in the solitude of her chamber, the glow of lanterns bathed her in gold and crimson. Shiao, her devoted personal maid, brushed out her hair, the strands cascading like liquid midnight over her shoulders. The young maid's eyes gleamed with anticipation as she whispered, "My lady, soon you will be our queen. How do you feel?"
Roselin's smile faded. She turned to the polished mirror, staring at her own reflection as though searching for an answer. "Shiao, as my personal maid, you've always known—I liked the First Prince, Zishan." A sigh left her lips, as soft as a dying ember. "Though he never looked at me as a love interest, I suppose it's for the best. No one even knows if he survived the war."
She traced the rim of a jade hairpin, her voice dipping lower. "But, Shiao, I've heard things about King Arthro… They say he had a lover—a concubine for whom he killed his wife, Ruby, and their unborn child after claiming the throne." A cold chuckle escaped her lips. "How should I see it, then? A man who murdered his own wife will not hesitate to discard a queen when the time comes. This man is dangerous."
Shiao hesitated, then smoothed the sleeves of Roselin's robe. "My lady, I believe that once he sets his eyes on you, he won't be able to let go. You are beautiful and come from a powerful family. Even a king would think twice before discarding you."
Roselin tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "True," she murmured, tracing the golden embroidery of the Phoenix dress. "As long as I secure the queen's seat, it doesn't matter. Power will be mine, and I have the backing of my family."
She lifted the dress, watching the silk gleam like firelight. The phoenix, a symbol of rebirth and destruction, seemed to pulse beneath her fingers. A slow smile curved her lips—one both enchanting and ominous.
"Let the game begin," she whispered.
A low, chilling laugh filled the chamber, drifting out like the echo of a spell cast beneath the light of a blood moon.
...
The grand halls of the chancellor's manor buzzed with solemn excitement as Lady Roselin, soon to be queen, stood before draped in the finest silk of deep crimson, embroidered with golden phoenix patterns that shimmered in the candlelight, she looked every bit the regal bride. A delicate veil cascaded from her head, veiling the emotions warring beneath her composed expression.
Taking a deep breath, Roselin turned to her family, her gaze lingering on her father, Chancellor Shansha. His normally stern face softened as he stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Roselin, remember this—Chancellor Manor is always open to you, no matter what happens. Be safe, my daughter. I will always have your back." His voice was firm, yet tinged with an undeniable sadness.
Roselin's fingers clenched around the silk of her dress. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat and forced a small, grateful smile. "That I will remember, Father." Her voice trembled ever so slightly, betraying the emotions she struggled to contain.
As her final goodbyes were exchanged, the weight of her fate settled heavily upon her shoulders. She was no longer just Lady Roselin—she was soon to be Queen Roselin, wife to King Arthro. With that thought, she stepped into the grand carriage, the heavy doors shutting behind her with a resounding thud. Her maid, Shiao, sat beside her in silence, hands neatly folded in her lap.
As the carriage rolled forward, Roselin adjusted her veil, lifting it ever so slightly to glance out of the small window. The cityscape moved past in a blur, yet her sharp eyes caught glimpses of commoners whispering, bowing in respect as they caught sight of her passing procession. The world outside felt distant, as though she were watching it through a dream she couldn't wake from.
Then, in an instant, her breath hitched.
Among the shifting crowd, a figure stood motionless, partially concealed in the shadows of a side street. A familiar figure. Her heart pounded, the blood in her veins turning ice cold. No. It couldn't be.
She blinked rapidly, willing her mind to focus. The same striking face. The same piercing gaze she had long since convinced herself was lost to the cruel hands of fate.
"The first prince…" she whispered, barely audible.
No, no, no. It was impossible. He was supposed to be dead. He had perished. The kingdom had mourned him. The entire palace had moved on.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the carriage seat, knuckles turning white. Her mind screamed at her to dismiss the thought, to convince herself it was just a trick of the light, a cruel mirage. But her heart…her heart whispered otherwise.
If the first prince was alive, then what did that mean?
A silent scream echoed within her, clawing at the walls of her sanity. She forced herself to breathe, to maintain her composure. If anyone saw her react, they would think she had gone mad.
Roselin straightened her back, lowering the veil once more.
Whatever she had just witnessed—it could never be spoken aloud.
Lady Roselin's carriage rolled to a halt before the grand palace gates, its wheels creaking as if they too hesitated at the threshold of her new life. A royal guard, clad in gleaming silver armor, swiftly dispatched a notice to the palace. Within moments, a group of royal servants emerged, their movements practiced yet hurried as they approached to escort the new queen inside. Their bows were deep, their voices hushed, yet Roselin paid them little mind.
Her heart pounded with restrained indignation as she stepped out of the carriage. She lifted her veil slightly, dark eyes scanning the opulent palace grounds for the one man who should have been here to receive her—King Arthro. Yet, he was nowhere to be seen. The absence of her husband, the ruler of this mighty kingdom, sent an immediate surge of fury coursing through her veins.
A scowl marred her delicate features. How dare he? How dare he refuse to show his face on their wedding day? Did he think so little of her? Did he intend to mock the Chancellor's house, her noble lineage, with such blatant disregard?
The head servant, an elderly man with a bowed back and weary eyes, stepped forward with a deep bow. "Please, Your Majesty, allow us to escort you inside. The King was unexpectedly occupied with urgent affairs of state. He will join you later."
Roselin's lips pressed into a thin line. "Affairs of state?" she scoffed. "More pressing than his own wedding?"
The old servant did not respond, merely lowering his gaze in submission. Roselin inhaled sharply, fighting to maintain her composure.
Her entrance into the palace was met with reverence, yet it did little to soothe her wounded pride. The grand halls, adorned with golden chandeliers and intricate tapestries, held no warmth for a bride who had been abandoned at the threshold. Her arrival was marked with ceremony, yet it was hollow, a mere formality in the absence of the groom.
One by one, the rituals of their wedding unfolded—sacred vows, offerings, blessings from the royal priests—all carried out without the presence of King Arthro. The air felt stifling, the sacred incense that curled in the air only adding to her suffocation.
Never, in all her life, had she faced such humiliation.
Her father, the Chancellor, had raised her with dignity, ensuring that her name commanded respect in every corner of the kingdom. And now, she sat alone, reciting oaths meant to bind two people in matrimony, while the other half of that bond had chosen to remain absent.
The final ritual concluded with the placing of the ceremonial crown upon her head. Roselin's fingers trembled as she touched the cold metal, her rage simmering beneath her delicate exterior. She had expected an arranged marriage devoid of love, but not one that would begin with such blatant disregard.
After the ceremonies, she was led to the grand bridal chamber, its grandeur meant to befit a queen. Tall columns lined the chamber, their marble surfaces glistening under the dim candlelight. The bed, draped in sheer silks of crimson and gold, awaited the newlyweds. Yet only she would grace its presence tonight.
The maids bowed before departing, their voices hushed with practiced reverence. "Please wait for His Majesty," one of them murmured before slipping away.
Roselin sat upon the edge of the bed, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Hours passed. The candles burned low, their wax dripping onto the polished floors, marking time in slow, agonizing increments. Still, he did not come.
A lump formed in her throat, and she despised herself for the way her vision blurred. She had sworn not to let this affect her. And yet, how could it not? She was no fragile maiden, no naïve girl who dreamed of love, but she had been raised to command respect. And today, she had been disregarded as if she were nothing.
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, staining the pristine silk of her sleeves. The weight of her humiliation pressed upon her chest, suffocating. No one—no one—had ever treated her with such insult.
As dawn's first light painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Roselin remained where she was, her back straight, her resolve hardening like tempered steel.
...
The golden rays of the morning sun seeped through the silk curtains of the West Palace, casting a warm glow over the lavishly adorned chamber. Concubine Shithal lay on her embroidered chaise, a smug smile gracing her lips. She stretched languidly, the satisfaction of the previous night evident on her face. Turning to her personal maid, Xioli, she ordered, "Prepare me in the most exquisite way today. I shall pay my respects to the new queen."
Xioli, accustomed to her mistress's whims, bowed and hurried to fetch the finest silk robes and elaborate jewelry. As she brushed out Shithal's long, dark hair, she hesitated before whispering, "Shall I conceal the... marks, My Lady?"
Shithal smirked. "No. Leave them be. Let them see what a true woman of the king looks like. She is a queen in name only."
Her laughter, laced with cruelty, echoed through the chamber.
In the Queen's Palace, silence loomed. Queen Roselin sat on the edge of her ornate bed, her once-bright eyes now red and swollen from a night of tears. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the silken sheets, her sorrow evident.
A gentle knock at the door disrupted her thoughts. "My lady?" came the soft yet concerned voice of Shiao, her personal maid.
Roselin took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Enter."
Shiao stepped inside and gasped upon seeing her queen's tear-streaked face. Her expression darkened as she immediately realized the cause. "That man! Even though he is a king, he can't left you waiting the entire night! How dare he!"
"Shh!" Roselin hushed her, glancing around anxiously. "Do not let others hear. It will only bring me more shame."
Before Shiao could respond, another knock interrupted them. A maid's voice rang from outside. "Your Majesty, Concubine Shithal from the West Palace requests an audience."
Roselin straightened at the announcement. For a brief moment, pain flickered in her eyes, but it was swiftly replaced by resolve. She would not allow herself to appear weak before the woman who sought to humiliate her.
"Shiao, dress me as a queen should be. Hide the evidence of my sorrow," Roselin commanded firmly.
Shiao nodded and hurried to fetch a regal gown of deep sapphire blue, embroidered with gold. She adorned Roselin with pearl earrings and a delicate tiara, a subtle yet clear reminder of her status. With careful hands, she applied powder to conceal the puffiness around her queen's eyes and painted her lips a striking red.
As she stepped back to admire her work, pride swelled within her. "Now, My Lady, you are every inch a queen."
Roselin, now exuding a quiet strength, nodded. "Let her in."
As the doors opened, and Shithal stepped in with her feigned politeness and veiled mockery, Roselin met her gaze with unyielding grace. The battle of power between queen and concubine had only just begun.