King Arthro sat in his grand yet solemnly lit chamber, his fingers idly tracing the intricate carvings on the armrest of his throne. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, and the flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows across the polished marble floor. The atmosphere of the room exuded both power and tension.
A eunuch entered with a bow, his voice crisp yet deferential. "Your Majesty, Chancellor Shansha requests an audience."
King Arthro's expression remained impassive, though his thoughts churned. He had anticipated a visit from the Chancellor, but he had not expected it to be this soon. The man had a long reach, indeed. However, now was not the time to arouse suspicion. He needed to consolidate his power first.
"Lead him in," the king commanded, his tone even.
With another bow, the eunuch stepped back and gestured toward the entrance. Moments later, Chancellor Shansha strode into the chamber, his figure upright and imposing. The Chancellor was a man of great stature, his graying hair tied neatly in a high topknot, his piercing gaze unwavering. His embroidered robes, marked with the insignia of the Chancellor's office, rustled as he walked. Despite his years, his presence alone commanded respect.
King Arthro offered a casual smile. "Chancellor, what brings you here?"
Shansha wasted no time with pleasantries. His tone was both harsh and restrained, laced with the authority he had accumulated over decades. "I shall be direct, Your Majesty. I heard that you stood my daughter, Roselin, up on your wedding night. Not only that, you did not even receive her properly. Is it because you find the Chancellor Manor too insignificant?"
King Arthro met his gaze steadily. He had wanted to personally welcome Roselin at the palace gates. He had never intended to leave her waiting, to humiliate her. But the night had taken an unexpected turn. Concubine Shithal had sent word that she was unwell. She had slipped and injured herself, or so the message had claimed. How could he not visit her, his beloved?
By the time he reached the West Palace, Shithal's face was pale, her delicate frame shaking. She clung to his sleeve, whispering her agony. She refused to let him leave, insisting that she needed him. That night, his presence had been demanded elsewhere.
King Arthro kept his expression neutral. "There were important matters I had to attend to," he said simply.
Chancellor Shansha's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. The weight of his silence was heavier than words. Though King Arthro was not obliged to justify himself, he was well aware of the delicate balance of power. At present, he could not afford to cross Shansha.
The Chancellor had fought in countless battles alongside King Arthro's father, the former King Robert. His loyalty had been proven in blood, his tactical brilliance unmatched. Through years of unwavering service, he had ascended to the position of Chancellor, accumulating immense influence. His power, though subtle, was undeniable.
At last, Shansha spoke again, his voice devoid of its earlier sharpness but still firm. "I do not wish to meddle in your personal affairs, Your Majesty. However, Roselin is a daughter of the Chancellor Manor. She is now your queen. I trust that you will not mistreat her."
King Arthro leaned back slightly, his lips curling into the shadow of a smirk. "You can rest assured, Chancellor."
His words were smooth, yet neither man was fooled by them. Shansha had not come here merely to ensure Roselin's well-being. This visit was a warning—a subtle reminder of the power the Chancellor wielded.
A heavy silence settled between them before Arthro shifted the conversation to trivial matters. They spoke briefly of court politics, trade agreements, and the latest reports from the borders. It was all formalities—thin veils covering the underlying tensions between them.
As the meeting drew to a close, Chancellor Shansha rose, his robe swirling as he turned toward the exit. "I will take my leave now, Your Majesty."
King Arthro watched him go, his expression unreadable. Once the doors closed behind the Chancellor, the king exhaled slowly. He knew this was only the beginning.
For now, he would play along. But the time would come when he would have to decide—whether to remain in the shadows of powerful men or to carve his own path, even if it meant making enemies of those who had once been allies.
...
The Queen's Palace
The night was thick with an eerie silence, yet Roselin lay awake in her chamber, her mind unsettled. The lingering absence of King Arthro on their wedding night gnawed at her pride. She had waited, adorned in her most exquisite silk, only to be met with cold solitude. Yet, what fueled her fury even more was the morning visit from Shithal, the king's beloved concubine, whose every move screamed provocation.
As Roselin sat in the grand hall of the queen's palace, she braced herself for what she knew would be an insufferable encounter. The golden morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the polished marble floor. Her heart remained cold.
A voice echoed from the entrance. "Long live the Queen."
Shithal bowed low, the mockery in her tone barely concealed. Draped in a sheer silk gown, she carried herself with the arrogance of a woman who had already won. As she rose, Roselin's eyes immediately caught the red mark on Shithal's neck—a love bite, deliberately left for display. How dare she.
Roselin kept her composure, her expression regal and unreadable. "Stand up and take a seat," she said, her tone even, betraying nothing. She would not allow this concubine to see the storm brewing inside her.
Shithal settled into the seat across from her, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was unable to pay my respects yesterday," she said smoothly. "I had a little accident and slipped, injuring myself. His Majesty was so worried about me that he stayed in the west palace. I hope you don't blame him for not being present on such an important night."
Roselin's fingers tightened slightly around the armrest, but her face remained calm. She knew the truth. Shithal had orchestrated this.
Last night, she had ensured that the king would not leave her side, faking an injury and sending word to the king. And of course, King Arthro, ever susceptible to the charms of a woman, had fallen into her trap. Shithal had seduced him with her see-through silk gown, playing the perfect victim in need of comfort. And now, she sat here, flaunting her conquest.
A silent war raged between the two women. Roselin refused to be the first to blink.
"Well," Roselin finally said, her voice laced with a calm authority, "as his queen, I understand his busy schedule. Such trivial matters do not concern me. It is his duty to rule, and I would not trouble myself with where he chooses to rest."
The words were spoken with such indifference that Shithal's smugness wavered for a moment. Roselin continued, her gaze unwavering. "Also, as you can see, I am his queen. He gave me this position. He chose me. Not some random person."
Shithal's fingers curled into the fabric of her gown, her expression faltering for the first time. She had come expecting tears, rage, humiliation. Instead, she was met with cold confidence and a quiet power that rattled her.
The tension in the air thickened as the maids entered, carrying trays of the finest tea imported from distant lands. The delicate porcelain cups were placed before them, but neither woman moved to take the first sip. It was a power play, an invisible battle of dominance fought with words and glances.
Shithal forced a smile, regaining her composure. "Indeed, Your Majesty is quite understanding. His Majesty has many responsibilities, and we must all support him however we can."
Roselin met her gaze with a knowing smirk. "Of course. A queen leads, while others support."
A heavy silence stretched between them. The tea, untouched, grew cold.
The meeting had not been pleasant, but as Roselin watched Shithal's retreating form, she felt a small victory. She might have lost the night, but the war had just begun.
...
The soft glow of the lanterns flickered against the intricate golden tapestries of the West Palace as Shithal reclined against her cushioned divan, a small smirk playing on her lips. She had sent for King Arthro again, claiming she was feeling unwell. A fabricated illness, a feigned weakness—anything to lure him back into her chambers.
Tonight, she knew, would be no different. She had perfected the art of drawing him in, of making herself appear delicate and in need of his presence. It worked every time, and tonight, it would serve another purpose. She wanted to see just how long Queen Roselin could maintain that poised, elegant facade. She had remained calm even when King Arthro had spent their wedding night in the West Palace, but patience, even in a queen, had its limits.
Shithal could already imagine the queen's composed expression slipping, even if just slightly. She could envision the subtle tightening of her fingers around the embroidered silk of her robes, the minute clench of her jaw when the attendants would inform her of the king's presence in the West Palace yet again. The thought made Shithal's heart swell with satisfaction.
But this was not just a game of jealousy—it was survival. She knew the rules of the palace well. She needed an heir, a son who would solidify her position in the king's court. Without one, she was nothing more than a favored concubine, subject to the whims of time and the king's ever-shifting affections.
She adjusted the translucent silk draped over her shoulders, her dark eyes gleaming with ambition. She could not afford a single misstep. The court was a battlefield, and her rivals were not to be underestimated. Queen Roselin had power, dignity, and the support of the nobility. Shithal had only her wit and the favor of the king, both of which were fleeting if she did not act wisely.
A soft knock at the door made her sit up straighter. A young servant girl entered, bowing deeply.
"His Majesty is on his way, Lady Shithal," she announced in a hushed tone.
A thrill ran through her veins. She dismissed the servant with a wave of her hand and turned to her reflection in the bronze mirror beside her. The glow of the lanterns accentuated her beauty, the deep crimson of her lips, the dark, seductive kohl lining her eyes. Tonight had to be perfect.
She leaned back, a victorious smile curling on her lips as she imagined the queen's reaction.
King Arthro would once again be in the West Palace.
And Shithal would bask in the triumph of her carefully woven scheme.
She exhaled, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. It was only a matter of time before she bore the king a child, before she secured her place in the kingdom forever.
Outside, the faint sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. The king was near.
Shithal let out a soft, knowing laugh.
The night belonged to her once more.