"Congratulations, my Queen. You have successfully traumatized the entire kingdom."
Travis's voice was laced with anger despite his sarcastic tone.
Selene didn't respond.
She turned her back on the screaming Lord Percival, who was now collapsed in his own blood, clutching the ruin of himself like it might somehow be undone.
But there was no undoing it.
"You mad woman!"
Selene turned her head slightly as Lady Martha, Lord Percival's wife, shrieked.
"You mad woman! You mad woman!" she screamed, sobbing and clutching her husband, her voice breaking as she fell to her knees beside him.
Selene didn't look at her again.
She ascended the stairs to the throne. Her blood-red gown caught the morning sun filtering through the stained-glass windows, blazing like fire against her skin. Behind her, the assaulted maid wept softly, clinging to another servant whose face was pale with shock.
Selene sat upon the throne again, her fingers curling around the edges of the armrests.
She didn't look at Travis.
Didn't look at the stunned council.
She looked at the people.
"You will not forget this day," she began, her voice lower now, but more terrifying. "Because I won't allow you to. I want every noble who dares touch what is not theirs to see what will become of them."
The Hall was completely silent. Even the crows outside seemed to hush.
"Anyone who lays hands on the innocent… will lose the hands that did it."
The guards took Lord Percival away, still screaming and bleeding, his wails echoing long after he was gone. Lady Martha stumbled after them, her face drained of color.
The council wasn't happy. But no one dared to speak.
Selene could feel their rage but it didn't matter. She rose from the throne, satisfaction flickering in her eyes, and turned to leave. Lila and Travis followed.
"You do realize you've just made yourself an enemy of the council," Travis said as they stepped into the corridor.
Selene didn't slow. "I made myself an enemy by standing up for someone who couldn't."
"You should've let the council decide what happens to Lord Percival," Travis argued, voice low and tense. "Not… chop off the man's—"
He stopped himself, wincing. Just the thought turned his stomach.
"My Queen," he pressed, "if you keep disregarding the council, it could be fatal. Even Ronan knew when to respect them."
Selene finally stopped, turning slightly toward him. Her gaze was cold.
"Then let them come for me," she said. "But if they do, they better not miss."
With that, she turned and walked on, her red gown sweeping behind her like a trail of blood.
Travis remained still for a moment, watching her go.
He sighed under his breath.
"Where are you, Ronan?" he whispered, worry etched into every word.
Because if Selene kept this up—Ronan might return to find a kingdom in flames.
---
Selene sucked in a deep breath as she stepped into her chambers, one hand resting on her stomach. She began pacing the room.
She had meant to punish him—but maybe she had gone too far. If she was being honest, the punishment had been impulsive and a little extreme.
Not that the bastard didn't deserve every bit of it.
"I'll get you something strong to drink," Lila murmured, excusing herself.
Moments later, she returned with a goblet of wine.
Selene took a few sips before the words slipped from her lips. "Did I overstep, Lila?"
"I thought the punishment was marvellously executed," Lila said without hesitation, her tone dry but oddly comforting.
Selene allowed a faint smile to curve her lips. But the moment was short-lived. A faint noise from the balcony caught there attention.
Lila immediately turned, moving outside. Perched on the stone railing was a falcon.
Quickly she reached into the pouch strapped to the bird's leg and pulled out a tightly rolled message. She glanced around the grounds, ensuring no one was watching from below, then released the bird back into the sky.
"Message from the Faction," Lila said as she reentered the room.
Selene straightened. "What does it say?"
Lila's eyes scanned the contents, and her breath caught.
"They want to see you. Face to face. Tonight." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The Master himself will be present."
Selene froze, the wine forgotten in her hand.
The Master.
Thaddeus Slade. The elusive, calculating master mind behind the Faction. A man who had, through brilliance and quiet brutality, assembled a hidden league of nobles, scholars, spies, and war strategists. For nearly a decade, they had worked from the shadows, bound by one purpose: the downfall of King Ronan Dain.
Selene's pulse quickened. She set the wine aside and began pacing the room again, her thoughts racing.
Why would Thaddeus summon her before her mission was complete?
Unless… unless Ronan was already dead.