Chapter 116
Just as relief began to bloom in their chests, convinced that the guard had missed their whispers in the dark, damp corridor, Henriette caught a sudden flicker in Queen Henriette’s gaze, a sharp, unmistakable glint of fear, raw and unhidden, widening her eyes as though she had seen a ghost wearing familiar armor.
Henriette, pulse quickening beneath her ribs, turned her head with deliberate slowness, every muscle tensing as she lifted her chin inch by inch until her eyes met the cold stare of the massive guard whose shadow fell over them like a drawn curtain, cutting off their last sliver of hope.
The guard’s thick brow wrinkled into a scowl, confusion drawing harsh lines across his face as his gaze bounced rapidly between the two women, each a mirror of the other—his breathing growing uneven, as if he were witnessing something he wasn’t meant to see.
He scrubbed his fists against his eyes with the desperation of a man trying to tear down a dream before it rooted too deeply, mumbling under his breath, half-convinced that exhaustion or madness had conjured this impossible vision before him.
“There are really two of you?” he asked, the words tumbling from his lips in a daze, his voice trailing off as he rubbed his eyes once more with even more force, hoping that the act would restore logic to a world that suddenly seemed twisted by magic.
“You’re dreaming,” Henriette said, her voice sliding into the gentle tone of a lullaby, low and persuasive, the kind meant to lull a child, or a fool, into surrendering reality in favor of whatever fantasy you placed before them.
“I am?” he echoed, his voice cracking slightly as puzzled wonder curled through his words like smoke, unsure, uncertain, but already beginning to settle into the comfort of the lie.
Henriette gave the smallest, most encouraging nod, as though agreeing with a child’s fantasy rather than feeding it deliberately, and whispered, “Of course. This is your dream, after all. And in your dream… you are the king, powerful, desired, feared, and loved, all at once.”
A grin began to unfold across his face like an oil slick on water, lazy, smug, hungry, and without a second thought, he reached forward and laid his thick, calloused hand across Henriette’s shoulder, his grip firm as he drew her toward him like she was already his possession, a prize gifted by the dream.
“Then I get both of you,” he murmured, his words laced with the glee of a man who believed he’d just stepped into a paradise crafted for him alone, and he chuckled low in his throat, a sound that rumbled like distant thunder, pleased with the imagined power in his hands.
“Anything you wish,” Henriette replied, letting her voice melt into something sweet and airy, almost musical, as if she were nothing more than a character in his fantasy play, and then with a graceful bow of her head, she added, “Your Majesty,” letting the title roll off her tongue like honey laced with poison.
With the smallest wave of her hand, almost imperceptible, Henriette coaxed him down, her fingers barely moving yet full of command, and he obeyed with the docility of a man entranced, sinking onto the cold stone floor with a satisfied grin stretched wide across his face, convinced that he sat on a throne instead of dungeon filth.
Henriette flicked her eyes toward the Queen with precision, her look sharp as a knife and thrumming with silent urgency, and after the briefest pause, Queen Henriette stepped forward in seamless understanding, her posture shifting into one of seductive grace, perfectly slipping into the illusion.
“My king,” Queen Henriette purred, each word wrapped in velvet, and as she leaned in, her hand found his arm with a feather-light touch, suggestive and reverent, her voice a balm of flattery as she asked, “How can I please you?” like a devoted subject ready to serve her lord.
He didn’t pause, didn’t blink, his eyes locked on her mouth with hungry intent, and his voice dropped into something heavier, rougher, as he said, “With those beautiful lips,” each syllable soaked in lust, as though he'd been dreaming of this moment his entire life.
As the guard leaned in, his mouth already parting in anticipation, Henriette moved with practiced speed, a shadow turned into a strike, her fingers snapping the iron shackles closed around his thick wrists before the echo of his breath had time to fade, and she yanked the Queen backward in the same instant her lips barely grazed his, turning the illusion to ash in his mouth.
“What the hell?” he bellowed, his voice booming through the chamber as he thrashed against the sudden weight of the iron, the chains rattling furiously as he stared at his bound wrists in wild disbelief, rage burning in his eyes like a storm about to break.
“Not even in your dreams,” Queen Henriette spat, her voice sharp as broken glass and laced with scorn, and without another word, she turned on her heel, disappearing into the shadows beside Henriette, the sound of their footsteps echoing like ghosts down the dark corridor as the stunned guard was left behind in his shackled nightmare.