Chapter 18: Royal Theater

POV: Nyra

The Queen Regent doesn't raise her voice.

She doesn't need to.

Her presence alone commands the room, turning chaos into stillness with nothing but her composure.

She looks at Caelum, still half-shifted and trembling with barely contained rage, and her expression is one of patient disappointment. Like a mother dealing with a child who's thrown an embarrassing tantrum.

"Caelum," she says again, her tone measured and calm. "You need to calm yourself. This display is beneath you."

"Beneath me?" Caelum's voice comes out distorted, caught between human and wolf. "You drugged her. You forced her here. You..."

"I managed a deteriorating situation," the Queen Regent interrupts smoothly. "The defective was becoming resistant. Difficult. Her emotional attachment to you was interfering with her ability to serve effectively."

"She has a name!"

"She has a classification," the Queen Regent says, each word precise and cold. "Defective. Donor. Property. Those are the only names that matter."

She turns to address the guards still pressed against the walls.

"Clear the injured. Send for healers. And prepare restraints for the heir. He clearly needs them."

"Don't you dare," Caelum snarls.

The Queen Regent ignores him, continuing as if he hadn't spoken.

"As for the defective," she says, her gaze sliding to where I'm slumped against the wall, "she is clearly a destabilizing factor."

The words land like a verdict.

Destabilizing factor.

Not victim. Not person being abused. A problem to be solved.

"Her presence provokes erratic behavior in the heir," the Queen Regent continues, addressing the guards and the court advisers who are starting to gather in the doorway. "Her existence creates complications that threaten the stability of the throne."

"That's not..." Caelum tries to argue, but the words stumble and fracture under the weight of rage still burning through him. "She's not the problem. You are. The system is. The way you treat..."

His voice breaks, frustration and exhaustion making it impossible to articulate fast enough.

I can see him struggling. See him trying to form the arguments, trying to explain what's happening, trying to make them understand.

But the Queen Regent is faster. More practiced. Better at this political theater.

"You see?" she says, gesturing to Caelum like he's evidence. "Even now, drugged with stimulants and barely in control, his first instinct is to protect her. To defend her. To prioritize her wellbeing over his own stability."

She turns to the advisers.

"This attachment is dangerous. It undermines his judgment. It makes him unpredictable. And unpredictability in an heir is a threat to the realm."

Through the drug fog clouding my thoughts, I see it clearly.

The trap.

This was never about controlling me. Never about making me more compliant or useful.

This was always about removal.

They wanted Caelum to react exactly like this. Wanted him to break free, to attack guards, to show protective fury.

So they could point to it as proof that I'm the problem.

That I'm destabilizing him.

That I need to be removed for the good of the kingdom.

The Queen Regent planned this. Every step. The forced sedation. The stimulants. Dragging me here while drugged. All of it designed to trigger exactly this response.

"Your Majesty," one of the court advisers says, stepping forward carefully. He's older, with gray hair and the kind of face that's spent decades navigating court politics. "Perhaps we should consider relocating the defective. Somewhere she can still serve her purpose but without direct contact with the heir."

"Where would you suggest?" the Queen Regent asks, as if she doesn't already know the answer.

As if this entire conversation isn't scripted.

"The lower kennels," the adviser says. "We have facilities there designed for managing difficult assets. She could be kept secure. Used when absolutely necessary. But removed from the heir's daily environment."

The lower kennels.

I've heard whispers about them. Places beneath the palace where wolves who've broken laws are kept. Where defectives who cause problems disappear.

Where people are sent to be forgotten.

"An excellent suggestion," the Queen Regent says, nodding thoughtfully. "That would solve the proximity issue while maintaining her utility."

"No," Caelum says, the word coming out like a growl. "No, you're not taking her there."

"You don't have a choice in this matter," the Queen Regent says simply. "You've proven yourself incapable of rational judgment where she's concerned. Which means decisions about her management must be made by those who can think clearly."

"I'm thinking clearly enough to see what you're doing!" Caelum shouts. "You're removing her because I claimed her. Because you can't control her the way you want while I'm protecting her."

"Protecting her?" The Queen Regent's eyebrows raise. "Is that what you call this? You've attacked guards. Destroyed property. Lost control so completely that you had to resort to self-harm to stop a full shift."

She gestures to his arm, still bleeding from where he bit himself.

"That's not protection, Caelum. That's chaos. And chaos centered around one defective is chaos we cannot afford."

She turns back to the advisers.

"The heir has made his attachment clear. Which means proximity will only worsen his condition. The defective must be removed from his presence permanently."

"Permanently?" another adviser asks.

"Confined to the lower kennels," the Queen Regent confirms. "No court access. No freedom of movement. She will be kept secure and used only in absolute emergencies when sedatives and other methods fail."

I try to speak. Try to argue. But my tongue won't work properly. The drug has stolen my voice along with my coordination.

All I can do is watch as they decide my fate.

Caelum tries again, forcing words through the haze of rage and stimulants.

"She's not... she doesn't deserve... you can't just..."

But he can't complete the sentences. Can't make the arguments coherent enough to matter.

The Queen Regent watches him struggle with something like satisfaction.

"You see?" she says to the advisers. "Even his speech is compromised. The attachment has degraded his ability to function as heir. This is precisely why the defective must be removed."

She's using his love for me as proof that I'm dangerous.

Using his protection as evidence of my threat.

Twisting everything good about what he tried to do into something that condemns me.

Caelum's eyes meet mine across the chamber.

I see apology there. Deep, aching apology.

And helplessness.

He tried to protect me. Tried to fight for me. And it's only made things worse.

I want to tell him it's not his fault. Want to tell him I understand. Want to tell him I don't blame him.

But I can't speak.

Can't do anything but stare back at him while my fate is decided.

The Queen Regent straightens, composing herself like someone about to deliver an official decree.

"By my authority as Queen Regent," she says, her voice carrying through the chamber with absolute certainty, "I hereby order the following."

Everyone goes silent.

Even Caelum, still trembling with rage but knowing this is the moment that matters.

"Nyra, classified as defective and currently serving as royal donor, will be confined permanently to the lower kennels effective immediately."

The words echo in the chamber.

Permanent confinement.

"She will have no court access," the Queen Regent continues. "No freedom of movement. No contact with the heir except in designated emergency situations approved by myself or the royal healers."

"No," Caelum whispers, but there's no force behind it. Just defeat.

"Guards will escort her to the kennels now," the Queen Regent says. "Before the heir's condition deteriorates further."

She looks at me directly for the first time since entering.

"Your service to the crown is noted," she says, her tone formal and empty. "But your presence has become untenable. Consider yourself fortunate that we're allowing you to live at all."

Guards move toward me, weapons drawn, ready to drag me away.

Caelum starts forward, trying to intercept them, but more guards flood into the chamber, surrounding him, forcing him back.

"Restrain the heir," the Queen Regent orders. "Carefully. And prepare another sedative. A strong one."

"No!" Caelum roars, fighting against the hands grabbing him. "Don't touch her! Don't you dare take her!"

But there are too many of them.

Too many guards. Too much silver. Too many chains being wrapped around his limbs.

He's still half-shifted, still dangerous, but they're prepared now. They know how to contain him.

Hands close around my arms, hauling me upright.

I try to fight, but my body won't respond. The drug has stolen everything from me. Strength. Coordination. Voice.

All I can do is watch as they drag me toward the door.

Watch as Caelum is forced to his knees, chains binding him, healers approaching with sedatives.

Watch as everything falls apart.

Our eyes meet one last time as I'm pulled from the chamber.

I see his lips form my name.

See the agony in his eyes.

See him struggling against the chains with everything he has left.

But it's not enough.

The door slams shut between us.

And the Queen Regent's decree echoes in my mind.

Permanent confinement.

No more court access.

I'm being buried alive.