Chapter 97 - The False Queen’s Decree

Chapter 97 - The False Queen’s Decree
The grand hall was still alive with the remnants of the feast, but the air had grown thick with tension. The long banquet tables, once adorned with rich foods and golden goblets, now felt like mere props in a cruel performance. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows against the towering stone walls, making the scene even more ominous.
Seated at the head of the table, Elara—or at least the one who wore her face—lifted a goblet to her lips, her emerald eyes gleaming with cold calculation. She had played her part well, entertaining the kings and nobles, ensuring they were drunk on wine and deception. But now, the facade was crumbling.
She placed the goblet down with deliberate slowness, the soft clink echoing through the silent chamber. Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on the assembled monarchs who had gathered for what they believed to be a celebration of alliances.
“Escort the kings back to their castles,” she commanded, her voice sharp as a blade. “If any of them so much as twitch—kill them instantly.”
A collective murmur of shock rippled through the hall. The guards—loyal to their queen without question—moved swiftly, stepping behind each seated ruler. Hands tightened on the hilts of swords. The kings, once allies, now prisoners in their own seats, exchanged uneasy glances.
One of them, King Desmond of Verrador, frowned deeply. “Elara, this is madness. We came here as guests, not prisoners.”
The false queen only smiled, a slow, humorless thing. “Then consider it a privilege. You leave here with your lives, which is more than I can say for others.”
King Haldor of Tyrholm scowled. “You think you can command us like common foot soldiers? This will not go unchallenged, Elara.”
“Oh, I am counting on that.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Because when you challenge me, I will crush you beneath my heel.”
Alden, who had remained silent until now, clenched his fists at her words. He had been watching, observing the subtle shifts in her behavior, the way her warmth had become an illusion. This was not his wife. The woman before him had Elara’s face, her voice, even her mannerisms—but there was a darkness in her eyes that had never belonged to the woman he had loved.
The guards began to move, gripping the arms of the kings, pulling them from their seats. Some struggled, but the cold steel at their backs left them little choice.
Then, the imposter turned her attention to Alden.
“And as for you…” She tilted her head, a flicker of something cruel dancing across her expression. “Lock him up. He is of no use to me now.”
Alden stiffened, but he did not beg. His pride would not allow it. He met her gaze, searching for the woman he had once known.
“Elara,” he said, his voice measured but firm. “You don’t have to do this.”
She merely chuckled, a sound so foreign coming from her lips that it sent a chill down his spine. “You still think you can reason with me, Alden? How utterly naive.”
“I know my wife,” he shot back, his voice laced with defiance. “And I know this isn’t her.”
The imposter’s lips curled in amusement. “And yet, here I stand, wearing her crown, commanding her kingdom.” She gestured around the room. “So tell me, dear husband, who else would I be?”
“You tell me,” Alden replied coldly. “Because the Elara I married would never betray her people. She would never turn her back on her own flesh and blood.”
A flicker of something unreadable passed through her expression, but it was gone as quickly as it came. The imposter stepped closer, until she was mere inches from Alden.
“I suppose you will have plenty of time to ponder that mystery in the dungeons.” She turned to the guards. “Take him away.”
They stepped forward, reaching for him. He did not resist as they seized his arms, but his jaw tightened, his muscles tensing.
Then, a hesitant voice rose from among the guards. “Your Majesty… what about the boy?”
Alden’s head snapped up, eyes widening.
His son.
The imposter’s expression darkened instantly, her lips curling in disdain. “That boy?” she scoffed. “He could never be my son.”
Alden’s stomach twisted with dread. “Elara,” he warned, struggling against the guards now, but their grip was firm.
She ignored him, standing gracefully from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate. “He is weak,” she continued, as if the words themselves disgusted her. “A disappointment. Lock him up with his father.”
Alden’s breath left him in a rush.
“No.” His voice was raw with fury. “He’s just a child!”
The imposter remained unmoved, waving a dismissive hand as she turned away from them. “Then he will learn what it means to be strong.”
Alden thrashed against his captors now, his control snapping like a frayed rope. “You monster! He’s your son! How could you—”
His words were cut off as a fist struck his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. He doubled over, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
The imposter glanced over her shoulder, her expression bored. “Take them both away.”
Alden gasped for air, his vision swimming from the pain. He forced himself to straighten, even as the guards tightened their grip on his arms. His son—his innocent, kind-hearted boy—was about to be thrown into a dungeon, all because of her. Because of whatever dark force had taken over the woman he loved.
His mind raced, searching for a way to fight back.
As they reached the grand doors of the hall, Alden straightened, turning his head to look at her one last time.
“I swear to you, Elara—whoever you are—I will find out what you’ve done.” His voice was low but steady, filled with an unshakable resolve. “And when I do, you will pay for this.”
The imposter met his gaze, something flashing in her eyes—annoyance? Amusement?
“Brave words for a man in shackles,” she mused. Then she turned away, already losing interest. “Now get him out of my sight.”
The doors swung open with a loud boom, and the guards dragged Alden forward. He had to think, had to plan.
Because this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.