Chapter 66 Help

Chapter 66 Help


Lily's POV:

Her eyes widened. Not in shock. In offense. “You’re very disrespectful, child,” she said coldly.

“No,” I replied, my voice steady even though my heart was racing. “You are.”

The room went still.

“You just called the Crown Princess a degrading name,” I continued. “That alone is treason. Your tongue should be cut for it. You should be executed.”

Lady Merith went pale. The Queen didn’t react right away. She watched me closely, monitoring me.

I didn’t stop. “I didn’t choose where I was born,” I said. “I didn’t ask for my past. I didn’t force my way into this marriage. And I will not stand here and be insulted for things I had no control over.”

“And you think you have any authority to do that?” Her face flushed red with anger, the veins at her temple standing out.

I didn’t flinch. “Why don’t we check,” I said calmly. “Let’s walk straight to His Majesty and hear what he has to say. I’m sure he’d enjoy explaining why your limbs might be torn off for speaking like that.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “You’re getting above yourself,” she snapped. “The king won’t...”

“The King,” I cut in, my voice steady, “stripped Prince Elliott of his Crown Prince title for insulting me. Does that still sound impossible to you?”

That did it. The woman froze, anger draining from her face and leaving something closer to panic behind. She sputtered, words tumbling over themselves, trying to form a response that wouldn’t dig her deeper. None came.
I stood there, chin lifted, shoulders squared, heart pounding, not in fear this time, but from the adrenaline running in me.

They all had to see it now..I had punished Elliott’s women. I had shown mercy to a maid. And now, I was standing my ground.

Power. That was what they respected. Not softness. Not patience. Power.

The woman finally turned to Queen Rhoda, desperation sharp in her eyes. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” she demanded. “You summoned her, and she dared speak to me like this. Does she even know who I am?”

Finally, the Queen spoke. “Enough.”

Lady Merith turned toward her immediately, relief flickering across her face. “Your Majesty...."

“You will watch your words in my presence,” the Queen said, her voice calm but sharp. “And especially in front of the Crown Princess.”

Lady Merith stiffened. “I only spoke the truth.”

“The truth,” the Queen replied, “is that Lily is my daughter-in-law. And she will be Queen.”

She turned to me. “You may sit.”

I hesitated, then did.

Lady Merith bowed stiffly. “I mean no offense your majesty, but are you in support of what she said?”

The Queen didn’t answer right away. She leaned back slightly in her seat, hands resting calmly, her face unreadable.

That silence spoke louder than any defense. The woman’s jaw tightened. She shoved her chair back, the sound scraping harshly across the floor. She shot me a glare full of resentment as she passed, then stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

The room fell quiet and I broke it as I exhaled slowly and bowed. “My apologies,” I said. “For the disturbance.”

“No,” Queen Rhoda replied. “That was perfectly fine.”

I lifted my head, surprised. She was smiling. Not wide. Not warm. But approving.

“I liked that,” she continued. “That display of authority.”

Relief flickered through me, but I hesitated. “But?”

Her smile faded slightly. “But authority alone is not enough.”

She rose from her seat and stepped closer. “Lady Merith is powerful. Influential. A woman whose support could have strengthened your position. You didn’t just silence her. You pushed her away.”

I managed to swallow down the lump in my throat.

“You made her an enemy when you could have made her yours,” the Queen said. “That is a mistake.”

I nodded slowly. “She insulted me.”

“She tested you,” Queen Rhoda corrected. “And you passed. But passing the test doesn’t always mean winning the room.”

She studied me for a moment, then sighed. “You have fire. I won’t deny that. But fire burns indiscriminately if not controlled.”

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling slightly now that the tension had passed.

“I don’t want to be cruel,” I said quietly. “I just don’t want to be weak.”

“And you aren’t,” she replied. “But strength isn’t only about standing tall. Sometimes it’s about pulling someone close, even when they don’t deserve it.”
She turned back toward her desk. “Next time, think before you strike. Decide whether you want silence… or loyalty.”

I bowed again, deeper this time. “I understand.”

“Good,” she said. “You’re learning. And we have so much to do today. Come on."

Before I could respond, she reached for my hands. “Come on,” she added, giving a small tug, urging me to stand properly.

I did, my heart still pounding furiously from everything that had just happened.

That was when the door opened quietly. The Queen's personal maid came in.

“Miriam,” the Queen said warmly.

So that was her name.

Miriam held a bundle of flowers in her arms. They were fresh, bright, their scent filling the room almost instantly. Roses and something white I couldn’t name. Beautiful. Too beautiful for how tense the room still felt.

She approached the Queen and offered them forward, but I noticed her hands shaking. Slightly, but enough that I caught it.

The Queen took the flowers with a wide smile. “The King didn’t have to get me these,” she said lightly, lifting them to her face.

Miriam swallowed. “They’re not from His Majesty,” she said, her voice trembling. “They’re from the Prince.”

The Queen’s smile widened. “Prince Elliott?” She chuckled softly. “Since when did he become so thoughtful with his mother?”
I couldn’t stop myself from asking “He doesn’t gift you?” too.

The Queen scoffed, but there was affection in it. “He claims kings shouldn’t act sweet,” she said. “I always tell him that’s nonsense. His father has never believed such foolishness.”

She inhaled the flowers deeply, rubbing the tip of her nose against the petals, looking pleased in a way that felt… fragile.

Miriam dropped to her knees, heavily. The sound startled me, making me wonder if her knees hurt from that force.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” she blurted, her forehead nearly touching the floor.

The Queen lowered the flowers slowly. “What is wrong?” she asked, confusion flickering across her face.

Miriam’s shoulders shook. “He threatened to kill me if I didn’t deliver them.”

The air shifted..The Queen’s grip tightened around the stems, crushing them slightly. Her smile faded, replaced by something colder.

“Who threatened you?” she asked quietly.

Miriam hesitated.

The Queen’s voice rose. “Who?”

Her answer was barely a whisper. “Prince Atlas.”

The flowers left the Queen’s hand mid-motion. They struck the wall with a dull sound, petals scattering across the floor like fallen pieces of something that had never been meant to last.

Where is he?” the Queen demanded.

Miriam didn’t lift her head. “He’s waiting for you,” she said. “At your quarters.”

The Queen didn't waste a single time, making her way out of the room nor didn’t slow down when she left the room. Her steps were sharp, cutting through the halls like she was ready to end this, maybe end his life, if she can. Miriam followed a few paces behind her, while.I hesitated for half a breath.

Then I followed.

If I stayed behind, it would only come back to bite me later. The palace had taught me that much already.

We reached the Queen’s quarters, the outer space quiet in a way that felt wrong. Too still. Too expectant.

He stood there.

Prince Atlas.

His back was to us, straight and rigid, shoulders drawn tight beneath dark fabric. Anyone else might have thought he hadn’t noticed our arrival.

I knew better.

The tension in his stance gave him away. He was listening. Waiting.

The Queen stopped a few steps from him. I’d never seen her like this. Not when Elliott was stripped of his title. . This was different. An ugly expression on such a beautiful face.

I remembered her crying for Elliott when Atlas first arrived. At breakfast, her eyes red, her hands shaking when Elliott got angry, even though he was the one who tried to beat up Atlas.

But now?

There was nothing in her face for Atlas. No tears. No softness. Just disgust and rage.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

The words were sharp, but it was her voice that scared me. Low. Cold. Like something poisonous. Something filled with venom.

Atlas inhaled slowly. “I came to greet you, Mother.”

Only then did he turn.

My chest tightened before I could stop it.

He looked… composed. Too composed. His head lifted just enough to meet her gaze, but there was something strained around his eyes, an expression that resembles weakness.

I hated myself for wanting to step closer. For wanting to see him properly. For being afraid of what I might find on his face if I did.

The Queen laughed. It was short and bitter. “Greet me?” she snapped. “I told you never to appear before me again. Get out of my sight.”

A vein stood out on her neck. Her hands curled at her sides, trembling in anger.

Atlas didn’t move. “I regret not greeting you when I arrived,” he said quietly. “Father kept me occupied.”

The moment the word father left his mouth, the air changed.

The Queen moved.

Her hand struck his face so fast I barely registered it. The sound echoed loud and sharp in the air.

Atlas staggered half a step, then steadied himself. His head turned with the blow, hair falling into his eyes. For a second, he didn’t look at anyone.

Neither did I breathe.

Slowly, he turned back to face her.

His jaw was clenched. His cheek already reddening.

But he said nothing.

The Queen’s chest rose and fell. “Do not speak his name to me,” she said, her voice shaking now. “Do not use him to excuse your presence.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Silence.” Her hand lifted again, this time not to strike, but to point. “You threatened my maid. You used fear to get your way. Do you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Atlas’s eyes flicked, just briefly, to Miriam.

Guilt flashed there. Gone as quickly as it came.

“I needed to see you,” he said.

“You lost that right long ago.”

I stood frozen, heart pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it. This wasn’t court politics. This wasn’t power plays or whispered schemes.

This was personal.

And it was ugly.

The Queen straightened, her voice steady again, dangerous in its calm. “You will leave. Now.”

Atlas looked at her for a long moment. Then, against his will, his gaze shifted.

It found me.

Just for a second, I could feel his pain.

A thin line of blood ran down Atlas’s cheek, right where the Queen’s rings had struck him. One of the stones must have sliced his skin open. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to sting. Enough to matter.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t lift a hand to touch it. Didn’t suck in a breath. Nothing. He just stood there, shoulders stiff, empty eyes lowered, like pain was something he’d already learned how to carry.

He bowed, slow and deliberate, his gaze fixed on the ground. “I’ll stay,” he said evenly, “until Her Majesty receives my greeting.”

That did it.

The Queen turned sharply to the servants nearby, her fury spilling over. “Bring the cleansing herbs. “Burn the purifying bundles. Now." She snapped. "I don't want his bad luck energy to be around my quarters."

They scattered at once. I watched one of them hurry off, nearly tripping over her skirts. I knew what they were going for even before I saw it. It was these smoking bundles they used to wave through rooms, herbs tied together, thick and sharp-smelling. It was said to block bad luck, evil spirits, ill intent whatever name people gave it, but it was never a good sign when those came out.

Atlas still didn’t move.

He stood there like he was rooted to the stone floor, blood drying on his skin, jaw clenched tight, eyes still down.

I wanted him to leave. Desperately.

At this point, I didn’t care about pride or defiance or whatever point he was trying to make. I just wanted this to stop before it turned ugly in a way that couldn’t be undone.

I watched his face, waiting. Hoping.

Just one glance, I thought. Just look at me once. I’ll tell you to go. I’ll find a way.

But he didn’t.

The servants returned, smoke already curling into the air, sharp and bitter. It burned my nose. The Queen’s fingers clenched at her sides.

Footsteps came from behind. I turned behind me, hoping it was someone who was going to break this heated argument.

Prince Elliott came into view, two guards following a careful distance behind him. He slowed as soon as he took in the scene; the smoke, the servants hovering, his mother’s rigid posture.

Confusion crossed his face. Then his eyes landed on Atlas.

Everything changed.

His confusion hardened into something darker, something tight and uncontrollable. His shoulders squared. His jaw locked. The resemblance between the brothers hit me then, clear as day, even though everything else about them felt wrong together.

The air shifted again. Thicker.

I felt it settle in my chest, heavy and sure.

This was going to be escalated.

And I was right. Things did escalate.

Queen Rhoda did not seem to notice Prince Elliott’s arrival at all.

She snatched the smoking herbs from the servant’s hands and struck them hard against Atlas’s chest. The thick scent rushed into the air, sharp and bitter. A sharp gasp tore out of me before I could stop it, my fingers curling into my palm.

She struck his chest with the herbs, smoke curling between them as she screamed, her voice breaking apart.
“Stay away from me. Stay away, you evil thing. Take your dark energy far from me and from this palace.”

The smoke and the smell burnt my nose, stung my eyes, made my throat tight but Atlas stood still, not moving an inch, allowing the Queen to continue raining her abuse on him.

He did not flinch. He did not raise his hands. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, knuckles pale, like he was holding himself together by force alone. That restraint only seemed to fuel her fury. She struck his chest once more, her movements sharp and unsteady.

My heart hammered. I had never seen the Queen lose control like this. Not once.

Then Atlas’s gaze lifted.

For a brief, foolish moment, I thought he was looking at me. I wanted him to see me. I wanted to warn him. To beg him to leave before this shattered completely.

But his eyes slid past me.

They narrowed.

Locked on someone behind me.

Hands grabbed my arm and yanked me back just as Prince Elliott strode forward. I stumbled, barely keeping my balance, my eyes fixed on him as he passed. He did not slow. Did not look my way. If Anya had not pulled me aside, he would have slammed straight into me without care.

Anya,” I whispered breathlessly, my voice hardly there.

Atlas shifted then, stepping out of the Queen’s reach as his attention fully turned to Elliott.

Elliott went straight to his mother. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him, forcing her focus away from Atlas.

“Mother,” he said, tight and clipped. “Stop this. People are watching.” He sounded irritated.

She shook beneath his grip, her breath uneven, She sobbed, clutching at his sleeves. “Tell him to leave. Tell him to leave this place right now.”

Elliott did not look at Atlas when he spoke. “You heard my mother,” he said flatly. “Your presence is not needed here.”

My chest tightened.

Your mother. As if Queen Rhoda did not give birth to both of them. As if Atlas was something dragged in from the dark instead of her own blood.

I saw it then, clear as day. Atlas was not just unwelcome. He was erased.

Atlas’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. More like something bitter. “Mind your business, Elliott,” he said.

The air shifted.

Elliott’s jaw tightened. The guards behind him straightened, alert, hands hovering too close to their weapons.

Queen Rhoda tore herself free from Elliott and snapped at the servants. “Bring more,” she ordered. “I want it cleansed. Every corner.”

The servants scattered at once.

Atlas did not move.

He inclined his head slightly, slow and deliberate, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“I will remain,” he said quietly, “until Her Majesty accepts my greeting.”

That was when Elliott finally faced him fully.

They stood there, staring at each other, the atmosphere between them heavy and dangerous, no one moved to stop them. Like anyone could do anything.

I felt Anya’s grip tighten around my arms. She too was scared as to what was going to happen.

Nothing about this felt contained anymore.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, dread curling low in my stomach. I needed to stop this; that was what was running in my mind, as my pulse thundered in my ear drums.

Elliott moved first.

His fist came out of nowhere and slammed into Atlas’s face. The sound was dull and sharp at the same time. Atlas stumbled back a step, boots scraping against the stone.

For a heartbeat, everything froze.

I saw it then. Not the usual blank calm. Not the distant look he always wore like armor. It was a surprise. Quick and raw, like he had not expected Elliott to cross that line. I had seen Atlas angry before, quiet and contained. I had seen him tired. I had even seen pain in his eyes if I looked hard enough.

But not this.

Maybe I would have seen that look on the night of the ritual ceremony when instead of running away, I sat and stayed with him.

The surprise vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

Atlas straightened.

Then he hit back.

His fist connected with Elliott’s face with far more force. Elliott’s head snapped to the side, his body staggering as he barely caught himself. A sharp sound followed, breath knocked clean out of him.

Gasps rippled around us.

Elliott lunged again, anger written all over his face now. He swung wildly, aiming for Atlas’s jaw. Atlas blocked it with his arm and shoved Elliott back hard. Elliott stumbled, nearly losing his footing.

“Stop this!” the Queen shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Neither of them listened.

Elliott rushed forward again. Atlas met him halfway. Fists flew. Arms collided. They grappled, struggling for balance, their movements rough and unrestrained. Elliott managed another hit, glancing off Atlas’s cheek. Atlas answered with a sharp strike to Elliott’s ribs that made him grunt.

Guards moved in, hesitating, unsure who they were allowed to touch.

Atlas grabbed Elliott by the front of his clothes and shoved him back with a force that sent him crashing into one of the pillars. Elliott hit it hard, coughing as he slid down a step.

Elliott didn’t even pause to catch his breath. He rushed Atlas again, reckless, fueled by fury more than sense.

Atlas lifted his arm just in time. The punch landed against his forearm instead of his face. He shoved Elliott back, harder this time. Elliott staggered, boots scraping the ground, then grabbed a fistful of Atlas’s clothes and yanked him forward. Something ripped. Clothes tore clean.

Atlas reacted fast. His forehead slammed into Elliott’s nose. Not full force, but enough. Elliott groaned, still holding on, and swung blindly. His fist clipped Atlas’s jaw.

Atlas spat to the side. A short, humorless sound left his throat. Then he twisted Elliott’s wrist until Elliott cried out and let go. Atlas kicked him in the side, sharp and quick. Elliott dropped to one knee.

Elliott shoved himself up, chest heaving, blood smeared across his mouth. “You don’t belong here,” he snapped.

Atlas stepped closer, calm in a way that felt wrong. “Funny,” he said quietly. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Elliott charged again.

They collided hard. Fists flew. Shoulders slammed. It was messy now. Angry. Personal. Each hit carried more than pain. It carried years of resentment.

I couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t just a fight anymore.

This was everything finally spilling out where everyone could see it.

"Stop it!" The Queen's voice rang out, stopping them both.

The courtyard was loud with heavy breathing.

Atlas stood still, chest rising and falling, fists clenched again at his sides like he was holding himself back from doing more. Elliott struggled to straighten, rage and humiliation burning in his eyes.

The night stopped momentarily because the next word that came out of Elliott's mouth began the fight all over. "A brother murderer."

I shouted this time, and for once my voice cut through the noise.

It surprised me too.

I stepped forward without thinking, planting myself between the two men and shoving them apart with both hands, not that my shaking arms gave enough force to push them apart, but then, thankfully, Atlas stepped back almost immediately. He let Elliott go like he was no longer worth the effort and stood still, breathing hard, watching intently for Elliott to make another move towards him.

Elliott did not calm down, on the other hand. His chest heaved, breath rough and uneven, his whole body tight like a wire pulled too far. His eyes were wild, fixed on Atlas with pure rage, even as I stood in his way.

He lunged again, then stopped when I blocked him fully. His face twisted as he looked at me, like I was dirt on his boots, turning the rage to me.

“Get out of my way, harlot,” he snarled. Spit flew from his mouth, hot and wild, landing on my cheek.

I didn't get the time to think how disgusting that was when his hand clamped down on my shoulder. Hard. Too hard. Pain shot through my arm and I gasped, fingers curling hopelessly by my side. I opened her mouth to tell him he was hurting me, but the words never came out, except a pained wince.

Atlas moved. It happened so fast.

Atlas shoved Elliott backward with a force that sent him stumbling. Elliott’s boots slipped on the stone and he went down hard, landing on his backside. The sound echoed louder than it should have. It felt loud because everyone saw it.

For a second, no one breathed.