Chapter 87 What is the queen

Chapter 87 What is the queen
  Amara POV
  Three days pass like stones dropped into deep water, each one sinking with quiet weight while ripples spread farther than I can see.
  Feeding becomes routine rather than chaos, a grim sort of discipline carved into my days with careful precision. The first morning after Lola’s terror, Sebastian brings a healer to check on her personally, and by midday the story spreads through the castle like smoke sneaking beneath doors. No one says it to my face, yet I feel the questions lingering in every bowed head and cautious glance.
  What is the queen?
  Not who.
  What. 
  Cause clearly I’m not just a wolf.
  The question follows me through corridors like an unseen shadow stretching longer with every passing hour.
  The art room becomes my refuge again, the one place where silence still feels honest rather than strained. 
  Canvas waits patiently in front of me, stretched tight across its frame, as if daring me to spill the chaos inside my skull into something visible. 
  My brush moves in slow, deliberate strokes, laying down lines of shadow that twist into shapes I do not consciously plan.
  Claws.
  Branches.
  Teeth hidden in darkness.
  It always returns to teeth.
  A soft knock sounds at the door before I can sink too deeply into the rhythm of paint and memory.
  “Come in,” I call, setting the brush aside with fingers still stained faintly black.
  The door opens carefully, revealing Estra stepping into the room with her usual steady grace. Her dark hair is braided neatly down her back, and though her posture carries the calm strength of someone used to standing guard beside danger, there is a thoughtful tension in her eyes today that feels heavier than usual.
  Of all the maids, Estra moves with the quiet confidence of someone who trusts her place in the world. Being mated to Luther, has given her the backbone of steel that comes from standing shoulder to shoulder with warriors instead of shrinking behind them.
  “My Queen,” she greets softly, dipping into a respectful bow before straightening again.
  “You can drop that when we are alone,” I reply, letting a faint breath of humor slip into my tone despite the heaviness lingering in my chest. “You have known me long enough to speak plainly.”
  She hesitates, then allows her shoulders to loosen slightly as she steps farther inside.
  “I heard you were here,” she says, glancing briefly toward the painting before returning her attention to me. “I thought you might want company.”
  Company feels dangerous these days, yet loneliness feels worse.
  “I do,” I admit quietly.
  Estra moves closer, her gaze lingering on the canvas where shadows coil together into the shape of something watching from deep forest gloom.
  “It is darker than your usual work,” she observes.
  “I suppose that matches the mood of the castle,” I reply.
  She huffs softly, not quite a laugh, but close enough to feel human. “That is one way to describe it.”
  Silence stretches between us for a moment, thick but not uncomfortable. It feels like standing beneath storm clouds while waiting for thunder to decide whether it intends to strike.
  “How is Lady Lola?” I ask finally, forcing the question out despite the knot tightening beneath my ribs.
  Estra’s expression shifts, sympathy flickering briefly across her features. “The healer says she will recover,” she answers carefully. “But she was badly shaken. They say she refuses to walk alone through the halls now.”
  Guilt settles heavily in my chest, thick and suffocating.
  “I did not touch her,” I murmur, more to myself than to Estra.
  “I know,” she says gently. “But fear does not always listen to reason.”
  Her words carry quiet truth that sinks deeper than comfort.
  “And now everyone whispers,” I continue, staring down at my hands as if expecting to see blood still clinging to them. “They wonder what kind of creature sits on the throne.”
  Estra steps closer, lowering her voice until it feels like a secret shared beneath locked doors. “They wonder because they do not understand,” she says. “But most still trust you.”
  Most.
  The word hangs in the air like a fragile glass ornament balanced too close to the edge of a shelf.
  “Not all,” I reply.
  She exhales slowly, the sound heavy with thought. “No,” she admits. “Not all.”
  That admission lands harder than I expect.
  I turn toward her fully, studying her face for signs of hesitation or doubt, yet all I find there is cautious honesty sharpened by concern.
  “Sebastian is considering sending Alpha Braden back to his pack,” I say quietly. “And Lady Lola with him.”
  Estra’s brows lift slightly at that, surprise flickering across her expression before settling into thoughtful contemplation.
  “That will not sit well with him,” she mutters.
  “No,” I agree. “It will not.”
  We fall silent again, the tension between us shifting into something more focused now, more deliberate.
  “Estra,” I say slowly, choosing my words with care, “have you noticed anything.. strange lately?”
  Her gaze sharpens immediately, alertness settling into place like armor sliding over skin.
  “What kind of strange?” she asks.
  “Anything that feels wrong,” I reply. “Whispers where there should be none. Movements that do not match orders. Servants behaving differently than before.”
  Her lips press together thoughtfully, the expression of someone sorting through memories with careful attention.
  “There have been changes,” she admits after a moment. “More gatherings than usual. More drinking. People lingering in halls where they do not belong.”
  I nod slowly, tension tightening in my chest.
  “That is not all,” she continues, lowering her voice further. “Some of the servants speak more freely than they used to. Too freely.”
  “About what?” I ask.
  “About the throne,” she answers. “About power shifting. About how things feel.. unstable.”
  The word settles into my bones like winter frost creeping beneath skin.
  Unstable.
  The castle feels exactly that.
  “And Luther?” I ask. “Has he noticed anything among the guards?”
  She nods once. “There have been small things. Doors left unlatched. Messages delivered later than expected. Nothing obvious enough to accuse anyone, but enough to make him uneasy.”
  Uneasy feels like an understatement.
  “There is a traitor somewhere inside these walls,” I murmur quietly.
  The words sound heavier when spoken aloud, as if giving shape to suspicion transforms it into something dangerously real.
  Estra does not argue.
  Instead, she nods slowly, her gaze steady and unflinching.
  “I believe that too,” she admits.
  A chill slides down my spine, settling into the base of my skull with cold certainty.
  “Who do you trust?” I ask, forcing the question into existence despite the discomfort clawing at my ribs.
  Her answer comes without hesitation.
  “You,” she says first.
  Then she pauses, thinking carefully before continuing.
  “Luther,” she adds. “Mary, perhaps. She keeps to her duties and rarely speaks unless spoken to. Kleo as well, though she spends most of her time near the kitchens with Sammie.”
  She hesitates again, the silence stretching just long enough to feel deliberate.
  “And Victoria?” I ask, glancing toward her.
  Estra’s shoulders lift slightly in a small shrug. “She has been quiet,” she says. “Hardworking. Keeps mostly to herself.”
  Relief flickers faintly in my chest at that description.
  Victoria came from my pack, a familiar face in unfamiliar territory, and the idea of betrayal from someone tied to my past feels impossible to imagine. Familiarity builds trust like stone laid into foundation, thick and sturdy enough to withstand storms.
  At least that is what I tell myself.
  “I want you to keep watching,” I say quietly. “Not openly. Just.. carefully.”
  Estra nods once, her expression sharpening into quiet determination.
  “I will.”
  The promise settles into place between us like a shield raised against unseen arrows.
  Outside the door, distant footsteps echo through the corridor, steady and purposeful in a way that sends a familiar awareness rippling through the bond tethering my soul to Sebastian’s. His presence approaches like thunder rolling across distant hills, unmistakable even before the door opens.
  Estra steps back slightly, her posture shifting into respectful composure as the handle turns.
  Sebastian enters without hesitation, his expression carved from tension that has not yet found release. Shadows linger beneath his eyes, faint but noticeable, as if sleep has become a rare luxury in the days since chaos began tightening its grip around the castle.
  “My Queen,” he greets quietly, his gaze sweeping over me first before shifting briefly to Estra.
  “My King,” she replies, bowing before stepping aside.
  Something unspoken hangs in the air between us, heavy as iron waiting to be forged into a weapon.
  “What happened?” I ask, reading the storm brewing behind his eyes.
  His jaw tightens slightly before he answers.
  “I have made my decision,” he says, voice steady but edged with finality. “Alpha Braden will return to his pack within the week.”
  A flicker of anticipation sparks beneath my ribs.
  “And Lola?” I ask carefully.
  “She goes with him,” Sebastian replies. “Whether he likes it or not, they’re married now.”
  The words land like stones dropped into still water, sending ripples of consequence spreading outward into futures not yet written.
  Somewhere deep inside, instinct whispers that removing them will not end the unrest curling through these halls.
  It will only stir the shadows already waiting to rise.