Chapter 63 FIGHT FOR THE THRONE
Celine’s fingers curled slightly at her side.
Seraphine laughed again, hollow and loud. “You disgrace yourself,” she said. “And when the Queen returns, she will see exactly what you’ve done.”
Adrian stepped closer to her, his voice low. “When the Athalia returns, she will see a kingdom that did not fall apart in her absence.”
Seraphine’s eyes burned. “She will never forgive you.”
Adrian did not respond.
Seraphine looked at Celine one last time. “Enjoy the seat while it lasts,” she said softly. “You should know it burns.”
She turned and walked out, heels striking the marble like a countdown.
Queen Elizabeth stared after her, then back at Adrian. “You’ve made an enemy.”
Adrian’s gaze flicked briefly to Celine. “I already had many.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “And you’ve chosen the wrong ally.”
Celine finally spoke. “Your Majesty, I did not ask for this.”
Queen Elizabeth looked at her as if she were dirt on silk. “No,” she said coldly. “And yet you benefited from it. How hilarious.”
That night, the palace did not sleep.
Seraphine’s humiliation traveled faster than fire through dry grass. Nobles whispered of favoritism, of madness, of a King unraveling under the weight of a hidden Queen and a child.
Celine felt it all, from the stares, the tension, and the way servants bowed but did not smile.
She stood alone on the balcony assigned to her, fingers resting on the stone rail.
“You don’t belong here,” a voice said in her head.
Celine did not turn. “Neither do you.”
Athalia seemed to have stepped into the moonlight. But it was just Celine’s imagination.
“So,” Athalia said softly. “You’re the one.”
Celine swallowed. “Your Majesty.”
Athalia tilted her head. “You don’t curtsy.”
“I was told not to pretend,” Celine replied.
A faint smile touched Athalia’s lips. “Good advice. From my husband, I assume.”
Celine met her gaze. “He cares for you.”
“I know,” Athalia said. “That’s why sometimes it hurts.”
Celine hesitated. “I didn’t seek this position.”
Athalia laughed quietly as silence stretched.
“You don’t like me,” Celine said.
Athalia studied her. “No. You already know that.”
Athalia stepped closer. “Tell me something, Celine. When you look at him, what do you see?”
Celine’s breath caught. “I see nothing but his love for you.”
The imagination was then gone.
A distant cry echoed through the tower in a sharp, and unnatural manner.
Celine stiffened. “What was that?”
The stone beneath her feet trembled faintly.
Celine felt it then that something or someone was watching.
Her eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
“The throne does not belong to you.”
Celine stood alone, heart racing.
Far below, deep beneath the palace, something laughed.
And somewhere in the dark, Seraphine watched the tower with burning eyes, already plotting her return.
“You were discarded, not defeated.”
Seraphine lifted her head slowly.
She had been staring at the cold fire in the hearth, watching embers die and rekindle, when Queen Mother Elizabeth’s words cut through the silence of the private solar. The room smelled of old incense and parchment, an authority preserved in stone and memory.
Seraphine’s lips curved, brittle. “That is a generous way to describe public humiliation, your grace.”
Elizabeth closed the door behind her herself. There were no guards and no ladies-in-waiting. That alone told Seraphine this conversation was not ceremonial.
Seraphine stood. Her dress was dark now, mourning colors, and chosen deliberately. “He replaced me before the court. With her.”
“Celine,” Queen Elizabeth said, tasting the name with displeasure. “Yes. A foolish indulgence.”
Seraphine’s eyes flickered. “You also disapprove of her.”
“I do not gamble the throne on sentiment,” Elizabeth replied coolly.
Seraphine laughed quietly. “You think I still want him.”
Elizabeth stopped in front of her. “I think you want what was taken.”
That landed.
Seraphine’s fingers tightened in her sleeves. “He looked at her as if she were… air after drowning.”
Elizabeth’s voice sharpened. “And you let that wound your pride instead of sharpening it.”
Seraphine met her gaze. “If I may ask, your Majesty, why are you here?”
Queen Elizabeth really studied her from her poise to the restraint barely holding fury in place. The pedigree and the ambition.
“You were raised for the crown,” Elizabeth said. “That does not disappear because a boy-king lost his spine.”
Silence stretched.
Elizabeth turned toward the window, where the city spread beneath them like a living thing. “Adrian believes he has bought time with a substitute consort. A quiet woman with no allies and no teeth.”
“And you mean to prove him wrong,” Seraphine said.
“I mean to remind him,” Elizabeth corrected, “that queens are not chosen in bedrooms. They are placed by bloodlines, alliances, and necessity.”
Seraphine’s breath slowed. “You want me back?”
“I want stability,” Elizabeth replied. “And you represent it far better than a girl I know Athalia never liked.”
That name Athalia hung between them.
Seraphine’s voice dropped. “She still lives? Isn't she dead? Didn't you say she's dying.”
Elizabeth’s jaw tightened. “Shes barely breathing. And even if she recovers, she will never rule as she once did. The kingdom has seen weakness now.”
Seraphine stepped closer. “And you think my family will agree to this… restoration?”
Elizabeth turned back to her, eyes glinting. “I already spoke to them.”
Seraphine froze. “Without me?”
“They were… hesitant,” Elizabeth admitted. “Your father fears scandal and your mother fears you being hurt again.”
Seraphine swallowed. “And you convinced them?”
Elizabeth inclined her head slightly. “I reminded them what your name is worth when properly positioned.”
A bitter smile touched Seraphine’s mouth. “You promised them a crown?.”
“I promised them relevance,” Elizabeth said.
Seraphine exhaled slowly. “By removing Celine.”
Elizabeth’s smile sharpened. “By outlasting her.”
Days later, the palace shifted.
Servants were reassigned, invitations redirected, and whispers rerouted through familiar mouths. Celine felt it immediately.
She stood beside Adrian during a minor council session when she noticed advisors addressing the King only. Noblewomen avoided her gaze and smiles that never reached eyes.
“Did I offend someone?” she asked Adrian quietly afterward.
He shook his head. “You’re learning what it means to sit where others wanted to be.”
She frowned. “Seraphine.”
“Yes.”
Celine’s jaw set. “She hates me, right?.”
“I believe she hates what you represent,” Adrian replied.
“Is that the throne?” Celine asked.
He didn’t answer, but he had a feeling he had caused a rift.
But the game had just begun for the two women after the throne.