Chapter 160

Chapter 160
“Don’t you think it is time for you to take your wife and return to your kingdom?” Queen Henriette suggested one afternoon, her voice carrying a polished edge of authority while her eyes glimmered with something sharper beneath the surface, a mixture of curiosity and the faintest trace of impatience, as though she were measuring not only the answer she would receive but the way it might affect the delicate balance of power in the room.

“As soon as she is ready, we will leave,” King Roberto said, lifting the porcelain cup to his lips with deliberate grace, the warmth of the tea steam curling around his fingers like a private halo, his tone calm and unhurried yet threaded with the subtle tension of a man aware that time and emotion were not entirely under his control.

Queen Henriette arched one perfectly shaped brow, the movement deliberate and precise, signaling a mixture of amusement and judgment that contrasted with the faint shadow of suspicion clouding her eyes. “I’ve noted that the two of you are not sharing a bed chamber?” she asked, her voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of challenge, her posture shifting subtly as she leaned on the edge of the table, suggesting that she was probing for a truth she already suspected, daring him to reveal it.

King Roberto’s gaze darkened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of regret passing over his features as he set the cup down with care, the delicate clink of porcelain echoing softly in the quiet room. “I think I made a mistake when I left without taking her with me,” he admitted, leaning forward slightly as if the confession itself demanded weight and gravity. His voice deepened, tinged with the raw honesty of a man confronting the consequences of his pride and anger. “I was angry at her, but then I realized it was my own fault. She did tell me she was not you, but I thought her mad.”

Queen Henriette let out a soft, measured chuckle that seemed to vibrate through the quiet room, a sound both amused and slightly condescending, as though acknowledging the folly of men while revealing her own sharp intelligence. “Make it up to her,” she advised, her eyes glinting with a knowing light, her lips curling into the faintest smile. “Women from her world love romance just as much as women from this world,” she added, a subtle warmth threading through her voice, a suggestion of insight born from experience, though the words themselves carried a gentle sting.

“Thank you for the advice,” King Roberto said with a faint nod, the corners of his mouth lifting in acknowledgment, the gesture polite but sincere, as though he recognized the wisdom in her words even if they pricked at his pride. At that exact moment, Henriette and King Arin entered the tea room, their entrance shifting the energy in the space like a stone dropped into still water.

Immediately, Queen Henriette’s composure became taut, almost palpable, her shoulders straightening and her jaw tightening with subtle intensity as her eyes flicked toward Arin, measuring his reaction to the newcomers. The faintest trace of jealousy radiated from her, not openly aggressive but impossible to hide beneath the calm mask she forced herself to wear. She rose with careful grace, extending her hand toward Arin with deliberate elegance. “Good morning, my love,” she said, her tone lilting, sweet, and yet charged with the unspoken stakes of their relationship, an invitation and a test all at once. He took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to it, the gesture formal yet intimate, and she allowed herself a flicker of satisfaction, her lips curling into the subtlest of smiles.

King Roberto rose as well, moving toward Henriette with a quiet authority that claimed his right without arrogance, each step measured and deliberate, his gaze focused entirely on her as though the rest of the room had faded to insignificance. “Wife,” he said, his voice soft but firm, the single word loaded with reminder and possession. He brushed his lips against her cheek in a quick, practiced kiss, a token of marital bond and gentle reassurance, a contrast to the intensity radiating between Arin and Queen Henriette across the room.

Henriette smiled, her own lips curving with warmth, a quiet joy threading through her otherwise composed demeanor. She lifted her arm into his, allowing him to link his hand with hers, a subtle act of unity, and together they moved toward the exit of the tea room, their steps in sync, their presence calm, confident, and entirely at ease in each other’s company.

Across the room, Queen Henriette’s gaze never left them. She sank back slightly, letting out a long, low sigh that carried the weight of envy, frustration, and longing all at once, the sound almost imperceptible yet heavy with emotion, vibrating across the polished floor toward Arin.

“What is that sigh for?” King Arin asked, his voice carefully neutral, though the slight furrow of his brow and the tension in his shoulders betrayed the curiosity and unease rippling beneath his calm exterior.

“Oh, nothing,” Queen Henriette said lightly, lowering herself into her chair with a languid grace, though her fingers drummed against the edge of her tea cup, betraying the restless storm beneath her polished surface. She took a slow sip, forcing her eyes down to the swirling liquid, but her thoughts were elsewhere, a tempest of worry and jealousy she could neither name nor fully conceal.

King Arin remained standing, his posture rigid and controlled, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as though the restraint was the only thing holding him from stepping forward, from reaching for Henriette and unraveling the careful performance he had maintained since the garden incident. His eyes, however, betrayed him, darting ever so slightly toward the pair before him, drinking in the sight he both desired and feared.

Finally, Queen Henriette spoke again, her voice low, deliberate, threaded with a quiet intensity she rarely allowed herself to display. “I wish we were married already,” she admitted, her gaze locking onto Arin’s with an urgency that bordered on desperation, the words trembling with the unspoken truth she feared would be lost to the woman who walked beside Roberto. It was clear in that single confession that she feared delay, that if they did not solidify their bond soon, she would lose him — perhaps irretrievably — drawn by Henriette’s presence, her warmth, and the quiet intimacy she shared with Roberto, all of which Arin could not pretend to ignore.