Chapter 98 - The True Queen’s Return

Chapter 98 - The True Queen’s Return
The cold night air was thick with unease as the kings were escorted from the castle, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestone path leading toward the towering iron gates. Torches flickered in the darkness, casting wavering shadows along the walls, but the real darkness had yet to descend.
King Desmond walked with his hands clenched into fists, his face carved into a grim mask. "This is insanity," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "Does she truly believe we will bow to this treachery?"
King Haldor of Tyrholm, a broad-shouldered man with a face hardened by war, exhaled sharply. "If she wanted us dead, she'd have done it already. No, she wants something else. Control. Power. But she forgets—power without loyalty crumbles."
The guards flanking them remained silent, their hands tight on their weapons. But then—
A flicker.
A shift in the air.
One of the cloaked figures in their midst suddenly lunged forward, his hand glowing with arcane energy. "For the true queen!" the mage roared, striking one of the guards square in the chest with a blast of magic, sending him flying backward. The force of it sent ripples of energy through the air, and for a moment, everything stilled.
Then chaos erupted.
Blades were drawn, torches were dropped, and the kings—once prisoners—were now forced into the battle. Another mage stepped forward, raising his hands as blue light crackled between his fingertips. "You blind fools!" he bellowed at the guards. "Can you not see? The woman in there is not your queen!"
The guards hesitated only briefly before their training took over. Their orders were clear—any resistance was to be met with immediate death.
Steel flashed in the firelight as swords were raised.
Then the shadows moved.
A dark presence slithered along the ground, stretching unnaturally, engulfing the stones in inky blackness. The very air grew colder, and for the first time that night, fear slithered into the hearts of the guards.
The mage closest to the swirling darkness whispered, "He isn’t dead."
His words sent a chill through the gathered men.
Then the beasts came.
Monstrous creatures, their forms shifting as though born from the night itself, lunged from the shadows. Eyes like burning coals gleamed in the darkness as they descended upon the guards, ripping through their ranks with inhuman speed. Screams echoed against the stone walls as soldiers fell one by one, their armor useless against the nightmare given form.
King Desmond seized his chance, grabbing a fallen blade and thrusting it into the nearest distracted guard. "To arms!" he shouted, rallying the others. "Fight for your freedom!"
Alden, still in the castle, had no idea the battle had begun outside.
The guards escorting him through the dimly lit corridors of the keep walked in silence, their heavy boots clicking against the stone. One of them, a younger soldier, shifted uncomfortably. He was sweating, despite the cool air.
Then he stopped moving altogether.
The other guard, noticing his comrade had frozen mid-step, furrowed his brows. "What’s wrong with you?" he demanded.
Then he saw it.
A figure stood in the hallway before them, illuminated by the soft glow of a single wall-mounted torch.
She was dressed in white and gold, her long auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, her emerald eyes burning with something more than just anger. It was resolve.
The younger guard’s voice trembled. "Your Majesty…?"
Alden’s breath caught in his throat. His mind raced, his heart pounding against his ribs.
It was her.
Not the cold, calculating woman who had condemned him and their son to imprisonment. Not the imposter who had seized power through deception and cruelty.
It was his Elara.
The real queen.
Her presence was undeniable. Where the imposter had felt hollow, like a shadow cast by a dying light, this Elara radiated strength, a quiet fury beneath her regal composure.
The older guard hesitated, glancing between the woman before him and the prisoner behind him. Confusion flickered across his face. "Your Majesty… what happened? We just left you in the hall."
Elara stepped forward, her gaze sharp. "No, you left her in the hall," she corrected, her voice like tempered steel. "And you didn’t even realize when an imposter infiltrated your kingdom."
The guards stiffened, their hands tightening around their weapons. But there was uncertainty now, a hesitation in their stance.
Alden, still bound, stepped forward despite himself. His eyes never left her, drinking in every detail—the set of her shoulders, the fire in her gaze, the way she carried herself.
He knew that posture. That determination.
This was his Elara.
"Release him," Elara commanded, her voice brooking no argument.
The younger guard, still stunned, immediately stepped forward and fumbled with Alden’s bindings. The older one hesitated. "But the queen—"
"I am your queen," Elara interrupted, her voice firm. "And that power-hungry wretch sitting on my throne is nothing but a fraud. Do you swear your loyalty to the true ruler of this kingdom?"
The older guard exhaled sharply, staring at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."
The moment Alden’s hands were freed, he didn’t hesitate.
He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Elara, pulling her against him with all the desperation of a man who had nearly drowned and finally found air.
"You came back," he breathed against her hair. "I knew you wouldn’t—couldn’t—just turn evil."
She clutched his arms, her fingers gripping him tightly as though she needed the grounding as much as he did. "I never left," she whispered. "I was taken."
Alden pulled back slightly, searching her face. "By who?"
A shadow crossed her expression. "There’s no time for that now. The imposter’s grip on the kingdom is weakening. But she won’t give up without a fight."
Alden nodded, glancing toward the guards. "Then we take it back."
Elara turned to them, her eyes burning with a quiet fire. "Will you fight for your true queen?"
The younger guard nodded without hesitation. "We will follow you, Your Majesty."
The older one, after a pause, lowered his head in a bow. "Command us, my queen."
Elara straightened, her expression unreadable. "Then gather the loyalists. We take back my throne tonight."
Alden, standing beside her, allowed himself a small smile. The battle was far from over, but for the first time in a long time—he felt hope.