Bait

Rage Of The Evil Queen
For a moment, the room remained cloaked in silence, the words still hanging heavy in the air like the echo of a death sentence.

Then Lysandra exploded.

“WHAT?” she shrieked, her voice rising with a pitch that made the stained-glass windows tremble. “HOW?!”

The messenger flinched as if struck, his shoulders tightening as he lowered his gaze to the marble floor. “Th-That’s all the news we’ve gathered, Your Majesty. Nothing confirmed. Only whispers—rumors traveling like wildfire from the borders. But they all speak the same thing…”

She advanced on him with eyes that gleamed like molten amethyst. “Tell me everything. All of it.”

The messenger swallowed hard. “Among the stories being shared, there’s one... one that says the God Witch was awakened by… by...”

Lysandra’s nostrils flared. “By who?”

The boy hesitated, casting a nervous glance between the Queen and the Prince.

“Spit it out!” she barked.

“They say… they say she was awakened by a man. A stranger. Someone powerful. Some believe he’s a royal… from one of the Seven Kingdoms.”

A slow, sickening silence settled.

Alexander felt every vein in his body ice over. His stomach dropped, heartbeat thudding erratically in his ears. He schooled his face into something neutral, something passive, but his fingers twitched slightly at his sides.

Don’t look at me, he thought desperately. Don’t look at me. Please Don’t look at me—

But Lysandra wasn’t looking at him.

She was pacing, fast and furious, too consumed by her own rage to notice the subtle panic flashing behind her son’s eyes.

“Another royal?” she hissed, fists clenched. “Another fool with a sword and a savior complex?”

The messenger cleared his throat, daring to speak again. “They say… no one knows which kingdom he was from. Some think Ravencourt, others say Selyria. But—”

“Enough!” Lysandra thundered. “Get out!”

The boy didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He bowed low, nearly dropping to his knees, then fled the chamber without another word. The heavy double doors slammed behind him with an echo that seemed to vibrate off the walls.

Silence reigned again.

Until Lysandra snapped.

“DAMN THEM ALL TO HELL!” she shrieked, sweeping a crystal decanter off the table. It shattered against the far wall, shards raining down like falling stars. Her fury burned unchecked as she reached for a vase next, hurling it across the room.

Alex stood still, his body tense but unmoving. He’d seen her like this before—rarely—but he knew better than to try and calm her. Fire had to burn itself out before it turned to smoke.

She stormed toward the bookcase and shoved half a shelf of tomes off their ledge. “Who is he? Who?! Who would be so reckless? So stupid?”

Another chair overturned. A tapestry torn from its place on the wall.

“A royal.” She spat the word like poison. “Some arrogant little princeling who thinks his cock is mightier than my crown. I’ll find him. I will. And when I do, I’ll mount his head on a spike and plant it at the gates of Edralis!”

She turned on Alex then, her chest heaving, eyes wild with the fury of a queen scorned.

“Who dares interfere with my plans? Who thinks they can undo what I’ve sacrificed everything for? Decades of strategy—centuries of bloodlines—do they think it can all be unraveled by some pathetic romance?”

Alex held her gaze, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

“Whoever he is,” Lysandra snarled, “he’s dead!”

Her voice cracked against the stone walls like thunder. And then… silence.

She stood in the center of the ruined chamber, her shoulders shaking as the last of her rage finally bled out. Slowly, her breaths began to steady. Her spine straightened. Her hands, still trembling, lowered to her sides.

Alex finally spoke, his voice quiet and cautious. “Mother… if Aurora is truly awake—”

“She’s not a threat,” Lysandra cut him off, lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Not really.”

Alex’s brow furrowed. “How can you be so sure?”

She turned toward him with all the cold confidence of a seasoned predator.

“Because I collared her,” she said simply. “She can’t use her powers without as long as that collar stays on Whatever scraps she has left, they’re nothing compared to what she once was.”

Alex said nothing, though his fists had curled tightly at his sides.

“And besides,” she added, strolling slowly toward her desk like a cat who had just mauled a mouse, “we have... leverage.”

She seated herself at the polished table, her violet gown cascading around her like a sea of poison. Then she opened a drawer, pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and an inkwell.

Alex blinked, his brow knitting together. “Leverage?”

She dipped the quill into the ink, her expression distant, calculating.

“Darius.”

Alex stiffened.

Lysandra nodded, the tip of her quill scratching softly against the parchment. “She won’t run. She won’t rebel. Not if she thinks we can kill him. And I’ll made sure she knows it.”

A brief silence passed. Then another.

Alex’s voice lowered. “What are you doing now?”

Lysandra smiled without looking up. “I’m writing a letter.”

He stepped closer, his chest tightening. “To who?”

She glanced at him then, eyes glittering with quiet triumph. “To Bellaflor.”