CHAPTER 45-Depressed LUNA

Kyrous’s POV

Lucinda had secluded herself in her chambers for many a day now, neither food nor drink gracing her lips. Her maid had ventured to me in the early hours, bearing grievous news. She spoke of Lucinda’s sorrowful retreat, that the Queen had not glimpsed the light of the sun in three full days. Her grief, so deep, seemed to have consumed her entirely.

“What foolishness is this?” I roared, anger curling my words like smoke. “Go back to her chambers and tell her that I, her King, demand her presence immediately! The palace cannot be left to languish in sorrow, not whilst we are still in the midst of merriment and festivity. Go! Now!”

The maid, trembling as if she carried the weight of the very heavens, hastened from my presence. Her footfalls echoed down the marble halls, swift as the wind, until she reached the Queen’s chambers. She knocked upon the door with the urgency of a storm, her knuckles sore with the force of her calls. Yet, there was no response.

After what seemed an eternity, she returned to me, her head lowered in shame. Her eyes were wide with fear, for she knew not what awaited her in my gaze.

“My King,” she spoke, her voice fragile as glass. “The Queen refuses to answer my summons. The room is eerily silent, and I fear that harm may have befallen her.”

At these words, my heart skipped a beat. Fear, sharp and sudden, gripped my chest.

“What do you mean, she does not respond? Did you knock with sufficient force? Did you deliver my command for her to join us at the dining table, where her co-wives await her?!” I barked, though my words were tinged with the faintest trace of worry.

“I did as you commanded, my King,” the maid said, her voice quivering like the last leaf in autumn. “My knuckles are numb from my desperate rapping. There is something terribly wrong with the Queen. The silence within her room is unnerving.”

Her words struck me like a blow. I felt my heart pound in my chest as an uneasy chill settled over me. The celebration, once full of warmth and joy, now seemed a distant memory. 

I was seated at the royal table, breaking my fast with my new wives—Jael, with her golden skin and voluptuous curves, and Lidia, ever calm and poised. The renowned musician played the piano, a soft lilting melody that mingled with the distant sound of the xylophone, setting the tone for our celebratory feast. My dearest friend, James, sat beside me, his gaze searching the room for a hint of what troubled me. 

“Perhaps you should attend to your Queen, Kyrous,” James murmured, his voice a gentle whisper. “Something is amiss. It would be wise to check on her.”

The words struck me like an unexpected thunderclap, and I rose from the table. Yet, before I could take more than a step, Jael’s voice, sharp as a dagger, stopped me in my tracks.

“Your Majesty,” she cooed, her tone dripping with sweet venom, “We are in the midst of a joyous feast, a moment for unity and celebration. Why allow Lucinda’s troubles to ruin the harmony of the day? It is for us to bond, to let our souls entwine. The council members and their families have come, bearing gifts in honor of this day. Your solemn countenance will surely dampen the mood.”

Her words were laced with disdain, and I knew the root of her bitterness. Jael, ever beautiful, had always been my desire, even before Lucinda’s arrival. The curves of Jael’s form, her skin like polished ivory, had captivated my senses. But Lucinda—Lucinda had been the first to stir something in my heart. My conscience gnawed at me, torn between the allure of Jael and the loyalty I once held for Lucinda.

My gaze darkened as I looked at Jael. Her eyes lowered, avoiding mine, yet I could see the contempt brewing beneath her false smile. The marriage had been a betrayal to Lucinda, that much was clear. I had married her closest confidante, a woman I had lusted after for years. My heart, however, had only ever truly beaten for Lucinda. It was because of her that I had wed her in the first place—before Juno, before anyone else.

I took my leave of the breakfast table, my thoughts dark and tumultuous. As I neared Lucinda’s chamber, my steps slowed, dread settling upon my chest. The door to her room was firmly locked, and I could not shake the cold feeling that had taken root in my heart.

“You know you need not suffer like this,” I called, my voice firm, though my words were laden with care. “You are my first wife, the true Queen. You will sit beside me, as is your place. Why must you be so difficult?”

But there was no answer—nothing but the heavy silence that pressed down upon me like a stone. My words fell upon deaf ears, and still, Lucinda remained beyond my reach.

“I command you, open the door at once!” My voice rose in authority, but inside, a deep, gnawing fear crept through me. What if she had done something foolish? What if she had harmed herself?

A tremor ran through me at the thought, and before I could gather my thoughts, I shouted to the guards.

“Guards! Break down this door! I command it!”

The soldiers came to me, swift as the tide, and their strength was like the crashing waves of the sea. The door splintered beneath their blows, and I bade them step aside. With trepidation, I entered the chamber, each step heavier than the last. My heart raced with every passing second. The room, bathed in shadows, seemed unnatural—too quiet, too still.

As I neared the corner where Lucinda sat, my breath caught in my throat. There she was, a solitary figure, gazing out over the distant mountains. Her back was to me, and the shadows concealed her face, leaving only the slightest glimpse of her form. 

I took a step closer. Her gown, the same one she had worn on the day of our marriage, was wrinkled and torn, as if she had not moved in days. Her eyes, dark and swollen from crying, stared out at the world with a hollow emptiness. The remnants of mascara and eyeliner stained her cheeks, creating a stark contrast against her once radiant skin. She looked more ghost than woman, and the sight cut me to my very soul.

“What are you going to do now, Kyrous?” her voice was a whisper, but it struck me like the lash of a whip. “Will you send your guards to cast me into the dungeons? Will you lock me away, as if I were nothing?”

Her words pierced my heart like a dagger, and I sat beside her, my gaze falling upon the same view she had been staring at. The mountains stretched out before us, their peaks shrouded in mist, the trees swaying with the wind as if they, too, mourned her sorrow.

“You need not endure this pain,” I said softly. “You’ve not eaten in days. I cannot stand to see you like this, Lucinda. You are my Queen.”

She turned her face toward me, her eyes filled with a bitterness I had not seen before. “You need not concern yourself with me,” she said bitterly. “I am but the barren one—the childless one. Your wives wait for you, no doubt. Why trouble yourself with me?”

I felt a pang of guilt, a heavy burden upon my chest. I reached out to her, but she recoiled, pulling away as if I were a stranger.

“You know I would never speak of you like that,” I said, trying to soften my voice. “You do not need to suffer alone. You are not the childless one to me. You are everything I ever desired.”

“Leave me!” she snapped, her voice now strong, commanding. The tone sent a shock through me. Was she truly speaking to me, the King of Drakonia, in such a manner?

For a moment, I froze, unsure how to proceed. Her strength, though painful to witness, stirred something deep within me. But, despite her words, I could not bring myself to leave her side. The weight of my guilt and the brokenness between us were too great, and I knew that we both had a long road ahead.