Chapter 68 THE SUSPICION
That night, Athalia dreamt of a garden she no longer walked. In the dream, roses grew with thorns like knives. A woman stood among them, smiling, her hands uncut.
When Athalia woke, she summoned her spymaster who was the head of the dark guards.
“Tell me everything,” she said. “Every whisper, every glance. I want to know how the new queen breathes.”
The spymaster inclined his head. “As you wish, your highness.”
Information arrived in fragments as Celine rose early. She listened more than she spoke and servants liked her, yet courtiers underestimated her. The King laughed more at supper than he had in months.
Athalia’s jaw tightened at that.
“Does she advise him?” Athalia asked.
“Yes,” the spymaster said. “But softly.”
Soft advice was the worst kind because it slid past defenses. It felt like one’s own idea.
Weeks passed and the King did not come.
Athalia received reports instead of small changes, of decrees worded slightly differently and of appointments made without her counsel.
“She’s moving pieces,” Athalia muttered, studying a map late one night as she sat weakly. “Slowly.”
She sent another message, this time inviting the King and his new queen to visit. The invitation was gracious, warm and impossible to refuse without offense.
The reply came from the King himself that they would come soon.
But Athalia prepared like a general before war.
The palace corridors filled again with guards polished armor and servants aired tapestries long left folded. Athalia chose her gowns carefully, rejecting anything that suggested frailty.
When King Adrian arrived, she embraced him tightly.
“You look thinner,” she said.
“I could say the same but well,” he replied, not meeting her eyes.
Then Celine stepped forward.
She curtsied perfectly, not too low and not too shallow.
“Your Majesty,” Celine said. “It is an honor.”
Athalia studied her from her calm poise to her intelligent eyes. The mouth that looked made for kindness and could so easily turn sharp.
“Welcome,” Athalia said. “At last.”
But Adrain couldn't see the threat in each of their eyes.
Dinner was a dance of knives wrapped in velvet. Athalia asked questions that sounded harmless. Celine answered with care, never overstepping, and never retreating.
When Athalia remarked on tradition, Celine praised it. When Athalia spoke of caution, Celine agreed.
It was infuriating.
“You must miss your family,” Athalia said finally.
Celine smiled. “I believe family is where duty places us.”
The King glanced at her, something like gratitude softening his face.
Athalia saw it and her frail fingers tightened around her goblet.
After dinner, Athalia requested a private word.
King Adrian hesitated, he never does. Celine touched his arm lightly.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll retire.”
Athalia watched her leave and watched the way servants shifted to accommodate her, instinctively.
“She’s very… capable,” Athalia said once they were alone.
“She is,” Adrian said. “That is why I chose her.”
Athalia turned to him sharply. “You chose her because she makes you feel clever.”
He flinched. “No. I chose her because she sees you and the realm as it is.”
“And I do not?” Athalia asked.
He did not want to answer.
“I didn't say that!”
Later that night, Athalia walked the halls unable to sleep. She stopped outside the guest wing in the tower as light glowed beneath one door.
Lira knocked on Athalia's behalf. Celine opened it herself.
“Your Majesty,” she said, unsurprised.
“Walk with me,” Athalia said.
They moved through the corridor together, footsteps echoing.
“You read my letter,” Athalia said.
“Yes.”
“And still you came.”
“Yes.”
“Brave,” Athalia said. “Or foolish.”
Celine smiled faintly. “Often the same thing.”
They stopped at a window as moonlight silvered the stone.
“You think you’ve won?” Athalia said.
“I think nothing of the sort,” Celine replied. “I think we are both standing in a storm, holding different maps.”
Athalia studied her. “You sent kindness instead of defiance.”
“Because defiance would reassure you,” Celine said. “Kindness unsettles.”
Athalia laughed softly. “You admit it.”
“I admit strategy,” Celine said. “As you taught him.”
Athalia’s breath caught. “He told you.”
“Enough,” Celine said gently. “He speaks of you often.”
“Does he?” Athalia asked.
“With respect,” Celine said. “Lovd and sometimes fear.”
Athalia turned away.
“You think I will step aside,” Athalia said. “That I will fade.”
“I think,” Celine said, “that you will decide whether to burn the house down or help me hold it up.”
Athalia faced her again, eyes sharp. “And if I choose neither?”
Celine’s gaze did not waver. “Then someone else will choose for us.”
Silence stretched.
“You are trouble,” Athalia said at last.
Celine inclined her head. “So they tell me.”
Athalia returned to her chambers before dawn but did not sleep.
By morning, a messenger arrived breathless.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “There has been unrest. Something has happened.”
Athalia smiled slowly hoping it was against her one enemy.
But it was not.
“Careful, Your Majesty,” Celine said lightly during a confrontation with the Queen Mother, Elizabeth. “Anger makes the tongue careless.”
Queen Elizabeth’s hand froze midway to her goblet but the wine trembled, a thin ripple against the crystal. Around them, the solar was too quiet with tapestries holding their breath, and guards outside pretending not to hear. Elizabeth’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking once, twice.
“Do not instruct me,” she said. Her voice was low, worn thin by years of command and disappointment. “I have ruled longer than you have learned to sharpen that tongue.”
Celine smiled, not wide, not cruel but just enough to show she was unafraid.
“And yet,” she said, “you are not ruling now.”
The words landed like a slap.
Elizabeth rose so suddenly her chair scraped the floor. “You think a crown makes you untouchable?” she snapped. “I have seen queens reduced to ornaments and I have seen kings silenced without a blade drawn.”
Celine’s eyes flickered only for a breath and Queen Elizabeth caught it.
“Silenced?” Celine echoed.
Elizabeth realized too late that she had stepped past restraint. Rage had loosened her grip. “Yes,” she said, pressing on, unable or unwilling to stop. “Silenced. Fed, day by day, spoon by spoon, until the body still lives and the will does not. Until a man who once commanded armies cannot lift his hand or form a word. A mercy, they call it or a kindness.”
The room felt colder.
Celine set her goblet down with care. “You speak as though from experience.”
Elizabeth laughed sharply. “Experience teaches all rulers, especially women. Especially those surrounded by smiling traitors.”
“Is that what you think I am?” Celine asked.
Elizabeth leaned closer, eyes bright with fury. “I think you would do anything to keep what you’ve taken from Seraphine”
Celine held her gaze. “Then you think of me as...”