Chapter 73 THE QUEENS FEAR
Meanwhile , the tower had learned Queen Athalias breathing.
It rose and fell with the slow patience of stone, carrying the faint rasp of Queen Athalia’s lungs up its spiraling spine. Morning light filtered through narrow windows, pale and diluted, never quite warming the chamber. Outside, the kingdom stirred faintly with distant sights but none of it reached her bed except as a muffled suggestion, like a life remembered rather than lived.
Athalia lay propped against pillows embroidered with a sigil no one used anymore. Her hands, once steady enough to sign decrees that reshaped borders, trembled faintly as she reached for the cup beside her bed. The tea had gone cold, yet she drank it anyway.
She had been sick a long time. Long enough that the court had learned to lower their voices when her name was spoken and long enough that decisions were now “suggested” rather than requested.
The thought of Celine tightened Athalia’s chest more than the illness did.
A servant entered quietly as one of the few Athalia still allowed near her. It was Lira. She moved like a shadow, eyes lowered, and steps memorized.
“Read it again,” Athalia said without looking at her.
Lira unfolded the parchment with careful fingers. “The Queen Consort has petitioned the council for a formal inquiry into the Queen Mother’s authority,” she read. “She claims…”
“Claims?,” Athalia murmured. Her fingers curled into the blankets.
“She claims the Queen Mother acted without royal consent in matters of medicine, appointments, and confinement of the former king. She had been poisoning the King slowly and such act is treacherous.”
Lira hesitated, then continued. “She has presented witnesses.”
Athalia closed her eyes.
The word echoed unpleasantly. Witnesses were dangerous things that carried memories, voices and proof.
“Leave,” Athalia said.
Lira bowed and slipped out. The door closed softly, sealing the tower in its familiar hush.
“I thought she sent him away. How did Celine find him?” She murmured.
Athalia stared at the ceiling. The cracks in the stone had begun to resemble maps. She traced them with her eyes, following routes she had once walked in real life. The corridors of power, alliances, and threats disguised as favors.
Celine had not been supposed to survive this long but she has felt too weak to keep her in her place.
She had underestimated her, not because Celine was loud or reckless, but because she wasn’t. She had come into the court with that sharp tongue and those careful eyes, asking questions that sounded harmless until they weren’t. She bowed to Athalia and praised tradition that she listened to .
But then she dug.
Athalia coughed, a dry sound that scraped her throat raw. She pressed a cloth to her mouth and waited for the spasm to pass. When she pulled it away, there was blood. Not much but enough.
She looked up at the child who lay on the bed. He had grown so fast and bigger in 6 months, like a 7 yr old.
She smiled faintly.
So this was how the kingdom would remember her. Sick, isolated, dangerous in rumor, fragile in flesh and with a cursed child if they found out.
King Adrain had not seen them in months because of Celine’s manipulation towards him.
At the palace, Celine recovered slowly while the Queen mother faded from public life.
From the outside, the kingdom appeared stable, but inside, Adrain barely slept.
Late one night, he stood alone in the eastern wing, staring at the locked door that separated him from his mother.
“You taught me power,” he said quietly. “But you never taught me how to live with it.”
But no answer came from her.
As he turned to leave, a servant hurried toward him, pale and shaken.
“Your Majesty,” the servant whispered. “There’s something you need to see.”
Adrain followed him down a narrow corridor to a small chamber.
On the table lay a vial. It was empty. Beside it, a note in Elizabeth’s handwriting.
You think this ends with me? It doesn’t.
Adrain’s heart sank.
Behind him, somewhere deep within the palace, a door creaked open.
And the silence that followed felt far more dangerous than any confession.
He stepped on his horse and headed for the tower. Something in him made him feel there was more to it and he knew whom to ask.
When Queen Athalia rang the bell.
This time, it was not a servant who entered.
King Adrian stepped inside, his crown absent, his expression drawn thin with something close to exhaustion. He paused when he saw the bloodied cloth, then looked away, as if guilt had trained him to.
“You’re here,” Athalia said.
He shut the door behind him. The sound was heavier than the servant’s careful closings.
“I thought to,” he replied.
“You rarely do anymore.” Athalia said.
Athalia studied him. He looked older than he had months ago, lines etched deeper around his mouth. Kingship had never suited him the way influence had once suited her.
“Whats the matter. Do you miss this tower or…,” she said.
Adrian gave a short, humorless laugh. “I miss knowing where things stand.”
Athalia shifted slightly, gesturing to the chair beside her bed. “Sit.”
He hesitated only a moment before obeying.
The silence between them stretched, familiar and strained. Once, they had spoken every day. Once, no decision passed without her hand guiding his.
Now there was Celine.
“She’s clever,” Adrian said at last, as if reading her thoughts. “You always valued that.”
“I value loyalty,” Athalia replied. “Cleverness is only useful when it knows its place.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “She’s not wrong.”
Athalia turned her head sharply. “About what?”
“About Mother,” he said. “About what was done to father.”
The word father still sounded strange on his tongue. Athalia remembered the man was loud, careless, too certain that the world would bend to his will simply because he wished it to. She remembered the day he had been poisoned, lying silent with eyes too aware and confessing to a truth that ruined his beloved son.
“What you have done,” Athalia said carefully, “was necessary.”
Adrian stood abruptly. “ Necessary for whom?”
“For the kingdom,” Athalia said. “And for you.”
He paced the small chamber, restless energy coiling tight. “You say that like it absolves everything.”
“It does,” Athalia snapped, then softened when a cough seized her again. She waited, breathing shallowly. Adrian hovered, looking uncertain.
“I have not seemed your presence to argue,” she said when she could speak again. “I have been summoning you because you are losing control.”
Adrian stopped pacing. “What do you mean by that? I am the king, remember?.”
“You are a symbol,” Athalia corrected. “And symbols crack if they’re struck often enough.”
His gaze flicked to her. “I am fine and Celine will never struck me. She care for me.”
Athalia laughed, a thin, bitter sound. “No. Shes only waiting to take your authority.”
“Or are you trying so hard to be King and control me!” He snapped.