Chapter 75 PLANNING ATHALIA’S DETHRONING
Queen Athalia sat alone in the tower, hands resting on the arm of her chair. The windows were open, but the air did not reach her. She stared out at the city below, watching torchlight flicker along the walls.
“You should not sit in the cold,” her maid said gently.
“I am not cold,” Athalia replied.
She was tired and there was a difference.
She had ruled through grief, through betrayal, through loss that hollowed her out slowly. Her body had begun to fail her long before her mind did, but no one seemed to care about that distinction.
Power did not forgive weakness. She had learned that lesson early and King Adrain listened without interrupting.
At the palace, Queen Celine stood before his desk, hands clasped, her expression calm. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching in her hair.
“The eastern border is restless,” she said. “Our scouts report movement.”
Adrain frowned. “We have had false alarms before.”
“Yes,” Celine agreed. “But this time, the lords are requesting reassurance. A show of strength.”
Adrain leaned back slightly. “And you suggest?”
“We deploy the remaining warriors,” Celine said. “All of them. It would quiet dissent and would show unity.”
Adrain hesitated. “That would leave the capital exposed.”
But deep down he thought about the guards protection over the tower
“Only briefly,” Celine replied. “And the Queen is well protected with too much guard. We should reduce them.”
Adrain looked toward the window, toward the tower in the distance.
“But she is unwell,” he said quietly.
Celine softened her tone. “All the more reason to act decisively. The kingdom cannot afford uncertainty. We need all the guards.”
He studied her face. “You are certain this threat is real?”
Celine met his gaze without blinking. “I would not bring this to you otherwise.”
He nodded slowly after much thought.
“Make the arrangements,” he said.
Celine bowed.
As she turned to leave, her mouth curved almost imperceptibly.
The warriors left at dawn.
Armor clinked, horses stamped and banners rose against the pale sky. The city gathered to watch, murmuring approval, relief, and pride.
Queen Athalia watched too, from her window.
“Why so many?” she asked.
The maid hesitated. “His Majesty wishes to ensure peace.”
Athalia said nothing and her fingers tightened on the armrest.
Peace always came at a price.
By midday, When Celine arrived, Athalia did not rise.
“I heard you have been busy,” Athalia said.
Celine inclined her head. “Only in service of the crown.”
Athalia studied her carefully. “You move quickly for someone who nearly died.”
Celine smiled. “Near death clarifies priorities.”
Athalia gestured to the chair opposite her. “Sit.”
Celine did.
“You speak with my court,” Athalia continued. “With my nobles and with my women.”
“I listen,” Celine corrected. “when they come to me.”
Athalia’s gaze sharpened. “Do they?”
“Yes,” Celine said calmly. “Maybe, they are afraid.”
“Of who? Of me?”
“Of uncertainty.”
Athalia laughed softly. “A kinder word for weakness.”
Celine did not argue.
That evening, whispers reached the tower with suggestions, concerns and proposals framed as care.
A council, some said. A temporary delegation and a period of rest.
Athalia closed her eyes and breathed through the familiar ache in her chest.
So this was how it would happen.
In the days that followed, things happened that came folded in odd places.
One came as a scrap of parchment tucked into a bread loaf, a knot tied differently on the curtain cord and a candle burned too low, leaving a pattern in wax that made Athalia’s heart thud.
She did not show them to Lira but traced the marks with her finger, translating a language she had learned by kneeling on cold stone with Selene months ago.
She was still alive and watching.
Athalia’s mouth went dry.
Weakness made Athalia clumsy. She dropped a goblet and it shattered. Lira rushed in, alarm sharp in her eyes.
“Are you hurt, your majesty?”
“No,” Athalia said. “Just tired.”
Lira gathered the shards with a cloth. “You should not be alone so much.”
“I am not alone,” Athalia said, and felt the lie settle like dust.
That afternoon, a guard came, one of the few left. He stood stiffly, helmet tucked under his arm.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “The King requests…”
Athalia raised a hand. “Later.”
He hesitated. His eyes flicked to the corner where the tapestry hung. It depicted a hunt: a stag leaping, hounds mid-air, a spear frozen forever in the instant before the kill.
“Is there something else?” Athalia asked.
“No,” he said too quickly. He bowed and left.
Athalia watched the tapestry. The spear glinted.
That night, Selene came.
She did not come like a ghost, all mist and lamentation, she came like a knife sliding free. The door opened without a sound. Selene stepped into the room and closed it behind her with care. She wore black, as always, her hair bound tight and her eyes shone.
Athalia pushed herself upright and the room tilted.
“Don’t,” Selene whispered. “Lie still.”
“You left,” Athalia said, and the words were a bruise pressed too hard.
“I did,” Selene said. She crossed the room in three strides and knelt. She took Athalia’s hands, steady, warm. “I had to.”
“You said…”
“I said many things,” Selene said, and smiled without humor. “Forgive me.”
Athalia’s breath came fast. “It seems Celine has convinced the king to take the remaining guards.”
“Yes.”
“The King…”
“He’s loosening for the new queen ever since the Queen Mother's judgment”
“And the new Queen consort…?”
“She is probably planning.”
Athalia squeezed Selene’s hands. “But why did you leave me?”
Selene leaned closer. “Because I had something important to look after.”
Athalia closed her eyes as weakness rolled over her. She clung to Selene’s hands like a railing on a bridge.
“They will move soon,” Selene said. “The council meets tomorrow.”
Athalia laughed weakly.
“And the King?” Athalia asked.
Selene’s mouth tightened. “He might sign for your dethronement.”
Silence thickened and the hearth popped.
“Get me out,” Athalia said.
Selene shook her head. “Not yet.”
Athalia opened her eyes. “Not yet?”
“You must be seen,” Selene said. “Strong or at least standing.”
Athalia’s laugh turned into a cough. Selene waited until it passed.
“They are poisoning you,” Selene said quietly.
"What?"