Chapter 81 INVITING THE DEVIL
Adrian slammed his fist onto the table, his voice a low growl. “She is not dead,” he hissed, the words thick with anguish. “I won’t allow anyone to take her place. If she’s gone, no one will sit beside me.”
Lord Rowan’s gaze softened, his expression almost pitying. “Your Majesty, we’ve waited for months. The kingdom cannot afford this void any longer. You must marry again.”
The very idea felt alien to Adrian—an impossible notion that seemed to tear at the very fabric of his soul. But the pressure of his responsibilities, the kingdom’s desperate need for a ruler—it all weighed on him.
“I won’t allow anyone to take her place,” Adrian muttered, the weight of his words crushing him.
But deep down, Adrian knew the truth: the kingdom would not wait forever. And neither would the nobles.
The decision was made, whether Adrian liked it or not. The kingdom could wait no longer for the queen.
And yet, as Adrian struggled to entertain the impossible—taking another queen—there were whispers. Faint, fleeting glimmers of truth. Athalia… wasn’t gone. And the tower? It was a prison for secrets far darker than he could have imagined.
“The nobles can wait,” Adrian finally muttered, though even as the words left his lips, he knew they were false. The kingdom would not wait for a queen who had vanished without a trace.
His chest tightened, a cold knot forming in his stomach as the thought of another woman sitting on the throne beside him gnawed at him. After what Selene had done… Athalia had been his love, his partner—the one who had kept the balance of power in their world. Her absence was a wound that refused to heal, and now, every word they spoke pressed deeper into it, urging him to move forward.
“Find someone,” Adrian gritted, his voice taut with suppressed rage. “But no one will sit on her throne.”
Lord Rowan and the chief advisor gave a slight bow, knowing this was more than a refusal—it was an acceptance of the cruel reality they all faced. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
The council adjourned soon after, but the decision had been made. Adrian’s mind wandered as the weight of it all settled around him. He left the chamber, his steps slow and heavy, the path to his quarters stretching impossibly long.
Inside, he didn’t wait for the servants. He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid swirling before he downed it in one motion. Athalia’s face—a face that had once brought him peace—now haunted him in her absence.
But something gnawed at him, a whisper of unease, as if something was wrong.
\---
The doors to his chamber opened, breaking his thoughts, and a servant entered, kneeling before him.
“Your Majesty, the consort the advisor has sought has arrived,” the servant said, not daring to lift their gaze.
Adrian didn’t respond immediately. His thoughts were still clouded, but his instincts kicked in, urging him to proceed as the king he once was.
“Bring her in.”
The servant nodded and left quickly. Adrian’s fists curled at his sides. He didn’t want to entertain the thought of another consort, but he had to. The kingdom demanded it.
\---
Moments later, the door opened again, and a woman stepped in. Her presence filled the room, pulling Adrian’s attention instantly. For a second, he froze.
Her dark hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders, her jaw sharp, her expression cool and composed. Yet, beneath it, there was something unmistakable—an intensity in her eyes that set him on edge.
She was too beautiful. Too powerful.
She stepped forward with calculated grace, her gaze never wavering as she lowered herself into a curtsey. "Your Majesty," she said, her voice soft, yet carrying a clear strength. "It is an honor to be chosen as your consort."
Adrian’s breath caught. There was something about her, something familiar, though he couldn’t place it. But now was not the time for questions. He was doing what had to be done.
“Rise,” he said, his voice tight. When she did, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. It was both confident and unsettling.
“I am honored, Your Majesty,” she repeated, stepping closer. Her every movement was deliberate, and her gaze? Unwavering. There was no uncertainty in her eyes. No hesitation.
Adrian opened his mouth to speak, but a flicker—just a flicker—caught his attention. Something in the air shifted, a movement barely perceptible, like a sound on the edge of his perception.
It was gone before he could fully grasp it.
But it was enough.
The woman before him, chosen by Lord Rowan, was more than she seemed. Adrian didn’t know how, but instinct told him that something was wrong.
Before he could speak, a knock interrupted him.
“Your Majesty,” came the urgent voice from outside, strained and breathless. “A report, sire.”
Adrian waved the servant inside, his unease growing. The servant entered, bowing low, before speaking quickly.
“Your Majesty, we found something... in the palace gardens.”
Adrian’s eyes snapped to the servant. “What is it?”
The servant hesitated, torn between his duty and the weight of the news. Finally, he spoke, his voice trembling.
“It’s the queen’s ring, Your Majesty. We found it in the garden, near the old well. Hidden beneath a stone.”
Adrian’s heart stilled. The ring.
“Athalia’s ring?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
The servant nodded.
Adrian’s breath caught in his throat as the weight of the words sank in. What did this mean?
“Take me there,” he ordered, his voice hardening.
\---
As he stormed out of the room, he glanced at the consort who stood motionless in the center. Her expression was unreadable, but a flicker of something passed between them. A strange, unspoken moment.
But there was no time for that.
He followed the servant through the palace halls, his mind racing. The ring... Athalia’s ring... What did it mean that it had been found here, hidden beneath stone?
The garden was eerily silent when they arrived. No servants. No guards. Just the wind rustling through the trees.
And there, half-buried in the stones of the old well, lay the ring. Its polished surface gleamed faintly in the dying light of the day.
Adrian knelt, his fingers trembling as he picked it up. The weight of it felt wrong in his hand, like a shard of the past that had been forgotten.
He turned it over.
Something was etched into the inside of the band. A message. A warning.
His heart pounded in his chest. The implications of what he was holding sent a chill down his spine.
As the shadows in the garden stretched longer, Adrian realized the truth: The search for Athalia had never been the purpose. Someone had been pulling his strings. And now, as he stood there, ring in hand, the real danger was only just beginning.